working-wardrobe

sure as the sky is blue, i am a girl like you: a barbie as the princess and the pauper au where princess padmé runs into the woman who designs and works on her royal wardrobe, sabé. the both of them, wanting just a moment’s reprieve and recognizing how alike they look, decide that, just for a few days, they’ll trade lives after teaching the other the ins and outs of their jobs. 

neither of them expected that they’d want their lives to be entwined forever. 

*with tugsuu idersaikhan as sabé and khulan chuluun as padmé

6

So, now that Orphan Black is almost over, can we get Maria Doyle Kennedy to play Lena’s biological mother in Supergirl?

I think she would be perfect for the role! Lillian said that Lena looked a lot like her mother and in my opinion Maria and Katie kinda look alike with their dark hair and green eyes,

And not that it matters but Maria and Katie have a lot of things in common! They’re both Irish and they both lived in County Wicklow. They both graduated from Trinity College and they probably even know each other since Katie was working in the wardrobe department of The Tudors while Maria was part of the cast. 

Originally posted by protectlenaluthor

She could totally pass as her mother.

Dress you up in my love (Complete)

Harry is single, and more than anything wants to find love. Agreeing to sign up to a dating website was a bad, bad idea. Niall’s bad, bad idea. Louis is single, but has no interest in relationships. Or so he tells himself.

Harry is a lawyer, his boss, Nick, happens to give him a bonus, which he decides to splurge on a new work wardrobe. Louis is a frustrated designer, working as a personal shopper at Selfridges. Louis happens to be working on the day a very beautiful, but out of his depth, new customer ambles into their department in need of advice. Louis might have just found the muse he never knew he was looking for.

Featuring: Sophia as Louis’ colleague, with a somewhat unhealthy obsession with his love life, whilst being oblivious when it comes to her own. Liam as the ‘IT bloke from downstairs’ with the mother of all crushes on Sophia, Niall as Harry’s sport’s writer flatmate, who spends most of his time making Harry’s life as complicated as possible, Zayn as Louis’ flatmate and lifelong best friend, whose cat, Noodle/Princess/Princess Noodle, loves Louis more than she loves him. And Nick as Harry’s boss and one of Louis’ regular customers: is Imelda Marcos reborn.

Rating - Explicit

Pairing - Harry and Louis

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9  / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20

February/March fic rec!

I suck, I know. I’m late. This is ridiculously short. 

(ok, it’s not short now, but it was before I added in some fics that are gathering dust in my inbox to be read. There’s more fics I haven’t read in this rec than the opposite. oops.)

The Morning After the Night Before (4K): Harry and Louis have more or less grown up together, even now as adults it’s tradition for their families to spend a few weeks in the summer at a beach house together. Problem One: Louis has been in love with Harry forever. Problem Two: It wont stop raining.

I Slam Therefore I Am (4K): Louis and Harry are both creative souls but they aren’t friends, not by a long shot. This is the Rival Slam Poets AU that no one asked for.

I Found A Love (4K): Or the one where Louis is a nerdy English major who may just run into his happily ever after while working his shift at the local library.

Come and Kiss Me Like the First Time (5K): Louis meets Harry at his sister’s wedding.

just the sound of your voice (6k): It’s just. Harry’s so fucking quiet during sex and now Louis’ obsession with it is…it’s incessant. Louis questions it day and night, the enigma of it buzzing around his head like an annoying mosquito — all of the reasons why he’s so quiet consuming every one of his waking thoughts. Like, maybe he turns into an alien during sex if he’s not really careful? So he has to concentrate so hard on not turning into another creature he’s effectively struck mute from it. Or maybe…maybe he’s like one of those people who’s into tantric sex, like Sting or a throwback from the 1960s? And when he’s about to orgasm he travels to another plane of existence or something.

Twelfth Night (6k): Queen Anne holds a masquerade ball to try and find matches for both her children on Twelfth Night. While anonymity reigns, Prince Harry spends the ball getting to know a handsome stranger. 

‘Til I Tasted You (15K): Louis is Harry Styles’ biggest fan. It doesn’t matter that Harry is famous for being a food blogger and Louis can’t cook to save his life. At least, until Harry offers to give Louis a cooking lesson. Then it matters just a teensy bit.

Carried Away Like Butterflies (17K): It was probably a huge mistake for Louis to let his former One Night Stand move into his spare room, especially when said One Night Stand doesn’t seem to remember him.

Then We Talk Slow (20K): A famous/non-famous AU in which Louis banters back and forth with his new record company on Twitter, only to find out that Harry is the man behind the tweets.

Dance Like Warriors On A Battlefield (20K): Down in the arena, the triumphant gladiator places his foot on the back of the loser, holding him there as he waits for instruction on his next move. Kill or let live. It’s barbaric, really, the bloodlust involved in this sport. Louis is pretty sure that if it wasn’t for his distaste for the killing there would be a lot more blood soaking that sand. As it is, his father rarely gives the kill order anymore. He gives the order to let the loser live. Louis rolls his eyes, turning away. He doesn’t miss the way the gladiator’s eyes linger on him.

Like Candy In My Veins (31K): Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.

All the Right Moves (32K): This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back. There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

The Reason Is You (37K): Louis is running out of time to find a summer job. His best friend offers him one that promises early mornings, late nights, long hours, and the best people he’ll ever meet. Lucky for Louis, one of those people is Harry Styles.

tangled up in you (45K): There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

Safe and Sound (You’ll Always Be) (58K): When a failed case and a guilty conscience leaves Harry more than a little lost, his boss presents him with a new, less taxing assignment to help him cope. An escape from all the madness is just what Harry needs to get his life back on track. It’s just too bad his new client has a grin like the devil, a pair of electric eyes that Harry simply can’t get over, and no intention whatsoever of letting him catch a break.

Feels Like Coming Home (60K): The last thing Harry Styles expects when he’s hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that’s exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn’t heard one word from Louis, and he’s moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he’s a chef, isn’t easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he’d left turn out to be not so easily forgotten.

When We Were Younger (76K): Sixteen year old Harry Styles’ world turns upside down when he logs on to gay teen chat to discover somebody has stolen his photos and used them as their own.

Perfect Storm (80K): What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding. Harry and Louis choose the latter.

Dress you up in my love (103K): Harry is single, and more than anything wants to find love. Agreeing to sign up to a dating website was a bad, bad idea. Niall’s bad, bad idea. Louis is single, but has no interest in relationships. Or so he tells himself. 

Harry is a lawyer whose boss, Nick, happens to give him a bonus, which he decides to splurge on a new work wardrobe. Louis is a frustrated designer, working as a personal shopper at Selfridges. Louis happens to be working on the day a very beautiful, but out of his depth, new customer ambles into their department in need of advice. Louis might have just found the muse he never knew he was looking for.

We Are Only Just Beginning (129K): In the dim light of a dorm kitchen, Harry Styles meets a boy who flips his life upside down. Three years later, he’s a senior in college, ready to take on the world with the love of his life by his side. And then Louis Tomlinson admits he doesn’t know what he wants to do after college after all, and Harry’s world flips again, this time not so pleasantly. He can’t imagine his life without Louis, but he’s starting to worry he might have to.

hiiii, here are a bunch of fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of february. I recommend that you read these great fics in march, if you haven’t already. there are SO many good and unique AUs this round, so please check them out!!

(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)


1. Saved Tonight (30k)**

Harry is the world’s most persistent seduction-baker, a questionable dog-sitter, and Louis’s biggest fan. Louis hasn’t written in years, is trying to pass loneliness off as cynicism, and absolutely hates his fans. It’s probably destiny.

2. Too Real to Fake It (82k)*

With seven years of blissful marriage behind them and four wonderfully unique kids to brag about, Harry and Louis seem to finally have life all figured out and under control. How much more real could it get?

Very real it turns out, when Harry reluctantly leaves home for a 5 day business trip leaving Louis to manage their rambunctious, hyperactive household. Do they really have it all under control or are they just faking it?

Featuring all the usual suspects, inside jokes, embarrassing moments and of course, Harry and Louis’ wild antics + the addition of their four equally wild and outrageous kids.

3. When You Look Like That (16k)*

“You… you still have the dress form I got you for your eighteenth birthday? You’ve kept it for ten years, Harry?” Louis’ eyes flick around Harry’s studio. It’s big and modern, with floor to ceiling windows that help flood the room in bright sunlight, just like the lobby. However, he can’t stop staring at the faded, but present, heart surrounding the “H + L” written delicately in Louis’ handwriting in the center of the mannequin.

Louis is a songwriter who is nominated for a Grammy and he needs a suit. Fast. He seeks out help from a very popular, very mysterious designer who just so happens to be his ex-boyfriend.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

some fic recs above 100k?

