We Only Heal Together

Story #12

When you’re out of depth, draw strength from love. Love is something they can never take away from you.

There’s been said so much that it feels like there’s nothing left to say. We’re not free. We speak up – and they condemn us. We fall silent – and they condemn us. We protest - and they condemn us. We live our lives – and they still condemn us. We try to stay sane – and nobody cares. We go nuts scrolling down neverending newsfeed only to read how much they hate us. No matter how much we do or don’t do. It’s never going to be enough. It’s never going to be safe anymore.

I hate to think of my children being raised in a world where people hate people just because they belong to this particular country. I hate to think someone is going to hurt my kids just because... You would have thought that there are nations, there are countries, who have to understand us better than anyone else, as they’ve been there themselves, only to see how ridiculously short memory can be. Even before the gates of hell broke open, I couldn’t imagine hating someone… just because. But they can. This is our new reality.

My heart aches. Sometimes it hurts like hell. Other times it’s a dull throbbing pain. But it’s always there. I just hope there’s hope… for all of us.

How do I learn to live with that legacy now?

Story #45 is about resolutions for 2023.

This year I decided not to make any resolutions.

Ok, that’s not entirely true. I have, but as Derek Sivers* once said, I’ll shut up and keep my goals to myself.

What I *can* say though, is that 2023 comes in numbers for me.

It’s 365 days, 51 weeks, hence I’m going to:

📚Read 51 books

📝Write 51 stories for my blog 642stories.tumblr.com

🏀Have 153 sport classes

🎧Listen to 365 Spanish podcasts

🎧Listen to 365 blinks

🇪🇸 Write and then record 51 Spanish stories for my instagram

👣 Walk 2,550,000 steps (approx. 50,000 a week)

I might end up doing more of some of these things, but let's consider it my bare minimum.

That said, I already terribly suck at #3, as I’ve been mostly in bed this past week recuperating after the flu.

What are your numbers this year?

*Ted Talk “Keep your goals to yourself” by Derek Sivers

there are 8394 fanfic tropes i need to read after mulder comes back fuckkkkkkk

i wanna see a good reaction to the pregnancy

i wanna see mulder finally admitting he has ptsd and telling scully about it and about what he remembers

i wanna see scully kissing his scars

i wanna see mulder being more empathetic about what scully has been through bc he knows if the roles were reversed he would have fucking lost it

i need all of it!!!!

Story #3 "Good night, Moscow"

“Wake up. Come with me,” he whispered, tugging me out of bed.

He put a coat over my nightgown, wrapped a heavy blanket around my shoulders, and pushed me towards the door.

“Close your eyes and don’t let go of my hand.” I did, trusting him to guide me through the darkness. We were in our summer house, on the edge of the universe, hundreds of miles away from the nearest city. It was chilly, but the muddy ground felt surprisingly warm and soft under my bare feet. I had an urge to dig my toes in its depths and stand still for a moment, enjoying its comfort. His arm snaked around my waist, fingertips gently stroking the outline of my ribs through my shirt.

“You can open your eyes,” he said, and I did. My eyes wandered aimlessly over the clearance sprawling in front of us, studying every angle and plane. Above, a canopy of stars, so dense that nothing else seemed to exist at that point. We were lost in the moment, two tiny dots on the palm of the universe. He took off the blanket from my shoulders, stretched it out on the grass, and lay down. I followed suit, snuggling to his side. I could see Milky Way, and Orion’s belt stood out prominently. There was no moon, and I’d never seen so many stars at once that it seemed impossible to pick any familiar patterns. Not for him.

“You see that? Orion”.

“I do,” I nodded against his chest. “You do remember that my dad had taught me the constellations? As a child I used to think Orion was a lady in a white gown, arms open to embrace the whole galaxy”. He chuckled, and it was music to my ears. I lifted up to look at him, and found him smiling at me, his gaze unheavy.

“We don’t have it back in Moscow,” I pointed with my chin to the skyline.

“No,” he replied, pulling me back and wrapping his arms possessively around me. “We don’t.”

“It’s over there, to the north. Moscow. Home. Does it feel like home?” He asked, sliding his hand down my arm to intertwine our fingers.

“Feels pretty much like home to me.” I knew that he still had doubts about whether I felt like home in that enormous urban setting even five years after moving house. So, I just squeezed his fingers in a gesture of reassurance.

“They say, there are two things that might happen to you in Moscow: you either fall over heels in love with the place, or you only tolerate it. I always was the former.” I felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at my words. My hand slid beneath his shirt, tracing constellation patterns on his bare skin. I could feel his fingers playing with the wisps of hair at my temple as he leaned to kiss the crown of my head. Wherever he was - felt like home to me.

X-Files fic recs

I'm still a bit of a Tumblr newbie, but it's about time I posted some fic recs.

