the only man i need in my life is bill nye

Underneath the cut is a guide to WHAT BEING EXTREMELY WEALTHY IS LIKE. I did not write this. I saw this on reddit. It is cut into net worths. I just figured it would be helpful for some of you since rich characters are popular. This guide splits it up in an understandable way! Please like/reblog this guide if you found it helpful!

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the purest specimen of truth

this is actually for @leiascully​‘s @xfficchallenges​: the fic you’d never write. normally i don’t write “everything was beautiful and nothing hurt” william fics, let alone fics where he’s a teeeeeen! so i did that, but i was also at the science march in d.c. this weekend and obvi i had to fic an au where scully was there so…also, all the signs mentioned herein were actually witnessed irl haha also, the title of scully’s academic paper is based in real science but to my knowledge doesn’t exist…yet.

“What about I was told there’d be pie — but it’s the symbol for pi?”

Scully sighed without looking up at him, though she did admittedly choke back a smile which she wasn’t about to reward him with.

“That is clever,” she said, tapping the capped end of a Sharpie against her temple, “But I was partial to your original idea.”

He chuckled, “At the start of every disaster movie there’s a scientist being ignored?

She does smile then, peering at him overtop her reading glasses, which have slowly but surely become a permanent fixture atop her head over the last few years.

“Well, it’s true!” He bellows, playfully slapping his hand down atop the dining room table, “The Core, Dante’s Peak, The Day After Tomorrow, Twister —  that one we saw in theaters where they did an autopsy on Gwyneth Paltrow — ?”

Contagion,” she said, uncapping a marker with her teeth, “Which was impressively accurate, by the way. Not just the autopsy scene but later, the visual showing the way in which new viruses are formed by the recombination of DNA or RNA from different species of animal hosts?”  

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, watching her squint intently down at her poster board, outlining the letters with a pathologist’s steady hand. He reached for a Sharpie, his finger grazing the back of her hand as he did. “So,” he said, flicking the cap off with his thumb, “Are you nervous?”

Her hand froze and she visibly stiffened. He immediately regretted bringing it up but as was his wont, he couldn’t help himself. 

“Yes,” she said after an agonizingly long moment of silence.“I still don’t understand why they asked me to speak,” she muttered, refusing to look up at him.

Mulder scoffed, “Scully — you fucking cured Tay-Sachs.”

“No,” she snapped, pointing her Sharpie at him, “I did not cure it. Not yet.

Recombiant Adeno-Associated Virus PHP.B Serotype for Cross-Correctional Enzyme Transfer Across the Blood Brain Barrier in Lipid Storage Disorders,” he recited on a single breath, “Sounds like a cure to me.”

She gave him a warm smile, “You memorized the title of my paper?”

“What can I say, I’m your biggest fan,” he grinned. She blushed, which of course only made him grin harder.

“I wish you’d look over my speech…” she said softly, picking up her marker again and retracing a giant letter S.

“I told you, Scully, they don’t want a speech from Fox Mulder: former FBI agent and profiler turned New York Times best-selling, National Book Award-winning author,” he said, though not unkindly, “They want a speech from former FBI agent, medical doctor, professor, surgeon, American Medical Association award-winning, guest-lecture giving, honorary degree-having, enigmatic, Dr. Dana Katherine Scully. Who also happens to be my best friend, the love of my life, and the mother of my child,” he said, “And a damn fine shot, too.”

“Oh, Mulder…” she tutted, shaking her head. As if on cue, they heard booming footfalls on the stairs and a second later Will skidded into the room, brandishing a poster board.

At 16, he was just about Mulder’s height and just as lanky and would probably be taller than him by the end of the summer; if his propensity for eating a week’s worth of groceries in a weekend was any indication of his basic metabolic rate and robust genetic profile.

Will cleared his throat, feigning seriousness, but his eyes sparkled with his father’s particular brand of indolence, “Brace yourselves for the unremitting sheen of my brilliance.”

Scully snorted. Mulder and Will threw her identical, indignant looks.

“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hands up in surrender, “You are your father’s son, Will. No doubt about it.”

Mulder nudged her foot with his under the table, “Was there ever really any doubt, Scully?”

She gave him a long look, which did not get passed Will. Not much did. 

“I detect a rather abrupt change in atmosphere,” Will said, licking his finger and holding it in the air as if to sense a gust of wind.