100k+ Larry Fic Rec

To find even more works that are 100k+ please refer to this list of basic fandom must reads. Those works will not be repeated on this list. The works on this list are all works I have read and they will be ordered by length, the shortest starting at 100k, the longest being 286k.

Resist Everything Except Temptation

The one where Louis is the commodore’s son who is forced to become a part of Harry’s crew when he is captured.

Through Eerie Chaos

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

Wings to Break Your Fall

Strip club AU. Harry’s work and family are keeping him busy. He really isn’t looking for a relationship, doesn’t want one. He just wants Louis. Problem is, Louis has other plans.

Keep reading

archie and cheryl dating would consist of:

  • red lipstick stains on his lips and his cheek and his neck and on the rim of his water bottle when he offers her a sip after practice
  • his beloved varsity jacket draped over her shoulders when she’s in her cheer outfit because let’s be real, fashion icon cheryl blossom would not wear it willy-nilly when there is potential outfit-clashing
  • (she does, however, make a habit of stealing his cardigans because they’re comfy and usually work with her wardrobe)
  • (speaking of fashion, graphic tees make her cringe and luckily archie doesn’t own many, but she lets it slide whenever he wears his spiderman shirts because it’s his favorite comic book in the world and it also happens to match her spider pins so whatever, it’s perfect)
  • archie fiercely defending cheryl at the drop of a hat
  • against her family and their classmates and even his friends from time to time, because it happens, it’s cheryl, there’s a lot of history, but veronica and kevin are open enough and betty and jughead are less so for reasons that he understands, but they make an effort for archie, and when polly gives birth and betty sees cheryl totally in love with the twins and there for polly, it’s easier to let the past be the past
  • archie talking his dad into letting cheryl stay for dinner and eventually staying some nights because her house is a hell hole and now that she’s confessed the extent of the bad blood between her and her parents, he wants to keep her as far away from that horror house for as long as possible
  • and yeah, i believe his dad would warm up to cheryl because she’s not her parents and when you learn to chip away at that wall she builds up he sees how vulnerable she is, how much she craves warmth and love and acceptance, and to just be wanted, and then he finds himself spoiling her a little
  • archie complimenting cheryl literally all the time, about anything and everything, because she gets this soft look in her eyes and it’s obvious that she didn’t get this kind of validation from her own family and has to teach herself to be confident, and she is and that’s great, but it’s nice to actually be told your worth instead of always having to convince yourself
  • on the flip side, cheryl doing the same with archie, praising his talents and his kindness and his big, big heart, because he’s always the first to put himself down and he shouldn’t always have to apologize for himself
  • cheryl is a Feminine Icon, okay, she’s no one’s property, but she likes wearing archie’s jerseys because he looks so damn happy to see her in his number and she really likes that
  • also it gets him all hot for her and she likes that too
  • speaking of which: archie always playing with the hem of her skirts when she’s straddling him when they makeout
  • because she’s always on top when they makeout, let’s be real
  • but, okay, maybe not always because sometimes she just likes how it feels to be held, likes the way archie lowers her all gently on his bed and kisses her soft and slow and sweet, and he towers over her like he’s trying to keep the rest of the world away
  • cheryl painting her toes on his bed while he messes with his guitar or does homework or plays video games with jughead
  • and on that note, cheryl and jughead being witty and catty with each other, but it’s actually kind of fun, and they’re also two different brands of cynicism and sarcasm and they kind of work together, too? and archie gets a kick out of it, just watches his girlfriend and his best friend bicker and get in full-blown debates at the dinner table while his dad shakes his head
  • archie and cheryl cuddled under a blanket in his backyard or on his porch while watching a movie on his laptop because it’s “like the drive-in” and she rolls her eyes but is actually very touched and he can tell
  • archie and cheryl sitting on the same side of the booth at Pop’s, sharing a strawberry milkshake
  • archie actually putting thought into his outfits because he knows fashion means a lot to cheryl, and jughead just rolls his eyes
  • archie constantly having to shoot apologetic looks when cheryl drops one of her infamous one-liners and then struts away, leaving everyone stunned in her wake, and archie is outwardly exasperated but inwardly amused by the whole thing
  • cheryl probably falls in love with archie before he falls in love with her because she’s always been so intense and had all this emotion in her and hasn’t had very many people care for her as genuinely as archie has and so of course she’s going to latch onto that, and archie feels like an ass for little while he’s still trying to catch up with her, but he knows it won’t take him long to get to that point too because it’s cheryl
  • the first time they say I Love You to each other is probably in the middle of a fight because of course they’re that dramatic
  • and like, when they fight, cheryl always storms away first and archie hates that it’s so easy for her to walk away, but eventually she admits that it’s because she hates when people leave her, so she has to be the one that leaves first because in her mind, maybe that’ll make it hurt a little less, and he knows he can’t promise not to walk away from her since he’s done it before (and yeah, he feels even guiltier about it now), so instead he promises that he’s always going to go after her and makes her promise to give him the chance to
  • basically: archie and cheryl could be everything together
  • and their aesthetic would always be on point

Why the fuck is it such a huge god damn SECRET to tell me if there’s a uniform/dresscode/etc in the interview?

Had one of those interviews about a year ago at a store I really loved (frequent shopper) where at the end knew I was hired unoffically… and kinda had an idea that workers wore black/white. At the end when the person asked me if I had any questions I asked if there was a dresscode for the position and was told “Oh, haha!! Don’t worry about it- we’ll get to it during your orientation, anything else?” So I was something like, “oh okay, but it’s like black, right?” and they go “kinda yeah” and moves on.

……… um NO bitch this is a pt-min wage job if I have to BUY clothes that are a certain color/length/style/etc I NEED to know that before I’m hired. It might not be a big deal to you hiring person with your manager’s salary…. but I can’t (and won’t????) buy an entire new wardrobe to work at your store, 10hr/wk, for 9$/hr. I wouldn’t classify that experience as necessarily shady… and I didn’t think much on it until after I left (I had heart eyes the entire time, for the chance to work at my fav store lol)… but wtf man, what’s an interview for if not to find out about the job??

Needless to say I was offered and turned down the job, but funny story…. cut to a little while ago I was sitting at a *$ kisok during a break chatting to the barista (we’ve kinda become aquantiences by default bc I always go there for free wifi+caffiene on my breaks lol) and it was dead there and they were cleaning a table and commented on my name tag which says where I work and they told me they also were offered a job there, went in for orientation and got SENT HOME FROM ORIENTATION because they came in nice black jeans/colorful professional shirt and it wasn’t in the dress code (B bottoms + b or w top- NOT EVEN THAT BAD?????) but they were NEVER TOLD the dress code. The kicker? After they were sent home to change and came back it was literally 20 minutes in the manager’s office with the door closed just doing hiring paperwork and then they got to go home and didn’t have an actual shift scheduled until the next 2 weeks (after the current schedule finished) (and they quit and got hired at *$ before their first shift even happened). We spent my entire 30 minute shift basically shit-talking this store for sending them home to change only to sit in a closed office. 

Like wtf… how hard it is to tell someone what the dress code is. I feel bad for the people who actually work there because who knows how other things are run in that store.  The store I work in now has a dress code that’s pretty much the same and I’m pretty sure it was the first thing the hiring person told me when I sat down for the interview (they literally asked me if the dresscode was okay lol).

casefile; sherry baby!

MSR; Rated R; Revival Era; Humor, Fluff, Horror Lite, Smut Lite; 7k; Mulder takes Scully out for a romantic evening on Halloween. It does not go as planned. 

A.N. Happy Halloween! Unbelievably sappy shit ahead. Prompts: Scully being jealous for no reason, a ghost watches M/S get it on. @fictober @today-in-fic


Men make houses. Women build homes.
–Proverb.  

Come come, come out tonight. Come come, come out tonight.
–Sherry, The Four Seasons

***

Oh, Halloween. How it coaxes all from their shells, a come-hither seduction of ghouls and their admirers. Whether one chooses to be a witch or a princess, a criminal or a cowboy – to paint their face and knock on doors, to drink until they are but pumpkins, mouths filled with their pumpkin guts – it is all done under the otherworldly spell of the undead, the souls that ascend from their place in the basement to play marionette games with the dolls who inhabit the first floor.

Fox Mulder has, over the years, made an exceptional doll. Spock, then Captain Kirk, then Spock again. Several years of him doing nothing but sitting alone and staring out the window, ignoring the pull of a fairy costume resting in a trunk in the attic. Even then he had been a prime target; Halloween souls feed on elation, but will take misery in a pinch. His misery tasted sweet like a tootsie pop. The saints love tootsie pops, all the waiting and the work. The sinners prefer Reeses.