This is a small sample of recent favourites - there's SO much good stuff out there, by some hella talented writers ❤️

I know I've missed some - let's call it Part 1!

The Unseelie Court by @slippinmickeys

Epic case file, gripping and masterfully written. This one was like watching an episode live, back in 1990-something.

The Course of True Love by XFNessy

Another brilliant long-haul read with great character development (I'm in awe of how people plan and structure long fics like this!)

The Finer Things by @spookyshipperfics

This was such a fun (train) ride. The premise had me gripped and there were some really tense moments (I also like a bit of Diana angst!)

Just Friends by @spookyshipperfics

I had to add another by Spooky Shipper. A more light-hearted (and hilarious) piece about Skinner fretfully observing his agents at a party.

California Dreaming by @heresince93

Really nice, well-written AU piece. Scully, a pediatrician with a young daughter, literally collides with a handsome guy (who now?) on her morning jog.

Here's a Hand in Thine by @leiascully

Mulder invites Scully to the Lone Gunmen's New Year's Eve party. This was so entertaining and I loved the tension.

Gingersnap by @cecilysass

This is such an original, fun fic. Scully is in a cookie-baking frenzy and Mulder tries to help (and cause mischief). In the midst of a hilarious scenario they are both still so in character, and I love that.

Shut up, Mulder by David S

Thanks to @thatfragilecapricorn30 (via @unremarkablehouse) for posting about this one on Tumblr, or I never would have seen it.

A brilliant, and highly hilarious, stakeout romp as Scully gets impatient and Mulder struggles with car sex logistics.

The clouds are raining cacao and cocaine by @meriwetherwrites

I need to read more Krycek fics. This was equal parts funny and hot. Mulder and Krycek investigate a small town where the inhabitants have seemingly lost their inhibitions. Need I say more.

----------

If I've incorrectly deduced you're not Tumblr - or I've tagged you incorrectly - please yell at me!

STORY #16 which was born from the exercise in the Creative Writing Club

The original prompt: finish the sentence using a simile "His promises were like..."

He always was a funny, kind of naturally gifted, guy whenever it came to storytelling, able to pull off a story in a way that drew the attention of every single person in a room. As natural as his verbal talent was, on the paper he turned out to be a godsend. The writing was what he was born for. At some point, books were pumping out like bags tossed on the belt conveyor, which was a funny twist of fate since that was exactly how they met. Mistakenly, she picked up his bag only to discover later that the bag itself was the only thing that was similar to her own luggage. She called it divine intervention. He called it kismet.

He seemed to be pretty content at home, only rarely mentioning how LA lights beckoned him. They always had. So it hadn’t come as a surprise when one day they headed to where the lights shone brighter as ever. He said it was to pursue his American dream. She said it was to chase the dollar and fame. Producers called him a real deal. Publishing houses labeled him a writer with a capital W. In a matter of months, he became everyone’s most wanted. Fiction turned into scripts, scripts turned into endless nights on screen sets, take after take, beds in nameless trailers, “shots” heard at any time of day and night. She had yet to realize that LA lights would never shine quite as bright as in the movies*.

He promised they could be happy there. All she ever wanted was to be happy. All she ever got was misery. He promised it’d be a step forward. He promised it’d be a chance to look into new perspectives and open themselves up to new opportunities.  He kissed her. And the kiss was a promise too. His promises always looked quite solid. Painfully so. Just until they weren’t. Like fall leaves with their reddish thin veins running across the yellow canvas, they laid on the carpet of grass, innocent and beautiful, only to turn later into the dust crunching under his merciless feet. He didn’t even bother as much as to look down.

Nothing panned out as he promised.

She kept waiting. Waiting to grow accustomed to that new bohemian lifestyle, waiting for him to deliver his promises. Just waiting. They were two worlds in collision but when the smoke cleared, he wasn’t there. What was there left for her…? Only his empty promises.

*“LA lights never shine quite as bright as in the movies” is a quote from the song “Catalyst” by Anna Nalick

Photo credit: Alex Motoc (Unsplash)

Story #63 is a review of "The Craft: Legacy" movie

“Let the ritual begin,” says the slogan of the supernatural horror film “The Craft: Legacy,” catching the attention of those starving for spectacular special effects and magic rituals. Based on the story of 1996, which had set a pretty high bar, the Legacy is yet to beat its prequel.

The protagonist Lilly, masterfully portrayed by young Cailee Spaeny, seems to be your typical kind of teenager with her ups and downs. And while the story efficiently tackles the issues teens usually face on their way to adult life, it is heavily steeped in feminism, tolerance to LGBTQ+, and all that kind of thing. There are no “normal” male characters in the film. The fiancé of the heroine’s mother she moves in with is a tyrant figure ready to scold his daughter-in-law for hitting a boy twice her size. His brood of teenage sons acts like snitches, ratting on their newfound sister on every occasion. Her classmates crack vulgar jokes over a piece of blood-drenched clothing and ask out loud about her sex life.

