stuck in a basement


mo-fain submitted:

I don’t personally find this very scary, but it’s a bit weird. Around 5 years ago I moved into my current house, and it’s quite a bit bigger than my last house. Being very superstitious, I spent my first few weeks here cleansing the place with magic, as we are a very long line of Celtic magicians.

In the basement there’s a really deep hole that leads to the house sewer system with a flimsy wooden lid that was glued down. Just being around the hole gives all of us the chills, so we are extra careful about it. At night, being the only one who sleeps down there and I don’t have proper walls, I can hear scratching from beneath the lid and the glue keeping it on is slowly peeling away. We can’t seem to banish the thing, so instead we hold it in the highest respects. At night I have gotten into the habit of walking past the hole and saying goodnight to it. On loud days, ‘Spoonman’ gets really loud at night and pounds on the lid, unless we set out a saucer of cream just beside the hole.

The only thing that really creeps my out about Spoonman is that once I fell asleep in the basement living room just beside his hole. I woke up late that night with something curled around my body and purring like a cat, and the lid was off the hole. When morning came, the lid was back on, but the entire right side of the glue ring was peeled up. And I smelled awful.

P.S. We call the thing Spoonman because it seems to really enjoy the song ‘Spoonman’ by Soundgarden

Fuck Yeah Nightmares Mod James: 7/10 This is super strange, dude.  I dig it.  Thanks for sharing the scares!

What the Fuck is this?! Going through that mirror was supposed to put me where i wanted most to be in the world, but instead I’m stuck in this shitty little basement with the most pretending cleric I’ve ever seen, an elf with a giant sword who’s OBVIOUSLY compensating, and a drugged up tiefling who just picked his nose and ate it! What the fuck?!
—  A mage who just walked out of a hole in space time and most definitely did not end up where they wanted to be
“locked in a room” starters
PART II is now available here


The “locked in a room” trope forces characters to spend time together, often characters who normally wouldn’t. It can help them learn about each other and develop their relationship in a positive way, or it can be disastrous. Feel free to add more! Send one for our muses: 

♬ : stuck in an elevator together
✎ : trapped in a room together during a quarantine
✘ : in a waiting room while they have loved ones in surgery
♢ : alone in a train car when the train gets delayed
♕ : adrift in a life raft
☾ : sitting next to each other on an international flight
✂ : stranded by a roadside together
☀ : sharing a jail cell
☂ : stuck in a basement after an earthquake
☮ : sharing a run away hot air balloon
❤ : locked in a closet by a friend who just wants them to get along (or possibly hook up)
₪ : touring an historical (possibly haunted) building, and they get locked in overnight
☹ : on a bridge; traffic has stopped completely due to an accident, and nobody’s going anywhere for a few hours.
Δ : stuck on a roof together
♒ : trapped by a spell or supernatural object (bonus points if you specify what the spell/curse is)
ஐ : pretending to be married because this quaint old couple’s bed and breakfast is the only shelter for miles, they only have one room, and they’re a bit old fashioned.
♘ : sharing a hospital room
✿ : stuck in a spaceship escape pod together
☢  : on a deserted island
❂  : in a bunker after the apocalypse

Rhythm of the Beat- Part 1

Based off a request by @thelittleredwhocould​ for gender swap Wincest.

Summary: Sam and Dean get trapped in a vault after being turned into women by an ancient Egyptian god. Because of course they did. There’s only one way to get free. Because of course there is.

Word Count: 2150ish

Warning: Wincest, gender swapping, smut

A/N: This one just happened. I’m not sorry. Hope you all enjoy it! Two more parts coming soon! XOXO

“Dean! You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Are you?”

It’s at the end of that second sentence that they both register the voices themselves and not just the words.

“Dude. You sound like…dude. Sam? You’re a fuckin’ girl.”

Sam tears his eyes away from Dean’s apparently female body to look down at his own.

Keep reading

The Sound of Her Face

She was my first love and my last. My first kiss and my last.

Our first kiss wasn’t even a kiss. It was just her blowing pot smoke towards my face as we sat in her parents’ dim basement, autumn light slanting through the tiny window, pillars of pot smoke dancing in the beams. We’d skipped school to get high, unable to stomach one more day of Mr. Carruthers’ horrid take on world history (“Those who aren’t learning from stuff in the past will have to do history again”). The kiss came soon after.