There were others when the memories began to fade. Han Solo. Han Solo. Paul Stanley from KISS, though his first girlfriend ended up wearing most of the makeup. Han Solo. Doctor John Watson, although years later he would grit his teeth and mutter I should have been Holmes. Serpico at a Hoover party, the last one he went to. No one got it. Then Han Solo every year he chose to celebrate after, and by then he finally had Princess Leia at his side.

The halloween of 2016, he slips into his finest costume yet.

Fox Mulder. Hopeless romantic.

On one arm, he carries a bag that is filled with good wine, cheap wine glasses, and assorted fruits, cheeses, and fancy chocolate. He has convinced his partner that the actual contents are a P.K.E. meter (a psychokinetic energy meter, for those who have not seen the documentary Ghostbusters), a thermographic camera, an audio recorder, sage, a lighter, his gun.

On the other arm, or underneath it, is his partner. Who is unsure about such open gestures of affection while they are technically on the clock, even after all the years of steaming up their steakouts, but is not stopping him, and is possibly even snuggling back as the October chill descends.

“This is not a love story, Scully,” he warns, pulling her closer as they follow the long, winding pathway up their destination. Her body heat is his favorite temperature, even when it’s ice cold. “It is a story of lies, obsession, betrayal, and murder.”

“I think I’ve heard this one.” She bumps his arm with her shoulder and smiles up at him, her lips wine deep under the bright moon.

Their shoes are silent on the stone and disappear under the layers of fog that curl and cozy around them like amorous smoke. He tugs her closer still, filling his nose with the woodsy scent of her shampoo.

“The early 1960s, Scully. Free love was just a storm a’brewin in the air, and sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll were waiting on the doorsteps  of American counterculture, waiting to be invited in. Doo-wop was still a prominent feature on family radio stations. The Beatles had yet to write their own songs, and Paul McCartney wouldn’t smoke his first joint until 1964. It was a wholesome time, Scully. You would’ve loved it.”

“I loved Rubber Soul,” she argues.

He rubs her shoulder. “But it wasn’t all sock hops and sweet Jackie Kennedy. We were fighting a war with Russia, a war of discovery, and losing to the success of Sputnik. The U.S. invaded Cuba, got their asses kicked, and were the laughing stock of the world. In the veins of America, in the buses and lunch counters, the streets and in the schools, thrummed the blood of a movement. The Civil Rights movement. The early 1960s was a time of immense change.”

They were getting closer and closer to the scene where it all took place: a sprawling, overly-windowed ranch style home, its angular roof sloping into flatlands. In the quiet darkness, the cars and the rest of the world all celebrating miles behind them, the house appears white, almost bleached. But when the sun comes out it will reveal its truth: baby pink painted wood.

“And situated in all of this madness, this time between tumult and revolution, hatred and love, was a woman named Sherry Battersea.” She hmm’s. That means Mulder, I love your stories. Keep going.

He does.

They arrive at the front door – solid mahogany, undistressed. The steps leading up to the porch are made from brick, unhassled by the years of disuse. With the moon hanging overhead, vines creeping onto the roof, and the glare of (assumed) white bathed in midnight blue and the shadows of trees rustling above, it looks absolutely–

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Mulder whispers, moving his hand to Scully’s waist.

Precisely.

***

It’s all a bunch of phooey, if you ask him.

Didn’t expect that, did you?

He spent weeks finding the right place. The runner ups were all either too far away, too haunted, or not haunted enough. He wanted something with history, something still alive in the hearts of believers – but nothing verifiable, and nothing with a real reputation.

He wanted a pretty lie. Most ghost stories, he will begrudgingly admit, are indeed pretty lies.

He found the Battersea house on a subreddit dedicated to paranormal encounters, and this one hadn’t even managed to get twenty upvotes. He was number twenty. The Battersea home is in Virginia, which heavily swayed his opinion in its favor, and from the pictures posted the years of abandonment had not left it dangerous, which put it above two other options off his list. Making love to Scully while the roof collapses over their heads is a fantasy he put to rest many moons ago, about the time he realized they could just do it on a bed.

They roam the house with their flashlights, Mulder’s low voice playing in her ear as he finishes his story. “Sherry’s husband returned from war, but he never returned to her. She made this home for him and he wouldn’t even grant her the decency of staying the night.”

The biggest draw of the place had been its pristine condition. No graffiti stains the wood-paneled walls; the rooms were all intact. The interior design is a certified blast from the past, from the richly carpeted floors and textured rugs to the lucite furniture, pops of neon that splash under their flashlights. It is colorfully but rather tastefully decorated. It reminds him a bit of a movie set, which is another place he has been thoroughly laid by this woman.

As they move through the house, however, he realizes with mild disappointment the utter lack of haunting thrill. Nothing shifts in the night to give them pause. No dirt or dust to brush away, no holes in the walls or rot in the furniture. It doesn’t even smell old. It all feels more like a vacation home, some sort of themed romantic getaway, and they’re wading behind the scenes with the power turned off.

It’s not what he planned, but he’ll take it.

“Miss Battersea was a fashionable lady, keeping up with the times faster than they could come to her. She had a leopard skin pill-box hat before Jackie O had a leopard skin pill-box hat, and was dead by the time Bob Dylan could think to write a song about it.” Oh, that long, mid-century sectional couch. It might be white or a gawdy turquoise color. Whatever it is, he’s going to have her there. “She was a smart woman, too. The head of all of her many bookclubs. All of the books you see in here are hers.” His runs his beam over behind the couch, where the entire back wall is lined with books, and they move along. “And there are more in the den.

“She did everything she could to make her husband love her. She danced to his favorite records. She cooked for him and did his laundry. She cut her skirt an inch shorter with each passing trend.” They stand side by side, halted in the kitchen doorway. He turns his head and lets his eyes dip into her blouse. “I’ve been very appreciative of your new work wardrobe, by the the way.”

“Mulder,” she chastises, pulling her shirt down for better access. He laughs loudly at that, places his hand on the small of her back and leads her through the kitchen.

“She was driving herself crazy, trying to make him love her the way she loved him. And oh, did she love him, her sweet Maximus Battersea.” More wood paneling, and modular, pastel appliances that appear as if they haven’t aged a day since their prime. In the middle is a solid island with a geometric vase of dead flowers. This is where he’ll lay out all the food. Should’ve gotten flowers, he mopes to himself, but remembers that Scully doesn’t have a lot of patience for them. “They were high school sweethearts, and when he was 18 he was drafted off in the Korean War.

“Something was wrong when he came back. He got a job at some juicing plant working the machines, but showed a savvy for bossing people around that made itself known to the owners. He moved up quickly to supervisor and then warden. He and his little wife then bought this house, and Sherry made it her life’s work to take good care of it. Not a speck of dirt to be found.” Even to this day. They both marvel at the cleanliness.  “Dishes were done as soon as they were used. Food was on the table for when he got home, still hot enough to serve. But he never got home to her at night. He would spend his nights at the bar, and then he became a favored customer at the Grand Major Hotel.”

“Oooooh. I would’ve killed the bastard,” Scully whistles, opening up a cabinet and standing on her tiptoes to peer in. He steps in behind her and lifts her up, chuckling when she screams and elbows him in the chest.

“Hmm, I know you would,” he mumbles in her ear, smacking a little kiss underneath it. All the glassware in the cabinet, chipless and clean as a whistle, clinks and jingles while she moves her hand through it. “You’re a jealous monster. So was Sherry Battersea.”

He’s making some of this shit up. He doesn’t know if she liked to read or if she was all that beautiful a woman, but the details make the story. “I’m not jealous,” Scully snorts, and he bites her neck as punishment for her blatant lie while dropping her back on her feet.

He wonders, as he pins her against the counter, if she’s caught on to his plans. He sets the flashlight down in front of her and snakes his arms around her from behind. “One night, he did come back to this big old house. But he was with someone else.”

“Oh, I would’ve killed him,” she repeats, tilting her head to get his lips on her neck. His nose brushes her cheek and he grins; she definitely knows. “I would’ve killed her.”

“And that’s what she did,” he says, kneading her hips. “They were on the couch, still mostly in their clothes. She snuck up from behind, and with all the power of her rage, she pushed one of her many bookcases right on top of them, crushing them to death.”

“I would’ve waited until they were naked. More humiliating.”

“Jealous. Monster.” Mulder says fondly, breaking away to grab her arm. “Now they say that Sherry Battersea remains in this house, long after she was convicted and put to death. She gave her life to building a home. It’s fitting that she give it her death as well.”

“And that’s what we’re here to investigate?” She says, narrowing her eyes.

“We’re here to say hi to old Sherry,” Mulder lies, urging her along. Neither of them are scared, despite of their previous history with ghosts. He’s not sure if Scully even remembers. That house had not been a pretty lie. It had only been filled with ugly truths.

On their way up the stairs, pausing at each creak even though the foundation is craftful and sturdy, a tune plays in his head. “Sherry… Sherry baby…” he sings, letting his voice go comically high. It’s too loud in the quiet house surrounded by nothing, and Scully turns around to slap a palm over his mouth.