Of course, Lilly and her witchy girlfriends decide to punish one of such guys, bringing out his “better self”. In the blink of an eye a yesterday’s bad boy magically turns into a sensitive and gentle spirit, defending all the weak and powerless, unable to tolerate low-waist jokes, he felt absolutely comfortable with before. But is he your poster child for an ideal man? I doubt it.

Taking up so promisingly, the story becomes a mere disappointment in its final leg, reaching its peak in a poorly directed battle between Good and Evil. Here the theme of feminism re-emerges again, as Evil is represented by a single male figure and Good is carried out through a bunch of school girls. “Legacy” turns out to be no more than a maudlin melodrama with the moral in the idea that magic is the panacea for any failure.

Story #77 is a 6-word memoir

I'm taking a creative writing course with an American specialist now, and the first task she gave us was to write a 6-word memoir.

I came up with the following:

Husband, daughter, son - my three kids.

Wanted a dog. Got a hamster.

Stories written on skin and paper.

Will is my argument, albeit flimsy.

The first one is the real me. The second is about expectations that went unmet. The third is me wanting to remind myself so much of certain things that I tattooed them on my body and put 'em in my diary.

Number four is the story that found its place between my shoulder blades written in Latin "Sic volo, sic jubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas." It was supposed to always keep me on the go, let me always be free and weightless, and be my constant reminder of all the "you can do this". Yet, it only has succeded in keeping me grounded so far. Which is not necessarily a good thing when it stops you from trying to make your dreams come true. Your biggest, most daring dreams ever.

Here I am, reminding myself again. You can do this. There's so much more in store for you. Don't ever stop.

Story #78 is a poem inspired by a 2-word prompt "I'm from"

In the box of my memories is my Granny’s garden with yellow cherries  and apples,

And a merry-go-round where I was dizzy and sick,

All those cherries - slimy white purée on my black polished shoes. 

In the box of my memories are old fashion magazines that belong in a toilet,

And brown acidic paint Mum brushed the floors with.

In the box of my memories are the solo trips of a six-year-old me through the maze of streets, 

The smell of halva I tended to buy after school

And the traces left by the sharp blades of scissors I fell onto, giving me scars and scares.

In the box of my memories are the late-night X-files reruns,

The smell of the dead in a morgue,

and 180 questions to swot for my forensic exam.

In the box of my memories is my white wedding dress, two babies breathing into my chest,

All my dreams -broken, forgotten, the ones that came true.

Let me put ‘em aside - those memories - and make more room for the things to come. 

Story 27

The X-files fanfiction "We only heal together" 1/3

Read it on AO3

1.

“Are they sleeping?”

“Oh yes, they are.”

“What are they dreaming about?”

“Their worst nightmare.”

----

The “ping” of the elevator car pulled her out of her reverie and as the doors slid open, she was confused to find the basement floor shrouded in darkness. Stepping out of the lift, Scully groped for the switch on the wall but when she flicked it, nothing happened. 

Darkness pervaded. 

At the end of the hallway, their office was beckoning her with its dim shaft of light peeking from under the door, and she moved towards it as if summoned. 

She expected Mulder, the one who didn’t seem to need much sleep and was always up with the sun, to be there. He would probably be starting the second pot of coffee by that time. Always thoughtful, she brought him a blueberry bran muffin for breakfast. A crack about him being the only person in the whole universe leaving the office after nine and coming in around six of his own volition was on the tip of her tongue. She was looking forward to their routine exchange of banter and innuendoes.

As Scully opened the door, the light from the overhead lamps spilt out into the hallway, chasing away the shadows to corners. Spending seven years in that office, she knew it inside out, but that moment she felt like a stranger. It was their office, and yet it wasn’t. Gone was the stale dusty air and little puncture holes on the ceiling from Mulder’s pencils, and even the fluorescent tube lamps blinking constantly as of recently seemed to be changed. There were two mahogany desks facing one another in the center of the room and a potted plant in the corner. Scully didn’t remember ever placing it there. She couldn’t even remember her partner putting in a request for a second desk. 

Mulder himself was nowhere to be seen. In passing, she entertained the idea of Mulder wanting to surprise her thus the desk and all the cleaning. The ludicrous idea her logical mind immediately rejected. It just wasn’t possible. They had left he office together the day before, around lunchtime, grabbed a quick bite in the nearby deli, and headed to investigate another case ending up on a damnably boring stakeout.

There was a lead into what Mulder suspected could be anything from hypnosis to telekinesis to possession. The victims claimed they were made to do terrible things against their will. One guy beat his boss half to death, but couldn’t even remember what induced such aggressive behavior. When he entered the office the next day, ready to come clean in front of everyone and make his colleagues report him to the police, his boss was there, not a scratch on his face. The face allegedly smashed to puree no more than a day before.