Love followed, promises of undying, eternal love. One thing was different – our thing. We always kissed before and after we went anywhere, even short, minutes-long trips; the store, the gym, work. A kiss before leaving, a kiss upon return.

“Life is uncertain,” she’d always say. “I never know when I’ll be able to kiss you again.”

When the contagion came, what the media were calling The Virulence, we stuck it out, this time in my basement, minus the pot. We had one window that we could see the outside world through, one small window that let in a little natural sunlight. Walled off from the world, armed with only each other, protein bars and the water in the toilet tank, we waited for the global panic to subside.

It didn’t.

We each made trips out for provisions and to look for something to protect our little basement fortification. She made trips by day, when the virulent were less active, mine usually at dusk. We came back with armfuls of what we could carry: cans of beans, bottled water, once an AR-15, picked from the car of some unfortunate who’d been eaten. The virulent were fast, insatiable, unkillable. Even decapitation didn’t render them harmless; they’d keep marching forward, arms swinging in wide arcs while the head still gnashed and snapped its teeth on the ground. Stupid, lying zombie movies.

She was bitten on one of her sorties. We’d kissed before she went out. She came back for one more.

She leaned in towards me, skin already ashen, eyes dead, the tendons in her neck stretching and creaking as her jaw opened wide, wider, wide enough to black out the sun, the little window, and everything I could see.

Meanwhile, in a Basement in Emon


“Alright, Princess, you really gotta stop fidgetin’ or I’ll just end up making it worse!” The tiny woman she vaguely remembered lectured her while slowly trying to pull the arrows out of Cassandra’s body, hands glowing softly with healing magic.

Fidgeting, in this case, meant rocking back and forth while breathing heavily and desperately fighting down the urge to vomit.

“I know,” Cass managed to gasp, desperately trying to shake off the memory of the last time she had been struck down by arrows, the warmth of the healing spell not enough chase away the creeping cold and the sensation of snowflakes falling down on her while she watched her brother get away. No, no, no snowflakes this time. She wasn’t even outside. She was in some sort of basement, there were only two arrows stuck in her, no one had left her behind… The cold still wouldn’t go away, though.

“What, you get into fights often?” The gnomish woman snorted. Cassandra vaguely recalled her being the missing gnome’s daughter… Hailey? Miley? Something like that. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

“I’m going to get us whatever healing items I have left in stock,” Shaun announced.

“I wouldn’t recommend doin’ that before someone takes care of that giant-ass cut across your chest!” The gnome reprimanded him, accidentally yelling right into Cassandra’s ear. The ringing was a good distraction, though.

“My dear, I’ve gone toe-to-toe with an ancient dragon before. Twice,” Shaun informed her, his usual bravado slowly returning to him. “This is nothing I can’t handle.”

“So have I,” Cass said quietly. With one arrow removed and the wound it left behind closed up, she could now feel the blood rushing through her veins again, trying to fight off the cold for her. “Not in a fight, though, I just played hostess to one. Which Mother used to say was a battle in its own right. All the hospitality in the world didn’t keep her from killing my brother, though, and while he sort of had that coming, I supposes that’s just what guests do to our family…”

“Screw the healing stuff, this one needs booze!” The gnome now more considerably didn’t really yell into Cassandra’s ear. This one felt different, too, magical somehow, and despite the volume and candor was almost pleasant.

“I’d still categorize that as healing items,” Shaun declared, then Cass heard a door close.

“A man after my own heart!” The gnome declared. “And I don’t say that lightly.” She then turned around to Cassandra once more. “Okay then, Princess, one more arrow and we’re done here!” She announced while eagerly rubbing her hands together as they started to glow again.

“My name is Cassandra,” Cass somehow found it in herself to remind her healer. “Cassandra Johanna von Musel Klossowski de Rolo of Whitestone, Guardian of the Woven Stone.”

“…Yeah, I think Princess is pretty apt.” The other woman said after a short pause. “I’m Kaylie. Shorthalt, I guess, but don’t tell anyone I said that.” She winced. “You’re the, what, sister of the white-haired asshole then?”

That made Cassandra laugh a little despite herself.

“I suppose so,” she confirmed.

“I won’t be holdin’ that against you, don’t worry,” Kaylie assured her for some reason. “So, uh… You come here often?”