“That’s a bad Frankie Valli impression,” she says, arching her eyebrow. “Want me to make it better?”

He kisses her palm. She takes it away and continues her charge up the stairs. When she’s far away enough, he finishes the line in his ghastly falsetto, voice cracking.

“Sherry, won’t you come out tonight?”

Come come, come out tonight. Come come. Come out tonight.

***

In the den on the other side of the house, a lightbulb flickers. The glow it casts under the lampshade is a soft, pinky red, the color of a deep blush. The winds caress the house with the sigh of a new lover. There is a soft scritching noise, a click of a record sliding into place. Static, and then…

Sherry, Sherry baby!
Sherry, Sherry baby!

***

“I was listening to particle physicist Brian Cox on the radio the other day, talking with Neil deGrasse Tyson,” Scully says, sipping coffee from her thermos. She shivers a little in her suede jacket and Mulder regrets not finding somewhere a little warmer. Temperatures are at an all time high this fall in Virginia, but it’s still uncomfortable. He plans on warming her up anyway. “He’s a Professor at the University of Manchester and works on the Large Hadron Collider at CERN. You’ve probably listened to him before on a podcast. He tackles a lot of different concepts in science fiction. Frankenstein, for instance.”

“Corpse reanimation is my favorite,” Mulder says. “I know a lot about it.” She pets his hair and hands him her mug. He drinks from it gratefully. Another thing to regret. He hadn’t brought his own mug.

“Specifically, he was saying that ghosts could not exist because of what the collider tells us. You know what it does. It essentially uses a network of very complex, high-powered magnets – the largest, most expensive machine in the world – that are continuously switched on and off to send particles flying at almost the speed of light. The purpose of it is to find out what everything is made if. The particles collide and emit smaller particles, which we can observe, along with their interactions with other particles.”

“We used it to discover the Higgs Boson particle, which tells us how particles get their mass. The God Particle. It was a discovery over half a century in the making.”

“Mostly, yes. The argument was that if ghosts were real, they would emit particles that should be detectable in the Large Hadron Collider, and those particles would be able interact with the particles that make us up.”

Mulder’s silent for a moment, thinking. “What if the LHC isn’t powerful enough to detect those particles?”

“Mulder.” She licks her lips and angles her body towards him on the couch, looking into his eyes. Incredulity is still her best look. “This machine has been able to reconstruct temperatures and states of matter that only existed a microsecond after the birth of the universe, before it changed states. It is a very powerful machine.”

“But it still hasn’t answered everything,” he points out, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, we still know nothing about dark matter. And dark matter is called dark matter because we know nothing about dark matter, only that it could explain why galaxies might contain less mass than what we’ve calculated.” He nods at her, taking another sip. “Maybe all that extra mass is a bunch of ghosts. Bet you never thought of that.”

“Mmm. Your souls in the starlight.” He scoots closer to her, slowly sliding his arm behind her on the back of the couch. When he leans forward, she says, “Mulder, maybe we should split up.”

“What?” He says, not pulling back. There’s enough light coming in from the windows that he can see her clearly, her noble profile shadowed and unshadowed as he moves towards her. He smells her perfume… and pine sol. “Now why would we do that? Last time we split up during a case like this you shot me.”

“I didn’t shoot you. You shot me.” So she does remember. She’s still talking when his lips are close enough to brush hers. “But how are we gonna catch this ghost sitting down?”

“Well, we don’t have to be sitting down.” He kisses her, a chaste, sweet little thing. He pulls back an inch and kisses her again. And again. And again. “We can.” Kiss. “Stop sitting.” Kiss. “Anytime you want.”

“Mulder.” Kiss. “Where’s the ghost?” Kiss. “Where’s Sherry?” Kiss. She’s folding under his body weight, falling back into the remarkably undusty cushions. She cups his jaw in her small hands and kisses him for real, chasing the flicker of his tongue with her own. She stretches one leg behind him, lets the other fall off the couch.

He groans and shifts so that he’s nestled between her thighs. There is – so much he loves about kissing Scully. In a lot of ways he’s learning her all over again after the time they’ve spent apart. Her face is thinner, he can trace her bones with his fingers, but not that sickly thin it had been the day she walked out. Her hair got its shine back. She tastes like a day at the office, her coffee and Cliff bars and the Burt’s Bees lipstick she wears during the cold weather.

But. Kiss. Her hands are bunched up in his shirt, very much like she’s prepared to rip it off of him. But this is is going too fast. Kiss. He forces himself to break away, taking his hand out from under her blouse.

Trying to control her breathing, pupils dilated, she lifts her chin and licks his lips. “So you want me to shoot you this time around?”

He laughs and moves off of her, giving her space her to sit back up and fix her wrinkled clothing. He winces and struggles to rearrange his wayward dick. Men’s pants are so tight now. He misses the freedom of the 90s.

“I uh. So here’s,” he pauses, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Here’s the thing. There is no ghost.”

She blinks slowly. He wants to move a lock of silky red hair out of her eye, but keeps his hands to himself as she thinks things through. “You brought me to an abandoned house to… what? Make out with me?”

“Well, no. I mean yes. But I have…” All these years and this stuff still makes him tongue tied. “Libations. And… mood music.”

She raises her eyebrows, but her eyes are softer. “The Monster Mash?”

“The Prince version, yeah.” He leers at her. “It was a graveyard smash.”

“Oh my god,” she groans, letting her head fall back on the cushions.

“Think about it. The way I see it, Halloween is our holiday, right? Mr. and Mrs. Spooky.”

“No one ever called me Mrs. Spooky.”

“I did. All the time.”

She smiles. “I guess it beats the time you set me on fire for Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t want to kill the adrenaline here,” he says, partially damning himself for ruining it so early. He lost a good amount of blood to that kiss. “There could absolutely be a ghost here. I’m just saying this isn’t my most reliably sourced case.”

“Are any of them?” She sighs, but she reaches out to pat his shoulder. “Go grab us some libations and make me forget this conversation.”

He ducks down to kiss her cheek. “Yes ma’am.”

Taking his bag of goodies to the kitchen, he pulls out the wooden cutting board he brought along to serve everything  and all of the bags of pre-cut cheese, crackers, fruit and meat. He hums while he works. Hm. Hm hm. Hm hm. Hm hm. Hm. And it starts over, the notes twanging loudly in his mind. It is almost as if he could hear it being played through the walls – he feels it from the outside, rather than in his head. He blames it on his massive erection. He takes out the wine glasses and fills them up high enough to placate Scully and make his mother roll in her grave. Vineyard folk are serious about their wine.

He gets a good look at the kitchen as he works, transported back into a time he doesn’t know very well. The cottages on the Vineyard never kept up with any particular trend, opting instead for the timelessness of colonial whitewash and brown trim. They changed out maids and nannies like they’d change the air filters, and neither Teena nor Bill put effort into upkeep. Neither cared much for fidelity either he grimaces, and immediately feels bad for doing so.

If there is any truth to the tale, he aches for people like Sherry who gave their all and never knew when to take it back. He gets it. Sometimes you fixate on people. He had been a victim of it more than once, and now he’s the one waiting for the one he loves most to come back home.

He grabs the cutting board and the wine glasses, balancing them carefully, anchoring the stopped bottle in his armpit. The second bottle of wine and the dessert he’ll save for later are left on the counter. He hums his way back to the living room, his woman still sprawled out on the couch, waiting for him, and he forgets about Sherry.

Behind him, in the kitchen, there’s a flutter in the cabinets, sounds of gently moving ceramic. A pleasant, almost feminine noise, like tinkering laughter. Then there’s the pop of a cork.

The bottle moves, sliding to the end of the island. Then it rises into the air, bobbing up and down as if being carried by invisible hands.

Over the sink, the bottle upends. The glug-glug-glug of sweet red flows into the pipes. Just one glass’s worth.

The air is warmer, somehow.

Like a full body flush.

***

He sweeps her over the creaking floorboards, her cheek pressed to his chest. The cold has left them. His phone sits on the sleek, white coffee table, and his Elvis tunes play, his Dylan, some acoustic hits. She nuzzles in closer and hums along to Roberta Flack, Sinatra, that Cher song they both like so much.

“Why don’t you believe in the ghost, Mulder?” She murmurs, a little sad.

“I don’t know that I’m against the idea of her existing,” he says into her hair, closing his eyes. They turn. Sometimes he dips her, sometimes he spins her, but they spend most of the time just like this: as close as possible, eyes closed, careful not to bump into any of the furniture. “I just need more proof these days.”

“Well,” she says. “I’ll believe for the both of us then.”

He lifts his chin from her head, surprised. He pushes her away to search her face. “You believe in Sherry?”