“A nightmare,” Scully said unimpressed. “Or wishful thinking. They probably had some beef and their hostility manifested itself in a very realistic dream. Not unheard of.”

“One for two?” It was Mulder’s turn to raise a brow. “The thing is, Scully, both remember everything down to the smallest detail, and claim they did some severe punching and kicking.”

It appeared to be worth the time to talk to the people involved, which eventually shed light on some other facts - a few hours prior to the fight, the company’s employees took part in a one-day team-building seminar conducted by two personal development coaches, who also happened to be a married couple. The agents didn’t get any insights into the case upon interrogating Maria and Sebastian Portaverro, but since their possible suspects were about to carry out another workshop, Mulder and Scully decided to stay close and check the participants afterward.

They were sitting in a car across the building where the Portaverros had an office. No matter how much she tried, Scully couldn’t remember anything that happened during or after that. She remembered being in a car with Mulder, and then she was standing in the elevator. The absurdity of the situation was bugging her -  the changes in the office, the fact that she couldn’t remember getting back home the night before, or even arriving at work in the morning - everything was wrong. A glance at her watch told her that Mulder should have been here hours ago. Where was he? She needed him to help her figure it all out. 

Trying to stay calm and not to spiral into panic, Scully decided to do what she always did best  - collect and analyse the data. Stepping over to what was supposed to be Mulder’s desk, she touched the pristine wooden surface. Instantly she knew that something was wrong. Mulder’s desk was never that clean. There was no junk. It was too tidy. Too not Mulder. The papers were put in an orderly pile, and Mulder never bothered to organize his desk’s contents in such an impeccable manner. Even office paraphernalia was scattered around in a weirdly neat way as if each object was placed in its spot, on purpose. On a whim, Scully pulled open the first drawer and felt her stomach shrivel in dread. There were none of Mulder’s most prized belongings. Not even his ever-present sunflower seeds. Scully was horrified as it sank that the only thing she was familiar with in that office was their all-time favorite full-sized “I want to believe” poster. Did someone violate their office while they were on a stakeout? To what end?

As if out of nowhere something clicked and the room was plunged into darkness. Scully recognized the sound as their old-fashioned projector came to life and started switching slides, changing the images rapidly, lighting and darkening the room in turn. It was them - Mulder and Scully. The photos flicked on the screen like memories in her head. The most significant, valuable, delightful moments of both their lives. Imprisoned by the retrospection playing out on the wall in front of her, Scully stood still, frozen. With each image, she was sent to relive her past sensory experiences all over again.

Click, and she was opening the door and looking at the agent she was assigned to work with. Their first meeting. A mixture of curiosity and caution in his hazel eyes behind the wire-rimmed  glasses.

Click, and they were in Oregon, standing in the graveyard under the rain.

Click. They were in a van and Mulder was dressed in a bulletproof vest handing her his gun.

Click, and they were sitting on the bench in a small town of Home talking about their genetic

makeup and potential parenthood.

Click, and there was a hallway in a hospital in Allentown where their words sounded like a confession. 

Click, and there was another time and other woods somewhere in Florida where she, who couldn’t carry a tune, was singing because Mulder asked her to.

Click, and they were in California, burying the daughter she had never known.

Click. “You’re my one in five billion.”

Click. Another hallway, another greatest wish never granted - their aborted kiss.

Click. He was pleading with her not to make him choose.

Click. Mulder’s high as a kite I-love-you.

Click. A hospital bed. Again. His head was on her hip, her hand was in his hair.

Click, and they were dragging their eyes over each other in the decontamination shower.

Click. She was sobbing in his arms, the floor was stained with her blood.

Click. They were exchanging vows on the threshold of his apartment.

Scully pivoted her back to the screen, unable to take it anymore. What kind of sick joke was that? It felt too much. Too personal. Too them. How was it possible to sum up the history of them so succinctly in a few slides? Who the hell played those tricks on them? Her legs went wobbly and she braced herself against Mulder’s desk.

There was another click and all of a sudden the basement was brightly lit again. Scully made a complete 180 and was face to face with Mulder, his tall figure looming over the entryway. “How long has he been standing there? Did he see that too?” There was an ominous look in his eyes, and a foreboding sense of horror permeated the air, but Scully ignored all of that. This was Mulder. He wouldn’t hurt her. The projector kept clicking the slides but with the light back on, it was nearly impossible to make out the images on the wall.

Trying to pay no heed to a knot of anxiety agitating inside, Scully took a few tentative steps toward her partner. Noticing some lint on his shoulder, she reached out to brush it off when he grabbed her arm harshly. 

“Mulder,” Scully gasped and stopped dead in her tracks at the threat that emanated from Mulder’s demeanor.