[LYRICS/TRANS] CODE KUNST - StrOngerrr (Feat. Loco & MINO)

When the air I breathed originated from the very bottom 
When even after sleeping really well in the basement of the basement, 
I would have phlegm stuck in my throat 
In the recording room, a manager of a comedian fixed my rap 
My first show case 
When wanting to wear clothes I wanted to wear was a really big deal 
Show me the money, show me the money 
I had never wanted light 
I had never properly earned money so I said I’ll give 100,000won to the company to perform 
After they rejected the stage, I heard “Has Loco become such a superstar" 
When I said I’ll leave to find a new nest/company 
They told me to pay 2 billion for penalty for breach of contract 
As you know, I still don’t know how they settled on half of that 
My mother may have begged on her knees 
Now, I wear what I choose to wear and breathe the air of the stage 
My recording studio is the smallest room in my house 
It seems like it became really sturdy already 
There’s no chance of anyone getting a piece of me 
Now, when they want me to perform somewhere, they say "I’ll put 100,000won in your hand, take it" 

I’m gonna be stronger than Hercules
Never die like a zombie
Who dares to stop me
Because I’m a gold calf
Because I’m a gold calf 
I’m gonna be stronger than Hercules
Never die like a zombie
Who dares to stop me
Because I’m a gold calf
Because I’m a gold calf

I was born and my family was poor 
Even when I appeared on TV, nothing really changed 
When I woke up, there was a bug next to me 
All I ate was tofu and yogurt 
One time, my member hyung who ate the same things as me ordered pizza that made me more excited than a woman would 
Because of those days in the past, I earn more money 
As you know, I get scared sometimes (reference to "Fear”) 
8 words of ballad rap 
I can imagine how embarrassed I was 
when I wore knee pads for our first stage on MTV 
You never know know ooh 
You can just look at my happy self 
My wrists that I thought about cutting,
Now they’re protected by expensive watches 
Thanks to reality* that I drank without any snacks* (reality is likened to alcohol, snacks eaten with alcohol) 
I throw up every day (throwing up after drinking too much alcohol) 
I say cheers again for everyone who patted my back 

I’m gonna be stronger than Hercules 
Never die like a zombie 
Who dares to stop me 
Because I’m a gold calf 
Because I’m a gold calf 
I’m gonna be stronger than Hercules 
Never die like a zombie 
Who dares to stop me 
Because I’m a gold calf
Because I’m a gold calf 


Composition: Code Kunst, MINO
Lyrics: Loco, MINO
Arrangement: Code Kunst

Translated by chrissy96_

Since you Muzzled us for 15 hours...

We had to come up with some way to pass the time, of course.

@ask-sadisticdark & @ask-psychoanti

Presented lovingly to you by some (muzzled) Lovelies and Raisins:

We present: Mr. Dark as the Grinch.

You’re a mean one, Mr. Dark
You really are an ass
You’re as cuddly as a teddy if the thing were full of glass, Mr. Dark.

You’re a horrible host with a cheaply made suit!

You’re a loser, Mr. Dark
Your snake would bite it’s tail
Your desk is made of cardboard and your insults weak and frail, Mr. Dark.

I’d only go near you with a thirty foot branding iron…

You’re pathetic, Mr. Dark
You’re but a shadow on my life
You’ve got all the sweetness of an antsy Anti with a knife, Mr. Dark

Given the choice between the two of you, I’d take the Antisepticeye!

You’re a foul one, Mr. Dark
You’re as salty as the sea
You’re as friendly and as kind as an angry swarm of bees, Mr. Dark.

The three words that best decribe you are as follows: “angst”, “sass”, “spite”!

You’re a fuckwad, Mr. Dark
You’re a king of sinful thoughts
You’re stuck in Anti’s basement with your hand tied up in knots, Mr. Dark.

The persuasion room is a horrid dump heap, filled with the most pathetic of so-called
torture instruments, including a tennis racquet of all things, and a partially rotted chair.

You’re an ice queen, Mr. Dark
With a dress and matching heels
Your makeup’s always perfect while your torture always heals, Mr. Dark.

In all seriousness, Mr. Dark, we’re just a bunch of lovely, silly nerds who love you quite a lot.