“You had me with that dark matter point,” she shrugs. “If souls… did exist, they would most likely exist as a form of matter we haven’t discovered yet.”

“Dana Scully, but you are tipsy,” he chuckles, pulling her back to him. “If you believe, I believe. Sherry Battersea is alive and with us.”

“Why’d you bring us here if you didn’t think it was haunted?”

He thinks about this, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “We’ve got a long way to go, don’t we Scully?” She looks up at him, cocking her head. “You haven’t…. Moved back yet.” His thumbs caress her waist. “Into our home.”

Her face falls. “Mulder–” she tries to step away, but he holds onto her, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, Scully. Scully, I’m not mad. I’m not asking you to do anything before you’re ready.” He presses a kiss to the center of her forehead, smoothing his hand down the length of her hair. She closes her eyes. “But I thought maybe… if I could recreate… not an exact replica of the good old days, because we were always getting our asses kicked, but something tonally similar, it might help. Show you that I appreciate you and that… I miss you, and that I’m so fucking grateful that…”

She saves him by wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him in for a slow, mind-melting kiss.

There are none of the cobwebs that decorated all those places in their youth, not like he’d been hoping. The shadows that float across the room are all accounted for. There is no fear. It is not quite like the old days, but he remembers this: holding her hips as they move above him in the dark, the rise and fall of her upturned breasts, the underside of her chin when she tosses her head back and gasps. She rides him into the couch, the sweltering sheath of her body spreading warmth from his cock to the tips of his fingers and toes. He watches her face in the shadows again, how her expressions undulate in the moonlight. She still keeps her apartment, but she’s come back to him in every way that matters.

In the kitchen, a bottle breaks. A tray of dark chocolates hits the wall at full speed.

“Did you hear that?” Scully breathes, furrowing her brow but not stopping, refusing to stop their decades-old rhythm. His hands slip around to grip her rear and he shakes his head. Wind rattles the windows, a howling, devastated screech that neither Mulder nor Scully can relate to.

***

“…Mulder,” Scully frowns, her nude form wrapped up in a fleece blanket he’d brought in from the car. She sits on the floor in front of the middle bookcase, running her fingers over the titles. “You said this place was abandoned, right?”

He’s dozing on the couch, KO’d from sex and the little bit of wine they’d had. “Mmm,” he rubs his cheek and yawns. “Yep. No one lives here.”

“I just find it odd that a place that’s been abandoned for so long shows so few signs of disrepair. In fact…” she runs her hand over the books again. “This place is cleaner than my own. You’re absolutely sure no one lives here?”

“It’s condemned,” he says. “Government says it’s no longer fit to live in.”

“That’s… weird.” She pulls out an old pulp romance novel and flips through the pages. “It seems perfectly habitable.”

“It might have something to do with the plumbing. There are all sorts of strange, outdated Virginia laws that classify a place as livable –” he’s cut off by a sharp yelp and a thud. He sits straight up and peers over the couch. “Scully?”

“I’m okay,” she groans, massaging the back of her head. “A book fell and hit me from the top shelf. But it hit me hard. Jesus, it feels like I got pelted with it.”

He climbs over the back of the couch to join her on the floor, and she laughs when he pecks and pats the top of her head.

“I have just the thing to make it better,” he says, standing back up.

“Again? So fast?” She sounds impressed. Excited. He shoots her a look.

“I was offering more wine, Scully. But ouch.” Her cackling follows him into the kitchen.

The sight that greets him freezes him cold. That extra wine bottle rests in a million shiny pieces, and what was once a glaringly yellow wall bleeds dark red with the wine streaking down to the sideboards. “Scully?” he calls out hoarsely, approaching the scene with caution.

“Shit!” she screams. His stomach drops with fear and he darts back out into the living room to find her huddled under hundreds of fallen books. “What the hell?”

“Scully!” He drops to his knees beside her, throwing book after book off to the side and clutching her face in his hands. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Not bad, but I’m beginning to see why this place might be condemned. The bookshelf just rattled and all the books fell off. Maybe there’s something wrong with the foundation.” He helps her out of the pile and they both move away, far back from the shelf.

“Rattled?” he asks, alarmed. “Like it was being shaken?”

“I thought it might be coming from the walls,” she posits, but that doesn’t sit right with him. Anxiety begins to gnaw his stomach into pits.

“You don’t think,” he starts and stops, biting his lip. He wants to put his clothes back on. The chill is coming back. “You don’t think that…”

“Think what, Mulder?”

“That… something was trying to push the bookshelf? On purpose?”

She looks at him, startled. “What? Like a ghost?” He nods his head, shrugging, and she angrily clutches the blanket around herself, turning her back to him to pick up her clothes. “You just told me you didn’t believe there were any ghosts here.”

“You just told me you did,” he argues, following his own garment trail.

“Mulder,” she whines, pulling on her bra. “I don’t actually – I was just…”

“You were lying?” He asks, pausing with his shirt over his head. The hurt catches him off guard.

“I wasn’t lying, I just… I’m so…” she sighs, doing up her fly and buttoning up her shirt. “I never know how you’re feeling these days, and…” she doesn’t finish. He nods slowly, a hot wave of dejection flooding his cheeks. There are traces of ancient anger he wants to pull from, that’s the easier path, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“I never needed you to lie to me, Scully, and I certainly never asked you to,” he says roughly. He turns away from her to pull on his underwear, jeans, and jacket. He ignores her attempts at  apologies and walks in long strides to the kitchen. “Come look at this,” he calls to her flatly.

Just when he thinks he’s pushed past the resentment of her leaving and the guilt at having made her leave, all of the other feelings are brought to the forefront. The shame. The fragility. He’s spent the last several months trying to prove to her that he can make it on his own – that his need for her doesn’t stem from an inability to function without her, but the irrefutable fact that they work so much better together – and the whole time she’s been… what?

Seeing him as a fucking child? Wearing kid-gloves in all of her interactions with him, holding back her opinions in fear of setting him off? Oh, Jesus. Is this why she won’t move back? She thinks he’s not ready?

“Here.” Side by side, they stand in front of the stain on the wall, mindful of the smushed chocolates and shards of glass.

“Maybe they fell?” Scully guesses weakly, at least having the decency to look contrite.

“They fell? At fifty miles an hour?” Maybe there is some anger he can pull from. “Unlikely. Didn’t you tell me you felt like that book had been pelted at you?”

“Yes but Mulder that could be anything. You said yourself the house was condemned.”

“Yeah, but–” he bends down to inspect the chocolate on the floor,  picking one crushed morsel up to show her. “This looks… this looks like it’s been stepped on, crushed by something. What kind of foundational issue would cause that?”

She looks at it and sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Let’s split up,” Mulder says. “Take the top floor. I’ll take the bottom. It’s what we came here for anyway, right?” And he leaves her alone in the kitchen.

***

The den drastically departs from the design ideal of the rest of the house. Under his flashlight he spots leather rock chairs, worn and overstuffed, plain walnut bookshelves and orange shag carpets. He looks through the books and the desk drawers, searching for anything personal. Photos, journals, receipts kept, anything that might give him any insight into Sherry Battersea and the lonely, lonely house she kept. No luck.

There is a large stack of records sitting next to a hefty Champion record player, dressed in supple red leatherette. He flips through them. The Big Bopper. Fats Domino.  The Lennon Sisters. More and more of the same ilk – an Elvis Christmas LP he’s pretty sure is the real deal, and which he shamefully considers sliding under his coat. He then inspects the player itself, lifts the arm to see the stack of singles underneath it. He lets the arm fall back into place.

It begins to play.

He yelps, stumbling backwards and collapsing onto the rock chair as the music plays loudly enough to fill the house.

Sherry! Sherry baby!
Sherry! Sherry baby!

Mulder clutches for the back of the chair and watches in terrified fascination as the entire den comes to life. The lamp flicks on and casts the room in its soft pink light, turning brown into different shades of red. Warmth trickles in from the air vent and all in his body he feels the electric hum of a machine coming to life. He knows instantly that means every other room in the house must be waking up in the same way. Scully he thinks, attempting to jump to his feet.

He’s knocked back on his ass.

“What the–” he tries again, and the shag rug slithers out from underneath the desk, coming at him like a cautious snake.

Sherry! Sherry baby!
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeerry bay-ay-by!
Sherry, can you come out tonight?

“Scullllllaaaay!” He shouts, but he’s no match against The Four Seasons bleating from the – not from the record machine, but from  – everywhere, what –

Why - don’t - you - come out? Come out!
To my twist party! Where the bright moon shines!

The rug does just that, rises up, twists back and forth like wringing water out from a cloth. Still moving slowly it comes up to his feet, and he brings his legs up and hugs his knees close to his body, expelling an embarrassing squeak that would give Frankie Valli a run for his money. The rug continues its ascent, sliding up his legs, like – like a caress - gentle – warm – not like a rug, but like –

Like a human.