“Son,” Mulder said gravely, not taking his eyes off Scully, “There’s something we have to tell you.”

Scully frowned, but before she could speak she saw the faintest glimmer in Mulder’s eye and relaxed a bit.

“What?” Will said, slumping down in the chair closest to his father, letting his sign drop to the floor.

“William…Uncle Walter …is your real dad,” Mulder said, his mouth twitching around a grin.

“That explains why I find you and Mom so ridiculous,” Will said, rolling his eyes in with such form that it rivaled even his mother’s practiced art.

“No, that’s just ‘cuz you’re an angsty teen,” Mulder said, ruffling his son’s hair. Will blushed at the childishness of the gesture — more so because, even as a young man, he still craved his father’s approval and affection and was relieved to be in receipt of it.

“Let’s see your sign, Will,” Scully said, capping a nearby Sharpie that was teetering precariously over the edge of the dining room table.

Will reached for the posterboard, brandishing it high above his head. With a flourish, he turned it so they could read its words as he proclaimed them.

SCIENTISTS ARE PRO-TESTING!” He bellowed, and while he expected his father to laugh heartily and give him a high-five, neither of them expected that his mother would laugh. Certainly no so hard.

After a minute or two went by, Will and Mulder both eyed Scully with a kind of nervous fascination, wondering if perhaps they would have to sedate her.

“Have you…have you ever seen her like this?” Will said, his voice low.

Mulder didn’t take his eyes off Scully, who had lowered her head onto the table, collapsed like a pop-tent. Her shoulders still shaking and her muffled giggles getting lost against the polished cherrywood.

“Once,” he said slowly, “But she was drugged.”

This only made Scully laugh harder. When she finally lifted her head, her face was a hot shade of blush-pink and sallow with tear stains.

“I appreciate the encouragement, Mom,” Will said, “But there’s no need to stroke my ego that much. It’s a good sign but it’s not that good.”

Scully reached up to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her faded Quantico sweatshirt — which was older than Will by about a decade. She sighed deeply, then looked at them both through damp eyes and with a warm, almost cherubic smile.

“No, no, it is a good sign, Will. It’s just…” she sighed again, then drew in a long, sobering breath, “After all your father and I have been through, all that we’ve seen, the things that we’ve fought for…” she looked at Mulder, then. “The FBI sent me to your father because of my faith in science. They believed that science and reason would take him down. It didn’t, though. If anything it became an asset to his cause, and somewhere along the line I became — and so did the science I brought with me — the enemy.”

She lowered her eyes to her own sign, which suddenly seemed incapable of capturing everything she wanted — and needed — to say.

“The science helped sometimes,” Mulder said softly, “But you were the real strength, Scully.”

She smiled up at him as he reached across the table to squeeze her hand, “I guess I just find it preposterous that we have to protest this at all,” she said, shrugging slightly, “That the persecution we faced as a result of our pursuit of the truth has somehow become so much bigger than just us, than the X-files.”

“This whole political milieu is a freakin’ X-file,” Will grumbled.

“Nice 10-point vocab word there, dude.” Mulder said, clapping his son on the back.

“What can I say — my dad writes books.” Will shrugged.

Mulder beamed at Scully, who had rested her chin on her hand.

“Mulder,” she said, her voice hoarse from her laughing jag, “You never told me Skinner was a writer.”

“There must be almost 50,000 people out there,” Scully breathed, her nails digging into the skin of Mulder’s left hand. They could hear the roar of the crowd from beyond the stage — or possibly the rain, which was coming down in sheets. Of course, given that it was a crowd of scientists, they were prepared with slickers and umbrellas, upon which many had inscribed: “Science predicted rain today.”

“You’re gonna be great,” he said, kissing the side of her head which was damp with sweat or rain water or both.

“At least you’re not after Bill Nye,” Will offered, “No one wants to follow him.”

Scully groaned and pressed herself into Mulder’s chest.

“That’s true,” Mulder said, rubbing her back, “Plus, if you screw it all up, no one will remember because they’ll just remember Bill Nye and the fact that Thomas Dolby is gonna sing She Blinded Me With Science.”

“Wait, what song is this?” Will said, digging his phone out of his pocket presumably to YouTube it.

“It’s about your mother,” Mulder said, “Especially the lyric: she’s tidied up and I can’t find anything.”

“Mulder, I want a divorce,” Scully said from somewhere under Mulder’s chin.