Written painstakingly and lovingly by:

@thnks-fr-th-sins (@FallOutB o i🎧#5143 on Discord)

@thebvdlvnds (@alex the what do girl#9046)

@macks-smack-attack (@galactic-umbra#2804)

@yoursanityisoverrated (@b a y t i n s#8991) 

@will-shut-up-4-wifi (@Fricking Glitter Granny#4963)

@poptartpotato (@Miss J#5382) 

This was made all in good fun with no offense​ truly meant to anyone. 

Simple Physics

Based on cuddle prompts 24 (between strangers) and 30 (out of necessity) from @contrivedcoincidences6 and @baronessblixen. I didn’t intend for this to be as long as it is, but I got a little carried away?

Pre-Pilot AU, possible explanation for why Mulder is such an condescending ass to Scully in the first episode. 

Tuesday, December 31, 1991 10:32 PM

The staccato clack of stilettos on tile floor echoes through the empty basement corridor of the Hoover Building. Dana Scully hurries down the hall, the train of her dress in one hand and the files she had spent the last two hours digging through the FBI Archives for clutched in the other. It was supposed to be just a quick stop before the party, but locating the files had taken frustratingly longer than expected and the more she could not find what she was looking for, the more she had become determined to find it. It was a conspiracy of the filing cabinets, she was certain, and finding them had become a personal vendetta, even if it had made her so very, very late. She just needed to get to the parking garage, so she could get in her car and finally be on her way, before she incurred any more tardiness-induced wrath upon her. She reaches the end of the hallway and jams the ‘up’ button, mentally urging the car to arrive faster. The doors finally slide open and she slips inside, finger on ‘door close’, trying to calm her pulse, foot tapping impatiently.

“Hold the door!” an unfamiliar voice shouts down the hall, heavy footsteps growing louder.

Scully groans and jabs at the ‘door open’ button, her military upbringing of unfailing politeness winning out over her desire to get out of there. A large male hand clamps over the sliding metal door.

“Thanks,” her newfound elevator companion shoots her a smile. Adonically lanky with floppy hair and oversized wire rim glasses perched on an aquiline nose, he is dressed in a rumpled white button-down with a wide, garish tie hanging loosely round his neck, forest green patterned with orange triangles. A grey wool trench coat is tossed over his arm.

“Sure thing, ground floor?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The elevator shutters to life and slowly begins its ascent. It barely clears the first floor when it lurches to an abrupt stop with a precarious creak. A startled yelp emerges from Scully as she grasps for the wall railing to stay upright. The lights flicker and suddenly plunge the tiny car into darkness. After a few moments, the sallow emergency backup lights stutter on.

Scully pulls the elevator emergency phone from its case, stabbing at the red help button to no avail; the line is dead.

“Damn it!”

“Somewhere important to be?” he drawls bemusedly, slowly trailing his eyes down her body.

She is wearing an exquisite cobalt dress with an open back cut down almost to the base of her spine. The top of the dress cuts modestly across her chest and the thin straps hug her shoulders before crisscrossing the smooth pale skin of her back. The fabric shimmers when she moves and the flowing train brushes the top of her feet encased in silver pointy heels that brought her almost to the height of his nose. She shifts uncomfortably under his headed gaze, feeling naked and exposed. She crosses her arms across her chest, causing the creamy rise of her cleavage to swell. This does not escape his notice.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” she rejoins archly. At his non-response, she prattles to fill the awkward silence. “I was supposed to be meeting Ethan over an hour ago and he’ll be waiting with no idea where I am and I have no way of contacting him and I should have just left these stupid files until Thursday but no, I just had to have them tonight because God forbid I don’t do any work and actually relax on my vacation and now it’s New Year’s Eve and I’m stuck in a basement elevator with…with…” she gestures helplessly, realizing she had never asked his name.

“Mulder. Fox Mulder,” he supplies helpfully, looking even more bemused.

Fox Mulder. She knew that name; everyone did. The golden boy of the Violent Crimes Section, his profiling skills had earned him the nickname “Spooky” at the academy.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. You must think I’m insane.” She places her head in her hands with a soft groan of embarrassment, fair skin reddening. Here she is, trapped in an elevator with the infamous Spooky Mulder and somehow she manages to be the crazy one.  