Mulder kicks his legs out with as much force as he can muster and the rug drops to the floor with a muffled poof. Then he’s leaping out of the chair and throwing open the door, giggling crazily when – he swears he feels it – something invisible tugs at his shirt, at his pant legs and hands.

He runs out out of the den into the open hallway like a scene straight out A Hard Day’s Night, and it’s just as he suspected. All the lights are on, and the Battersea house is thrown into full technicolor, much more vivid than he could have imagined. The lucite chairs are the brightest reds and blues he’s ever seen on furniture in his life, the sofa and the tables and the cleanest, starkest white. The light from the bulbous chandelier sparkles and spins. That pine sol scent – and then something else – Shalimar? – the alien-looking Philco television set on its tall thin stand, some old Gunsmoke episode. Then the channels flip and flip and it’s the Twilight Zone, and he’s being shoved by the air over to the couch.

“Scully!” He yells again, laughing, merrily going along with the phantom guide. How is this for proof of a spirit world? This has got to be the single strongest case for the existence of poltergeists ever experienced. “Scully! Come here!”

“Mulder!” Scully screeches, straight from the gut.

Three gunshots go off.

His laughter corks in his throat, his heart drops to his stomach. Mulder races into the kitchen, faster than the grip that vies for him. The wine has been scrubbed from the walls, the glass swept from the floor. Something delicious simmers on the stove, and as he darts past the island he notices a bottle of vodka and a carton of orange juice pouring into a metal mixer. No body performs the action. They float in the air and the liquid comes out in steady, even streams.

That’s his drink. He shudders and hops up the stairs, taking two at a time. Scully’s voice has died out but he can still hear it pounding in his head, along with the never ceasing with your red dress on! Mmm you look so fine! and his ragged breath. “Scully!” He yells again, throwing open every door as he comes to it. The towels in the bathroom, the shower curtain, all rip themselves from their places and slither and slide after him, licking at his ankles and tripping him up. Gold and copper tubes of lipstick chase behind him, leaving behind perfect lip imprints on the walls.

When he gets to the bedroom, he finds Scully bound and gagged to the four poster bed, screaming into the pillowcase stuffed in mouth. “Scully,” he hisses, falling to his knees in front of her, pulling out the gag and deftly untying the knots around her ankles and wrists.

“That crazy–” she coughs and struggles underneath him, making it impossible to get her unbound. “That crazy bitch –”

“Stop moving–” but she won’t, she’s writhing and wrestling until he has to cover her with his weight, yelling at her all the way. “Crazy fucking bitch!” She screams. When she’s free from her ties she shoves Mulder off of her and hops to her feet, tearing through the bedroom like a hurricane. “Where the fuck did she put my gun–”

“She took your gun?” Mulder panics, ripping through the room with her. “Scully, did you–” he sees it, three bullet holes in the corner of the ceiling. “Did you shoot the house, Scully?”

“You bet I fucking shot the house!” She screams. “Aha!” She pulls out the gun from the nightstand, cocks it, and tries to run out of the room.

“Scully,” Mulder grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her to him, ignoring her struggling. “Scully, I’m thinking this is an extremely malevolent, extremely powerful poltergeist. You cannot shoot poltergeists–”

She whips around, turning on him and backing him into the wall. “Malevolent? Did she drag you by your hair into the bedroom and tie you to a bed, Mulder? You look suspiciously unharassed.”

He licks his lips and stutters. “Uh, no. That has not been – that has not been my experience.” She raises both eyebrows and crosses her arm, waiting for him to continue. He rushes on. “I think Sherry’s still here, trying to take care of her husband.”

Scully steps back, eyes widening in shock. Her mouth opens and closes. Slowly, quietly, she asks, “Are you saying… the… poltergeist… is trying to seduce you?”

“And kill my mistress? Yeah,” he huffs a laugh and wraps his arms around her stunned and silent frame, letting his body relax against hers for just a minute. He’s getting too old for this kind of exertion. “Oh, god. You scared the shit out of me, Scully.”

“Sorry to cause so much stress, Mr. Battersea,” she grumbles, burying her nose in his neck. He nuzzles her hair and she lifts her head, slotting their lips together in a sweet, relief-filled kiss. If she’ll forgive him his affair with the carpet, he’ll forgive her everything. She pulls back, shaking her hair out of her face and straightening out her shoulders. “Now how do we get rid of this thing? What’s all in that bag you brought?”

He freezes. Shit.

“Mulder, no,” she says, horrified.

***

They slink down the stairs, Scully first, gun first, just in case. The breath of the house is soft, deceivingly calm. The music has been shut off. No objects float in the kitchen, the stove is turned off. Nothing tries to pull Mulder out of his clothes, or Scully into a closet.

“I think our little display back there pissed her off,” Mulder says grimly, staying close behind Scully.

“You’re my husband,” she bites out, straightening her shooter’s stance. “I kiss you whenever I want.”

They pause before entering the living room, looking at each other.

“That’s where it all happened,” Mulder whispers, nodding his head at the door. “If we go out there…”

“Should we just make a run for it then?” Scully asks, biting her lip. He bites his lip, too, and they meet each other’s eyes. He nods slowly.

They take off, pounding their feet against the hardwood and running as fast as they can, Mulder’s hands barely grazing Scully’s shoulders, but they never stood a chance. Floorboards are snatched almost from under their feet; chairs and tables go hurtling through the air. They drop down, Mulder curling his body over hers and shielding his head when bronze ornaments chuck themselves off of their stands, decorative mirrors drop to the floor, sending their shards flying.

From every molecule of the house, Frankie Valli’s falsetto warps into a deep, unsettling baritone.

Come come. Come out tonight.
Come come. Come out tonight.
Come come. Come out tonight.

“Say a prayer, Scully,” Mulder groans, wincing when a piece of glass whizzes past his head and scrapes up the back of his hands. She begins to frantically mutter one under her breath, but it’s useless. The storm doesn’t stop.

“Sherry,” Mulder tries. “Sherry!” He says louder. The music ends, but the the violence doesn’t. “Sherry, I know you were hurt!”

A woosh of a sigh is expelled from all the air vents. Objectiles drop straight to the floor. Mulder takes a deep breath and rolls off of Scully, who chokes and coughs into her arm.

He keeps going, not exactly sure what he’s saying. “Your husband was a selfish man who didn’t treat you the way you deserved. You loved him. You gave him everything. You cleaned up every mess, you paid every bill, you did everything he asked of you and it still wasn’t enough.” He swallows, pressing his bleeding hand to his stomach. “He still wouldn’t come home to you.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sherry. People who love you don’t do that to you. People who love you know that you aren’t perfect and come home to you anyway.”

The house is so quiet it is almost as if his soft, soothing voice has lulled it to sleep, and for a moment he thinks it has. Water drips from the air vents, from the windows, single, silent tears of condensation.

Crumpled next to him, Scully is sniffing. He glances at her, worried, but she’s smiling through her tears, sliding her hand through debri and dust to wrap around his. He smiles back, surprised to discover that he’s crying, too.

But she’s suddenly yanked away, screaming as those invisible hands drag her by her ankles and toss her onto the couch. “Scully!” Mulder yells, getting up to run toward her.

He’s tripped by an orange shag carpet.

“It’s not you, Sherry, it’s me,” he whimpers, frantically wriggling as the carpet begins to roll up with him inside of it. He groans and drags himself across the floor with his hands, carpet and all. The Philco set buzzes past him in the air and he shouts. “Watch out, Scully!”

He doesn’t see where it lands, but it the sound it make is a sickening smack, a bludgeoning soundtrack. “Scully?” No response. “Scully?”

He groans, dragging himself with agonizing slowness until he’s at the couch. Propping himself up his arms, his legs still wrapped in the rug, his mouth waters in fear and his stomach tightens at the sight of her, pale and silent, with one patch of bloody red hair staining her temple.

He checks her pulse, is relieved to find it faint, but still there. He kicks and pounds inside his trap until it’s beaten slack and stupid, and lifts himself onto the couch.

“Scully?” He lightly touches the spot where she’s hurt and she jerks her head and groans. “Oh, thank god.”

“Take me to dinner next time,” she winces, feeling the wound for herself and hissing out when she brushes the most tender part. She sits up, he pulls her hair away to give her better access. “I probably need to go to the hospital for this.”

“Well let’s try and get you there, partner.” One hand on her back, the other on her shoulder, he tries to help her up, but is interrupted with the sound of… “Scully. Scully, shit.”

“What?”

“Scully, the bookca–” SLAM.

***

She hauls him out of the dead and empty house, panting with the exertion and the throbbing pain in her head.

“I think–I think she went back to sleep,” Mulder yaps manically. “I think that put her to sleep. Reenacting the – the crime.”