“We’re not married, Scully.”

She pulled her head back from his coat and looked up at him, “Fox William Mulder, will you marry me?”

“Sure,” he grinned, running his thumb along her chin.

“Ok,” she said, pressing herself back into his chest again. Then, “Mulder—?”

“Yeah, Scully?”

“I want a divorce.”

The gray sky opened up over the undulating crowd.  If anyone looked up, they’d drown.  

“She looks — ” Will said, standing next to his father backstage, watching his mother at the podium.

“Brilliant? Amazing? Powerful? Divine?” Mulder finished.

Will snorted, “I was gonna say scared shitless.

Though her voice was steady and clear, from his vantage point Mulder could see what the audience could not: how Scully was anxiously lifting and lowering her stockinged foot from her sleek high heel, running the front of her toes along the back of her calf.

God, he was proud of her. God, he loved her.

“…to shed light on what has typically been sequestered away to labs and libraries and lecture halls. To put on full display the humanity that has for centuries stoked the fire of scientific inquiry, refined it, rejoiced in its revelations and more often, endured the frustrations of its arcanum.”

She looked up from her notes, then, and not out at the audience — but to her right, to him and to their son. The next words she spoke, he understood, she had not written for the masses, or for history — but for them.

“The truth exists whether we believe it or not. It endures even the most violent scrutiny and ruthless persecution. As we persist in seeking it, may we find solace in knowing that there is no person, no institution, no government, with jurisdiction over it. It can be suppressed, hidden, censored, altered or misappropriated, refuted and denied,” she paused, looking back to her audience who waited on baited breath, “What those who try to manipulate it beyond recognition, who try to eradicate it and replace it with calculated imitations, fail to recognize is that when all of those measures fail – and they will fail — what remains is the purest specimen of truth.”

She looks back at Mulder, then. At their son. And she smiles, “And it is those of us who want to believe such a truth can be revealed to us who will one day find it, and bring it into the light.”

The signs as random sentences from my life.

Aries- “Do you think there’s such a thing as crocs with built-in heelies?”

Taurus- “The only man I truly need in my life is Bill Nye the Science guy.”

Gemini- “Why do mothers record giving birth? Like, here, watch a small organism come out of my vag.”

Cancer- “Do you think Flo from Progressive is single?” “Of course not! I mean- look at her!”

Leo- “You say I smell like mustard and then expect me to welcome you back with open arms.”

Virgo- “I always knew that woman was a tire-fucker.”


Scorpio- “It’s time to finally live my life-long dream of fucking a pumpkin.”

Sagittarius- *Flickering the bathroom lights on-and-off* PARTY! PARTY! PARTY! PARTY!

Capricorn- “Me and my bro used The Hunger Games simulator and just did a bunch of random celebrities and characters. Clifford the Big Red Dog got murdered by Kim Kardashian’s left butt cheek.”

Aquarius- “I’ve been living off of nothing but strawberry Go-gurt for the past three days.”

Pisces- “My biggest and darkest secret is that when I was 5 or 6 I had a crush on Krypto the super-dog. Don’t tell anyone.”

Lost and Found

menolly-hestia Westallen 1 or 7

“Come over here and make me.”

“I almost lost you.”

A smidge long for a drabble, but fun to think about, right? And by fun I mean unmitigated evil, as always.

Lost and Found

Iris shouted, “Dawn Nora West, you need to wait up!”

“Come over here and make me!” her twelve-year-old daughter shouted back, then took off through the crowds thronging the science center.

“Sooooooo grounded,” Iris said through her teeth. “So very, very grounded.”

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Fool's Gold (Chapter 11)

Pairings: Hollstein, Laferry, Zeta Society

Word Count: 11,356

Summary: HSAU Chapter 11, or the one where Laura proves she’s an avid feminist.

[A/N: carmilla hsau will be co-written with felixdawkins. Track #carmilla hsau for updates on the au and #hsau updates for chapter posts.

Can also be read on AO3.]

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 ]

She can’t stop the laugh that erupts from her throat, but finds that it quickly turns into a sputter of coughs after reading the next message.