Way to go, Dana. Make a fool of yourself in front of an attractive elevator stranger. Attractive? You have a boyfriend, Dana. A boyfriend who is probably freaking out right now because he doesn’t know where you are.


10:36 PM

Fox Mulder cracks a sunflower seed between his teeth and smiles down at his tiny elevator partner, suddenly finding himself distracted by the escaped curls from the chignon on the nape of her neck. His long fingers twitch as he fights the urge to brush them back. He’d intended for his question to be entirely innocuous, but he’d be lying if he said wasn’t enjoying watching her stumble over herself like a baby bird, all fluff and innocence.

His smile fades when she turns her face to look up at him. He’s taken aback by the sheer fierceness of the blue flame, exactly the same hue as the gown that sheathed her lithe body.

“I’m Dana Scully. It’s nice to meet you, Fox.”

He meets her proffered hand, unable to tear his eyes from her crimson lips as they slide over the syllables of his detested first name.


He almost jerks his hand back at the first touch of her skin on his. He could swear he’s been burned. Was the audible crack of static electricity between them simply a result of the dry winter air or something more?

“Likewise” He swallows hard.

Scully reluctantly drops her hand and her eyes from his. There’s only so long you can keep someone you just met in a polite handshake before it turns into impolite hand holding. She steps back into the corner, awkwardly staring at her feet, unsure of what to say next, silence blooming in the space between them. Did he feel it too? That spark between them? Had it been all in her head?

“So, who’s Ethan?” Mulder’s voice snaps her from her reverie. She lifts her head to find him still fixing her with that bemused gaze, all bright eyes and pouty lips twisting their way around another seed.

“He’s…um…my…uh…boyfriend.” The expression on his face doesn’t change, but Scully is sure she sees a flash of disappointment darken his eyes. “He’s a journalist.”

“Oh…that’s nice.”

Really Mulder? ‘That’s nice’? An Oxford education and esteemed psychology degree and that’s the best you can do?

That uncomfortable silence fills the elevator car again.

10:45 PM

“Maybe we should try the phone again?” Mulder offers. His long body leans across her to pick up the emergency phone and Scully finds her eyes drawn to the wide planes of his shoulders stretching under his dress shirt. “Nope. Nothing.”


He’s suddenly standing much closer to her than he had before, so close she could reach out and touch his chest. Which she will not do. Because he is an elevator stranger. And she has a boyfriend.

“Don’t worry; I’m sure someone will be along soon to fix it. Unless a shadowy government agent cuts the cable and we plunge to our death first,” he monotones.

The lack of humor in his voice gives her the unsettling impression that he’s not joking.

“Somehow I think we’d probably survive the one floor drop,” she retorts, tipping her chin to look at him. “And besides, despite what all your action hero movies may tell you, it’s nearly impossible for an elevator to plummet in freefall. Elevator cables are regularly inspected and rarely break and even if they did almost all elevators have at least four cables, one of which is strong enough to hold up the entire car. And say your shadowy government agent somehow managed to cut all the cables, there are breaking systems activated by a mechanical speed gauge, which clamp the rails the run down the inside of the shaft. And if this nefarious villain somehow destroyed the safeties too, the friction from the shaft rails and air pressure underneath the car would greatly decrease the speed until you ultimately hit the built-in shock absorber that would cushion the impact at the bottom of the elevator shaft. It’s simple physics, really.”

His lips twitch of their own accord. Of course, simple physics indeed. He likes women who know things.

She finishes her diatribe to find him staring at her with that frustrating smile again. She hates it. She hates how it makes her cheeks burn and stomach flip. There you go again, Dana, just rambling on for no reason. Again.  If he didn’t think you were a freak before, he certainly does now. Maybe you should be the one they call “Spooky”.

“So I shouldn’t jump right before we hit the ground?”

“Only if you want broken bones.”

He wonders what else she knows.

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re a doctor then.”

He wonders what she knows about chemistry.

“I guess so.”

Mulder pulls back abruptly and clears his throat, moving to lounge against the elevator railing, long arms stretched to either side of him, not meeting her eyes.

10:55 PM

Scully eases down into the corner and pulls the heeled shoes from her feet with a slight wince. They are not the most comfortable of shoes, but they are gorgeous and when she had seen them in the store window, she couldn’t resist them. Besides, Melissa is always telling her she lacks a sense of whimsy and that a bit of impulsivity is good for a person.