“We’re not dead, Mulder,” she grunts. Another foot down the driveway. “I just wish we were dead.”

“I think we better call an ambulance, Scully,” he says, resigned. “I don’t think either of us can drive.”

They call the ambulance and wait. Scully plops down beside him, wincing as the morning sun reflects off the ugly pink wood and cuts into her blurry vision. “This sucks, Mulder,” she sighs, squeezing her fists into her eyes.

“God, I know. This was a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“How are you going to help me move with two broken ankles?” She sighs again, shaking her head. “I’ll have to hire somebody now.”

He beams at her.

***

All the spirits rejoice and return to their graves for their year long sleep.

***

Girl, you make me lose my mind!

Request: Hi! Could you do something about Cillian Murphy x reader? Maybe she works as a wardrobe assistant and she helps actors with their clothes on set. They really like eachother but they don-t act on their feelings, maybe one night they all go out and something happens? Feel free to change whatever you want! Thank you!!

A/N: I had such a huge crush on Cillian when Batman Begins came out, so thanks for requesting this

——————-

Everyone always talked about how Christopher Nolan loved working with the same set of actors on his films, but what they didn’t realize was that he liked working with a lot of the same crew members as well.

You first started working with Chris on his film ‘The Dark Knight’ in 2007 as an intern. You’ve since worked on 'The Dark Knight Rises’, 'Inception’, and 'Interstellar’ as one of the wardrobe designers.

Now you were working more hands on for Chris, maintaining the costumes and fixing items during filming for 'Dunkirk’. Now you got to stick by Chris’s side, and work more with the cast.

You and Tom Hardy were really close. You had been friends with him since 2010, later starting a charity together for abandoned dogs. He was the one who introduced you to Cillian Murphy on the set of 'Inception’.

Cillian Murphy.

The Irish mans name alone sent a smile to your face. You’d both gone through divorces a couple of years ago, leaning heavily on each other through the process. You’d formed a bond that you couldn’t really put into words, but you knew you would do absolutely anything for him.

You were in love with him.

You may have even been in love with him the moment you met him, but you both had been married then. Even now, with both of you single, you’d never be able to make a move on him. He meant so much to you, you’d rather remain friends to keep him in your life.

Even if the mere sight of him made your heart hurt.

Tom and Chris both knew about your love for Cillian, and often encouraged you to tell him. But you were scared. Scared that the man you loved more than anything in the world, would reject you. You wouldn’t be able to handle that rejection.

Working on the set of 'Dunkirk’ was so much fun. Half the cast was so much younger than you were used to working with, but it was a nice change. You enjoyed talking to all of the young kids, especially Barry and Tom. Those two were such trouble makers, but you loved it. They always made you laugh.

Like right now for instance.

“W-what happened?” You gasped between laughs, watching Cillian wring out his soldiers uniform. He was soaking wet from head to toe, an annoyed look on his face.

“Barry and Tom though’ I needed to be aquatinted with tha sea.” He simply said, shaking out his hair.

“I’ll get you a new uniform.” You told him, giggles still falling from your lips.

“Don’ bother, Chris cancelled filming for tha rest of tha day. There’s a storm comin’.” He said, plopping down in one of your chairs. As you continued to laugh at him, he pouted. “It’s not funny, the waters cold!” He exclaimed, though there was a smile on his face.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry!” You said, calming yourself down. You poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him. He grinned at you, taking a greedy sip of the hot beverage.

“If filmings cancelled, what are you doing here?” You asked curiously, taking a seat beside him.

“Oh right!” He suddenly exclaimed, remembering why he came here in the first place. “The lads wanted to go out to dinner since we have the night off, figured you might want to come.”

“Sure, I’d love to.” You replied, smiling at him.

“Brilliant. I’ll come get you at 6. We’ll head over together.” Cillian left then, leaving you to finish your work for the day.

When 6 o'clock rolled around, Cillian was at your door. You drove over to the restaurant together, a simple Italian place, and made your way towards your friends once you got there.

You were the last ones there, so everyone greeted you and you took your seats on the other end of the table.

Everyone chatted happily throughout dinner, enjoying their night off. For the past 10 minutes, you and Cillian had been joking around in your own little world. Some of the other guys couldn’t take it anymore. How could two people be so perfect for one another, but be too blind to realize it.

“Bloody hell, I can’t take it anymore!” Barry suddenly exclaimed, breaking the eye contact between you and Cillian. You turned to him with a confused look, but it was the younger Tom who continued.

“I’m with Barry here, you two drive us all bonkers!” There were nods around the table, furthering your confusion.

“What are you lot talking about?” You spoke, sharing a look with Cillian. He was just as lost as you are.

“Seriously!” Fionn suddenly exclaimed, shocking everyone. “Are you really both that blind?”

“I though you were supposed to be the adults. You’re both acting like teenagers!” Barry spoke again, and now you and Cillian were annoyed.

“Just spit it out already!” Cillian said, rolling his eyes.

“Bunch o’ numpty’s you two are.” Jack laughed, shaking his head. “They’re all talkin’ about the obvious feelings between the two of you.”

Cillian and you both froze, eyes wide in shock.

“W-what?” You spoke once you found your voice, not daring to look over at Cillian. You were afraid of what you would see.

“Alright you two.” Tom Hardy finally spoke up, stating the two of you down. “I’ve held my tongue for over a year now. But I’m not going to anymore. The two of you are in love with one another. Now just admit it, kiss and get together.” He spoke seriously, before going back to his food.

Slowly, Cillian and you looked at each other. You were shocked to see Cillian looking slightly hopeful, and that made your heart beat quicken.

“Uh, Y/N? Would you uh, come outside with me for a minute?” He asked, standing up from the table and offering his hand. You took it, following him nervously out the back door.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. You had no idea what to say, or even how to approach the topic. Then suddenly you both turned towards one another.

“I-”

“Well-”

You both laughed slightly at that, easing some of the nerves.

“You go ahead.” You told him, preparing for him to say it was all a joke.

“I love you.” Your head whipped up so fast, you were sure you heard a pop. Your heart was beating erratically as you met his bright blue eyes, sincerity the only thing in their depths.

“I uh, I love you too Cillian.” You sputtered out, cheeks darkening into a blush.

“Thank god.” He breathed out, and the next moment his lips were pressed to yours. You immediately responded, fingers running through his short brown hair. You both stayed like that for a while, kissing each other desperately. You had both wanted this for so long, and now you finally had it. It felt like a dream.

“I’ve been wantin’ to do that for years.” Cillian spoke when you both pulled away, reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“The feelings mutual.” You told him, smiling softly up at him. “I never thought this would happen.”

“I always hoped it would.” He whispered, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m so glad it did.” Cillian pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling away and taking your hand.

“Can I take you on a date tomorrow?” He asked, pulling your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Your breath temporarily left your lungs, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“I’d like that.” Smiling, the two of you walked back into the restaurant hand in hand. Everyone at the table turned to look at you, but it was Tom who let out a cheer.

“It’s about fucking time!”

Lawyer AU’s 

1.  Wild And Unruly  (123k)

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land. 

2. Move On Back To Me (41k)

Louis Tomlinson had moved on, made a new life for himself in London as a successful solicitor, so why now did his past have to resurface after all this time. Despite the years that have gone by, a ridiculous growth spurt and an obnoxious man bun, he would still be able to recognise Harry Styles anywhere, even if it just so happened to be in his office’s kitchen making tea.

3. You Drive Me Crazy (but it feels alright) (102k)

Bridget Jones’ Diary AU.

Keep reading

Ok @sgarrett49​, as hot as this gif is, imma have to go angsty with it. 

Nini’s 1K Gif Celebration Masterlist


Over?

You watched him play with the cuff of the shirt. 

God, he really did look good. 

The way the shirt hugged his body, showing off everything. The waistcoat, firm against his chest. 

His hair. Combed and slicked down, yet he looked so damn stunning. 

You sometimes wondered how you managed to land Jensen Ackles. 

Well…land was a bit far. You were fucking. Had been for over a year now. 

Hell, you’d been on dates. Had your anniversary. Everything. 

But there was one thing that you hated. 

He never defined the relationship. 

Each time you’d ask what you were, he’d avoid the conversation, opting to either fuck you or just switch the topoc. 

You hated it. Sometimes, he’d make you feel so loved. So happy. 

But then it’d all be over when he’d avoid talking to you. It made you feel like you were some sort of bootycall. 

And maybe you’d be ok with that role, if you hadn’t been ‘together’ for over a year. 

But a few nights ago, you realized this wasn’t going anywhere. 

Especially not when you saw the texts from her. His ex. 

They’d been together for a few years. Of course, you’d met her, being the costume designer on set. 

She was…nice? She wasn’t necessarily the type of person you’d ever get to know. But you could see he loved her. 