Laura (4:25pm): Anyway, I just got a new bed..wanna come over and help me test it out?? ;)


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Realistic New Year’s Resolutions for Reluctant Adults

1. Remember to lift your wiper blades if there’s snow in the forecast. Sometimes, you know there’s a real adult nearby just by looking at context clues. Do you see a car parked uphill with the front tires turned away from the curb? You know damn well a grown ass adult parked that car. Did someone just write you a check and actually fill in the memo blank with something other than “pornography” or “my butt”? That bill of exchange was definitely written by someone who’s really got their shit together. Are there light flurries coming down out of the sky, but yours is the only car on the street whose wiper blades aren’t sticking straight up in the air? Then I hope you take the extra time you’ll require to get your car cleaned off after six inches of snowfall to think about the myriad ways in which you’re disappointing your parents. (Addendum: please remember to put said wipers back down before you use them, otherwise when you turn them on it’ll look like your car is frantically trying to wave “hello” to someone.)

2. Don’t drink quite as much. Mmhmm yes, I know. Easier said than done. But the older you get, the harsher your hangovers are. A night of drinking that would have had you leaping like a sprightly gay gazelle out of bed in the morning at 21 has you flolloping sadly out of bed like a lasagna noodle that’s been soaked in vinegar and then had its feelings hurt. Basic corporeal functions are so difficult during an adult hangover that it feels like your entire body is slave to a puppet master who has no idea how humans are supposed to walk, talk, eat, or function. Additionally, drunk adult texts are soooooooo much sadder than drunk teen or twenty-something texts. “omg i love youssoomch plz lets go to CANADAA togeter (seventeen heart-eye emojis)” evolves into “what even is the point of anything tho” or “jus plz txt me when you home so Iknowyoure not dead (skull emoji).” It’s not pretty. Morning You will appreciate Last Night You’s prescience re: the existential horror of a morning after too much whiskey.

3. Get rid of some clothes. Wait until your lowest point of the week, emotionally. No, seriously. This is the absolute best time to get rid of clothes you don’t really wear, because you’re not feeling particularly confident or optimistic about anything,and that will translate into not giving a shit about most of your clothes. (It’s sort of like the “don’t go grocery shopping when you’re hungry” logic.) Feeling generally shitty about life, decisions you’ve made re: life, life’s general trajectory, the ineffable knowledge that the one life you have will be over in a cosmic blink of an eye? Great! Then you definitely don’t need that argyle cardigan you bought five years ago because you thought it made you look “professorial.” And your collection of seventeen v-neck tees in a variety of colors could be pared down to a respectable five and you wouldn’t even miss the other twelve at all because you’ll be too busy thinking about global warming and America’s failed justice system!

4. Spend more time with puppies. Puppies get it, man. They’re just hanging out, doing their thing, chewing on their own feet, not giving two craps about the world. Whatever’s in front of them at any particular moment is the coolest most wonderful thing ever and it must be sniffed incessantly and then maybe sat on or else it could disappear/become sad/fly away. Find a bunch of puppies to squish up into your face in 2016. If that doesn’t drastically improve your outlook on life, then I don’t know how you’re even reading this because you’re clearly a brick or a slab of cement with no feelings.

5. Be less judgy. This may require a pretty drastic paradigm shift for you if you’re inclined toward the belief that yours are the most important opinions, proper tastes, or ways of living life. If this is in fact the case, then please put this item at the top of the list as it is of the utmost importance for everyone else’s sake that you change this mode of thinking pronto. But you, like pretty much everybody else on earth, probably just lean slightly toward a natural solipsism that, if left unchecked, can poop little droppings of judgment out its butt and leave them disagreeably on the carpet for others to step in. And that’s ok! Just try to tell yourself a few times a day that the fact that you don’t like something or disagree with an opinion doesn’t mean others aren’t entitled to like it or agree with it. Not super into Star Wars? Cool, great, awesome, who cares. Not super into people who are super into Star Wars? I’m sure that gives you some modicum of comfort while you sit around being a huge bummer, but zip it. Being super excited about something puts more positive vibes out there in the world than being a buzzkill does. So less haterade, more “OMG YASS,” please.

6. Learn all the words to The Animaniac’s 50 states and capitals song. Not only would it make for a great party trick, serve you well at most standard bar trivia nights, and woo any and all prospective romantic conquests toward you like you’re a sexy and erudite tractor beam, it would also place you among the, I dunno, 2% of Americans who can name all the states and capitals in under three minutes. SUPER worth your time.

7. Find at least one friend with whom you can invent an elaborate secret high five.The more complex the better. I bet this would feel so cool.

Katie Sisneros