An unexpected shiver courses through her. She had been so distracted fighting off the inappropriate thoughts featuring the attractive elevator stranger, she hadn’t noticed the dropping temperature.

“Are you cold?” Mulder asks, staring down at her from his perch, brow furrowed in concern.

“Oh no,” another shiver interrupts her nonchalant shrug. “I’m fine.”

Mulder extends his coat to her. “Here, take this. I’m not using it.”

“No, I couldn’t. I’m sure you’ll want it eventually. I’m fine, honestly. It’s my own fault, really, for leaving mine in the car. I wasn’t expecting to be here this long.”

“Take it,” he insists with a teasing smile. “Before your lips turn blue.”

Unless you want me to warm you some other way… damn it, Mulder. Who are you, Frohike? Pull yourself together. She has a boyfriend.

He crouches down and drapes the coat across her back, his hand lingering on her shoulder longer than necessary. It engulfs her petite frame and she shifts infinitesimally closer to him under the pretense of drawing the coat tighter around her herself. He pretends not to notice. It’s warm from his body and smells like him, dark and woodsy and undeniably masculine.

She smiles gratefully up at him before dropping her eyes, inexplicably shy, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” If his New England upbringing had taught him anything, it was how to be a gentleman. He sits down next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

11:02 PM

“So…what are you reading?” Mulder gestures to the file in her lap. “Anything good?”

“Cadaveric heat rigor in cases of self-immolation”

“That sounds like cheery holiday reading. Certainly gives a new meaning to ‘chestnuts roasting on an open fire’.”

Scully laughs; Mulder decides in that instant that it’s something he needs to hear again.

“I’m a medical doctor. I did my residency in forensic medicine and now I teach at the Academy.”

“A doctor?” She nods at him and he leans over to whisper lowly in her ear, “So, Dr. Scully, have you ever performed an alien autopsy?”

She laughs again, even louder this time, the sound reverberating in the small metal car. His stomach somersaults and he grins over at her. Yeah, he really likes that sound. He wasn’t kidding about the autopsy though.

11:14 PM

Mulder shifts uncomfortably on the hard ground of the elevator car. The chill that had settled in the car shows no signs of abating and the temperature continues to drop. He hunches his shoulders against the goosebumps scattering down the slope of his neck.  

“See? I knew you be cold eventually,” Scully ribs lightheartedly.

“Me? Cold? Nah. I’m far too manly to be taken down by something as insignificant as a minute drop in temperature,” he declares.

Scully rolls her eyes at him, reaching out a finger to trail the goosebumps on side of his neck in proof. He shivers, but not from the chill of the air.

“Uh huh. You can save the macho act for another time, Fox. It’s only going to get colder as the night goes on. I might be a doctor, but I can’t bring you back from the dead if you freeze to death,” she smiles. “Come on, we can at least share the coat.”

Scully slides the coat from her shoulders and moves closer to him, her thigh resting along the length of his. She spreads it across their laps, but quickly realizes it isn’t large enough to cover both of them. She wraps her arms around her top half, now exposed to the cold air. Mulder looks over at her, feeling slightly guilty that he’s the reason she’s no longer snuggly and warm. The sight of her wrapped in his clothes did things to him. Inappropriate things. Things one should not be thinking about a girl with a boyfriend.

Slowly, cautiously, as if to gauge her reaction, he reaches his arm around her and rubs his large hand up and down her thin upper arm, shifting her even closer. She goes completely still, but doesn’t move away.

“Jesus, your skin is still like ice,” he chuckles, the friction increasing between them.


Scully sighs almost imperceptibly and her eyes slide closed a hair longer than a blink should last. His warmth feels so good against her; she wants to bury herself in it.

Mulder rotates his upper body and opens his arms to her wordlessly, his eyes reflecting a silent invitation. Scully hesitates, unsure of the proper social protocol of such a situation and unsure of how it makes her feel.

“Just for warmth,” she clarifies in the sternest doctor voice she can manage.