So when you saw her texting him, asking to get back together, you realized why he’d been so distant lately. 

He was preparing to break up with you. Leave you behind for her. 

Well, there was no way you’d be humiliated or thrown out like that. 

No. You weren’t the type to cry and beg. If he wanted to go back to her, that was fine. Let him be miserable. 

So you watched, Jensen looking sexy and getting ready for his scene. 

Bastard. Why did he make you fall in love with him, when he still loved her?

You were gonna go home tonight. Pack your bags. Move out while he was with Jared. 

Yea. You’d already handed in your notice, making sure it’d be kept quiet. 

No one knew you and Jensen were together anyway. He kept you a secret, most likely ashamed that he’d gone from a sort of celebrity, to you, the person who worked in wardrobe. 

Yea…you were gone after tonight. And you’d make sure he couldn’t find you. 

Jensen watched you, his heart racing as he caught your eye. 

You looked so stunning. God, he knew he’d been distant. He knew how messy he’d been. 

But after getting his heart broken, he wasn’t going to do that again. Especially not with you. 

So he took it slow, avoided anything he did in his previous relationship. 

But recently, his mind was made up. He was going to propose. 

He loved you. Hell, you were the reason he broke up with her. 

So he had the ring sitting in a drawer, waiting for the perfect moment. 

He knew he’d been distant, but he was getting everything ready with Jared, the only person who knew about you. But not for long, because he was ready for the world to know that you were the love of his life. 

He just didn’t know, when he got home tonight, you’d be out of his life. 

He just didn’t know, by keeping you at an arms length, in attempts to keep his own heart safe, he managed to destroy yours. 

He just didn’t know that by trying to avoid everything he did wrong with his ex, he managed to do everything wrong with you. 


Keep reading

The Devil Wears Prada; This Newbie Wore Everything and Wore It Wrong

He stared at me lasciviously. The hostess stared at me disdainfully. It seemed every patron in the restaurant stared at me owlishly. My entire outfit, including the shoes, cost $80. I thought it was a superb ensemble when I left the house. I felt powerful, pretty. But as we waited to be seated those feelings slowly drained away. They all knew I was a newbie on my first POT date. And we all knew I was overdressed.

I didn’t truly understand as I got dressed that night that America is a very casual country. We don’t stand on the pomp and circumstance that our neighbors across the pond do. But this idea came to me instinctively when The Other One called me while I was in the uber on the way. He had somehow guessed that I was on a date with another man and wanted to see me. I could even wear the same outfit if I wanted. I immediately rejected that idea and then began to wonder why. The restaurant I had just left was on the list of 50 best restaurants in my city. So was The Other One’s restaurant. They were both Zagat rated. They were both heavily touted in local papers and magazines. Why did I dress as if I were going to an interview for one and not the other? It wasn’t because of the man. It was me. I didn’t truly understand the city I lived in before that night but something was beginning to dawn on me.

The Other One never told me where he was taking me. We could end up at a 5 star restaurant or a local bar. He did however always tell me that he loved how I always fit in perfectly. I acquired that skill after very careful observation of the other patrons of the places we went. No one was wearing a ball gown, a skin tight midi dress, super low cut tops. No one was wearing ripped jeans. The women were always dressed simply. Their denim was dark and their heels were only so high.

I took that knowledge and $75 to my favorite thrift store to buy what I call dating basics. Yes, I went to the thrift store. We all have at least one good one in our city that sells brands we recognize and maybe couldn’t afford if they hadn’t been donated by some kindly soul. That’s where I actually do most of my shopping.

I walked into the thrift store with only one rule in mind. Expensive does not equal: trendy, well dressed, stylish, or appropriate. I bought the following things:

  1. 2 pairs of dark denim jeans. The darker something is the harder it is to tell if it was well made. Besides the lighter the jean the more casual it is and while America is casual we haven’t relaxed that much
  2. Oxford or “button up” shirts. I got a white and a  blue striped. They go with my jeans and my next items really well.
  3. Skirts. I got an a line in a really cute floral pattern and a pencil skirt. The pencil skirt has enough stretch to show off my fantastic ass. They both can be easily dressed down with my next two items.
  4. Tshirts. Now v-necks aren’t for everyone but I love them. As a matter of fact they are one of the only reasons I go into stores like Forever21. I also love scoop neck and boat neck tees.
  5. Chambray shirts. These are my favorite things. He makes fun of me all the time because if we go into any clothing store, they are the first thing I look for. There is nothing you cannot wear them with. There isn’t a single pair of pants, or skirt, or shorts that it can’t work with. I currently own four. All of them but one are from the thrift store.
  6. Chunky men’s cardigans. These are my own personal things. I love how comfy they are and I love that they can make an outfit that might be too much (I’m looking at you black halter spandex midi dress) just right.
  7. A plain black maxi dress. It was five dollars. I wore it to a fundraiser in a $3 million historical home. Every woman in the place wanted it.
  8. A silk camisole. It has lace detail around the bust which added just the right amount of sex appeal. Works well with jeans and flats or heels. Under a chambray or with both of my skirts and it looks amazing under my next item.
  9. A leather jacket. This was my thrift store splurge at a whopping $25 dollars but it was a great buy. It makes even the simplest outfit really edgy and cool.

I’ve always been a bit of a shoe horse so I didn’t have to worry about that but I’d definitely recommend Nine West to the rest of my fellow newbies. They make less expensive and comfortable heels. I have the Love Fury heels in black leather and they are amazing. I can walk around in them all night drunk or sober and my feet are absolutely fine. I’ve also extended my wardrobe to include a form fitting black dress. I bought it from TJ Maxx for $20 and I love how I feel in it. Besides my $5 maxi dress, it is the one article of clothing I’m complimented on most.  I don’t own any “real” jewelry so I don’it wear any when we go out. He’s noticed and remarked on it several times. I’m sure, based on his comments, we’ll be going shopping for some pieces soon.

I try to put together the simplest outfits possible. I’m not always interested in being bright and flashy. In my opinion, black clothing was one of the greatest things to ever happen to humanity. I want to be well dressed but I don’t think that has to be complicated. Put on pants you love wearing. Add a shirt that makes you feel beautiful. Add shoes that make you feel sexy and, if the weather calls for it, a jacket that makes you feel like a badass. You’re done. Confidence has nothing to do with the tag inside of the clothes you put on. Confidence is about how you feel. If you’re wearing Chanel and all you can think is that it makes you look fat. I’m sorry darling, you wasted your money.  If that $2 tee gives you cleavage you didn’t have and those $10 jeans give you an ass you didn’t know you had? Then you can take over the world. Just don’t forget to put your heels on first.

I laugh about that first outfit now. I didn’t know anything about my city and how people dressed in it. I understand now that while my new wardrobe works perfectly in my city, I might need to spruce it up in others. Now I welcome the challenge. I also welcome the stares. I know that they happen because of who I’m with and not because of what I wore.

What about you babies? Did you wear something absolutely crazy on your first POT date? What was it? And what do you love to wear now?

whale-wolf  asked:

In your opinion, when do you think Emma's style changed? I've noticed she has some really questionable fashion choices in season 3, but on the whole, they stayed true to her style. Season 6 is definitely the worst. That floral embroidered coat is godawful on JMO.

I think it was with the awful date dress Jmo chose.

In season 3 there were some OOC wardrobe choices, but it was mentioned by the writers and Jmo that they intended to reflect the mashed up lives inside Emma’s head after Regina gave her new memories, so she was part Emma Swan and part Emma Mills- so to speak. But it still was somewhat more Emma Swan, just slightly more formal. Look at Emma and Regina.

The problem is that Emma Jones is way too different. Going from the lack of makeup that stole Emma’s glow away, to the awful flowery tops Emma Swan had never worn— Wait. I make a pause here: Emma did once wear a flowery dress, when she was with Neal, but she had a jean jacket on and she still looked herself, so that must mean something. Young Emma still is consistent.

Then Emma started her atrocious vintage nun-like look after getting in a relationship with Hook, which had its culmination in that godforsaken wedding dress of fairy nonsense! Visually it was the opposite to an evolution in time. She went from modern woman to classical princess and stepford wife, which is the contrary to the premise of the show at the start, which claimed to be about badass women who broke the mold; a modern princess. And yet here we are:

Every piece of garment holds a meaning and the final ensemble carries a message. I’m just saying; you don’t hire an electrician and then decide to leave his work to the plumber because they insist they know better, just because they’ve been turning lights on and off for the last thirteen years. The end result will never be consistent, if it works at all. Emma’s wardrobe should have been touched by costume department and only. They know what they do.

When does Emma look her best (in every sense)? 

At the start or in the end?

This is not hate, this is critique. Their choices have had the opposite effect in reflecting the “growth” of Emma Swan. What they showed was the opposite.