She crawls into his lap and he pulls her into his chest, tucking her head snuggly under his collarbone. She shifts the train of her dress so she can pull her knees towards her chest. The coldness of her tiny hands seeps through his shirt as they settle over his breastbone and she can feel the rapid flutter of his heartbeat thrumming through the tips of her fingers. He draws the coat back over them and wraps his arms around her. One arm rests one across her shoulders on top of the coat to ensure it stays tucked up against her. The other is under the coat, directly against her curled body, his large hand splayed across her exposed lower back like it somehow knows it belongs there.  

Mulder has to remind himself to breathe. Her soft hair is inches from his nose, the floral of her shampoo wafting towards him; he wants to bury himself in it.

“Of course, Dr. Scully,” he replies. “What else would it be for?”

The answer they both know hangs unwillingly in the air between them.


11:26 PM

The rumbling of his chest reverberates through her body as he enthusiastically expounds a dizzying array of complex theories. When she had asked him a few moments ago what he was doing here so late on New Year’s Eve himself, she’d expected a witty quip about psych profiles and serial killers not taking vacations, but instead found herself the audience of a sunflower seed fueled soliloquy on the inherently flawed nature of the Fermi Paradox and all twenty-one possible explanations for the lack of evidence of extraterrestrial lifeforms.

The soft weight of her body in his lap is making it hard to focus, very hard. He’s disconcerted by how familiar and right it feels with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. It’s been so long since he has held anyone like this, felt the warmth of physical human connection. He’d forgotten how much he misses it. Mulder struggles to keep a cohesive narrative as he continues to ramble. He’s sure he sounds insane at this point. Another thing he’d learned from that New England upbringing: blathering on about the intricacies of alien morphology doesn’t tend to impress the ladies.  

Always living up to your nickname, aren’t you Spooky? Fantastic.

Scully really does try to pay attention to what he’s saying, but she’s constantly distracted by the pout of his lips wrapping themselves around words like ‘interstellar’, ‘Arecibo’, and ‘synchronous gauge’. His one hand idly trails over his coat, punctuated by sporadic gestures into the air to emphasize his thoughts, and she can feel his touch even through thick wool. She shifts and his arms instinctively tighten around her, the thumb of his other hand never breaking from its rhythmic sweeps across her the soft skin of her lower back.

“Are you warming up yet?” he breaks from his monologue to look down at her.

“I’m much better now, thanks,” she casts a small smile up at him.

Neither of them dares to move. The ceasing of the steady rise and fall of his chest tells her that she isn’t the only one who stopped breathing. She thinks she sees something flicker briefly in his eyes again before he pulls back and resumes talking aliens and neutrino signals.


11:59 PM

Mulder tips his wrist to look at the time, before extending the watch towards Scully. “Hey Dana, look, it’s almost midnight.”

“Really? We’ve been in here that long?” Scully peers at the watch face, shifting in his lap and flexing her ankles.

“The New Year shall be upon us in 10…9…8…7…” She tilts her head back to look at him. Her eyes catch his and do not waver, his face slowly lowering toward hers. He’s so close she can taste the salty sunflower tang of his warm breath. They know this is wrong, but are powerless to stop it. The unbreakable attraction of north and south poles pull them closer and closer; it’s simple physics. Or was it chemistry?


With a sudden surge of reconnected electricity, the elevator car jolts back to life, breaking them from their spell. The force jerks them away from each other and Mulder tightens his grip on her to keep her from being thrown across the car.

“Are you okay?” His brow furrows again and Scully resists the compulsion to smooth the creases away with her lips.

“Yeah,” she stammers, unsure whether her heart is racing from their almost-kiss or the unexpected restart of the elevator. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

“I’m good.” He reluctantly releases her from his arms and stands, shrugging on his coat. She slides back into her heels and he offers a hand to help her up. The elevator sounds their arrival and the metal doors slide open. Her hand falls from his. Both know they will never speak of this again.

January 1st 1992 12:01 AM

Scully steps out of the elevator to the shouting of a familiar voice.

“Look, I know she’s here! She said she had to pick some files up and then was coming to meet me. And she never showed up! That was four hours ago. I know her car is still in the garage, so where is she?!”

Ethan is struggling with two security guards at the end of the hall, desperately trying to get past them. His face breaks with relief when he sees her coming down the hall.


Scully flashes her badge to the guards and they release him with annoyed shakes of their heads. Ethan sprints the rest of the way down the hall and pulls her into his arms.

“Dana! Are you okay?! What happened? Where have you been?!”

“I’m fine, really. The power went out and I was stuck in the elevator with…” she turns to gesture towards Mulder, only to find that he is no longer there.

12:02 AM

Mulder takes the stairs two at a time back to his basement office, determined to find out everything he can about the enigmatic elevator partner currently consuming his thoughts. He combs through the FBI’s personnel database until her file appears on his computer screen. Dana Scully: 28, undergraduate degree in physics from the University of Maryland, medical degree from Stanford, and currently an instructor at the Academy. The intrigued smile on his face grows when he comes upon a copy of her senior thesis, ‘Einstein’s Twin Paradox, A New Interpretation’. He was right. She does know things. He tucks his face into the soft woolen collar of his coat; it still smells like her.

March 6th 1992, 8:15 AM

“Are you familiar with an agent named Fox Mulder?”

Dana Scully freezes in panic for the length of her skipped heartbeat before recovering quickly with a smile.

“Yes, I am.”

What did they know? Had someone seen us? Did Fox Mulder say something about our completely platonic New Year’s elevator tryst? Surely there couldn’t be an FBI rule against huddling for warmth?

“How so?”

“By reputation,” Scully hedges carefully, praying her face didn’t reveal anymore.

8:21 AM

Fox Mulder shuffles through slides on his desk, looking for best ones to illustrate the mysterious spate of unexplained deaths cropping up across the country, connected only by the strange raised marks on the victims’ backs and an unidentifiable substance in the surrounding tissue. When Division Chief Blevins had informed him of his new partner, it took everything in him not to cuss out loud. Of course it was her. He should have known she was too good to be true. Just like Diana had been. It wasn’t random coincidence or magnetic fate that had drawn her to his hallway that night. No, she had been sent there to spy on him, to debunk his work, to shut him down.

8:33 AM

The staccato clack of stilettos on tile floor echoes through the empty basement corridor of the Hoover Building. Scully clips briskly down the hall, her briefcase slung over her shoulder. When Blevins had informed her she had been assigned to the X-Files, with none other than her attractive elevator stranger, she thought for sure that it was some kind of joke. The serious unsmiling faces of the three men in the office told her otherwise. She arrives at the office door bearing no name.

Would he say anything about that night? Will he even remember me?

She hesitates for a moment. Willing her face to betray nothing, she takes a breath and forces a neutral expression. She raises her fist and knocks.

“Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” his muffled voice comes through the door.

She opens the door to find him bent over his cluttered desk, carefully examining slides on a light tray. He’s surrounded by stacks of binders and files, manila folders stuffed to the brim with scrawled notes on errant papers; pictures of skulls and humanoid corpses adorn the walls, along with a prominent poster of a UFO flying over trees declaring ‘I Want to Believe’. The dim lights cast sallow shadows across his face when he turns his head to look at her, still all oversized glasses, gaudy tie, and floppy hair she wants to brush out of his eyes. His cool steady gaze offers no acknowledgement.

“Agent Mulder. I’m Dana Scully; I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

She extends her hand. When his skin meets hers, she could swear she’s been burned.

key reasons i love koltira deathweaver

-when u first meet him he is half-naked, beaten, & chained to a rack 

-he is less angry abt that situation than the fact that you came to get him out of it

-he draws fire off of you when you escape the horror basement the scarlet crusade stuck him in

-tormented by shadow demons (hot)

-good mix of humility, selflessness, and salt

-came home from war to find not only the figurative locks changed but the entire species changed as well

-acknowledged that being free of the lich king does not free him from all the bad shit he’s done or the gross thing he’s become

-miserable fucking pile of manpain stuck in an OTT cycle of enslavement and suffering

-good hair that retains its majesty even in death

-literally cannot relate to a single goddamn person except the guy who fucking killed him

-badass sword


-ultimately sacrifices everything because he didn’t want to fight his single friend

by the skin of your teeth: part nine




here we go.

this is a long one and it’s pretty intense, warnings include: violence/blood, psychological manipulation, suicide ideation and baiting, derealization, self-loathing, claustrophobia, lots of swearing and Bill generally doing what Bill does. any other tags anyone needs, just let me know.

also considerably more italics and dashes than any one person should be allowed to use, but that’s a whole other issue. 

I reformatted Bill’s dialogue partway through and I think I caught everything but do let me know if I missed anything. 

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