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salmonight · 1 year

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DannyMay 2023, Day 15: Full Hazmat AU

Tittle: The Cleaner: First File

Summary: One day green glowing monsters started appearing and attacking cities all over the globe, and with them, arrived 'The Cleaner'. The Justice League has not uncovered any real information about them to this day. Meanwhile, Danny in a full hazmat suit: 'People can't even let me take a friggin nap!!'

One day, green glowing monsters and people started to appear all along the globe. No one knew where they came from, only that they enjoyed wreaking havoc wherever they showed up.

With the entities came 'The Cleaner' as they were titled. They always appeared no more than 10 minutes after a villain - from the ‘Green Dimension’, as they named it - showed up, and contained them in ten seconds flat, immensely helping in keeping the damage to the minimum.

The only saving grace was that these aliens never got anyone killed. Everyone in the Justice League found this observation extremely bizarre. But even with no casualties, the repair costs were enormous.

No matter how much the JL looked, there were never sightings of the figure other than during the fights, when they seemed to appear out of thin air. Internet searches came up blank as well, only filled with excited rants and candid photos taken by civilians. With these, they concluded that “The Cleaner” was either a) a brand new hero previously unknown, or b) from the same dimension the glowing entities came from. The whole League was miffed, with the Bats even more so, collectively losing their shit over having no contingency plans against the unknown figure.

Fully covered in a red and black hazmat suit nobody had a clue about their identity, even their gender was shrouded in mystery. Somehow their outfit, even without being overly baggy managed to hide any distinguishing bodily characteristics that otherwise would have been visible.

Until…. one day, one of the speedsters overheard the ‘Cleaner’s’ rant.

It went as any of their usual fights with the green monsters did. Not even a few minutes after the beast started to destroy the buildings, their mysterious hero materialized into existence in front of it. Instead of immediately throwing a punch like they expected, ‘The Cleaner’ instead stared at them with the most deadpan expression they could convey with a helmet on. For some reason, the speedster got a huge 'I’m-so-done-with-this-shit' vibe. Or that was just his overactive imagination. It was hard to tell with the headgear on. He must have gotten it right though, because then they tiredly put a palm to their face with one hand, and, without looking, flicked open the lid of a tube and sucked the entity into it with the other.

Surprisingly, The Cleaner didn’t immediately disappear once the monster was gone, so he took a few steps closer as they hung the green, metal tube ( which he could now tell was actually a soup thermos? What? ) back on his belt and pulled out an honest-to-god cellphone.

He didn't even have to strain his ears to listen in on the ensuing phone call since they were talking pretty loudly. And boy, did they sure sound pissed.

“I swear to the Ancients, Tuck,” the ‘Cleaner’ complained, motioning with their hands aggressively to emphasize their point “If I have to come to fetch another one of these god damned brats I'm gonna treat them the same way they act and build them a time out corner in either the warden’s prison or the palace. I'm pretty sure both Walker and Frightknight would love to teach them a lesson about tact!"

There was a pause as he listened to whoever they were talking to on the other end of the line. “No, I don't care that they’re centuries older than me. If they act like spoiled children they get treated as such!”

They let out an annoyed harrumph “I was taking a nap, Tuck. A NAP!!! You know I don't take naps! Not to mention I’m retired! What the hell am I? Their nanny? I don’t even get paid to clean up the messes they make! Can't they just keep their ecto ass sitting still in the realm for at least a few centuries to let me take my well deserved break!? But nooooo, these asshats have to make even more paperwork for me to do!"

“When I told them not to break into Amity anymore I did not mean for them to go to another dimension and terrorize a whole-ass-planet!!!” The ‘Cleaner’ threw up their spare hand in exasperation.

Their grumbling still could be heard as, with a wave of their hands, a portal opened, made out of a green swirling mass. Ignoring everyone else’s presence they stepped into the portal as it was the most common thing in the world.

The speedster could only watch and gape at the now empty air. They certainly did not know they could do that.

Now that he remembers though, they did sound like a male didn't they? He couldn’t estimate their age from the voice as it was very muffled coming through the headgear, but it was definitely not feminine.

And that's how the Justice League got their first ever info about the mysterious ‘Cleaner’.

Finally, the first real data was entered into the vigilante’s (?) file:

Name: UNKNOWN

Alias: “The Cleaner”

Age: UNKNOWN

Gender: Male

Origin: UNKNOWN

Race: UNKNOWN

Appearance: UNKNOWN

Power(s): Flight (or hovering, unconfirmed which), Super strength(?), Teleportation(?), Portal creation (confirmed)

Weakness(es): UNKNOWN

Costume: A full black and red hazmat suit. The headgear has a black, unreflective screen that has green orbs (eyes?) shining behind it. Matte black gloves, combat boots and belt. There are compartments added to the belt. Content: UNKNOWN

Weapon(s): a metal thermos(?) with green accents

Personality: UNKNOWN

Affiliates: Tuck (?) (no file available)

Takedown plan(s): Impossible to make without further data

Note: The entity always deals with the threats quickly and effectively. Their moves speak of prior experience.

Ao3

The one that helped betaing this work once again is the lovely Amateum!

My hands were itching to draw something so in a 'why the fuck not' mode i drew Danny's file.

Except as sequel of this with arts and all fellas cuz am already preparing it!

The sketch:

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darkesttimelinestuff · 7 months

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"Don't worry, I got you."

Day 4 of Fictober and I'm trying my hand at some spooky X-Files shit.

Prompt #2 - "Don't worry, I got you."

The muddy earth sloshed beneath their feet. Last night’s rain surely washed away most of the evidence, but Mulder insisted on seeing the body, ritualistically posed, immediately. A cloud of mist persisted in the dense forest, but the agents pressed onward toward the crime scene.

They reached a clearing where the body lay untouched.

“It’s right through there,” said the young officer acting as their guide.

Scully thanked her and began examining the mutilated body, Mulder close on her heel.

The victim was young, maybe in his late teens or early twenties, and splayed out on a large rock. His was cut open, his insides draped and adorned him like fine clothes. The putrid stench that filled the air of the clearing was inescapable.

Mulder immediately turned away in disgust, a hand to his mouth and nose blocking the smell. Instead, he examined the surrounding area for clues, keeping as far away from Scully and the victim as possible.

“Well, it’s just like the other ones,” Scully said, coming up behind him and removing her gloves. “The body is posed in the same manner. Same M.O. as before, right down to the crown of intestines.”

This was the fourth killing of this nature, but Mulder grimaced every time. “How long has he been here?”

“I’d say a few days, maybe a week. This is a pretty remote location. We’re pretty deep in the woods.”

Yeah, if that hiker hadn’t stumbled upon this, who knows how long it wouldn’t taken to find him.”

Mulder called to the local law enforcement to have the body sent to a Dr. Dana Scully at the F.B.I. A special gift, just for her.

“What about you?” she asked. “Find anything?”

“Just like the other ones,” he echoed. He put a hand to the small of her back and led her to a set of flat rocks on the edge of the clearing. She shivered under his touch.

On the rocks there were candles with a wreath of leaves and flowers, an ornate silver crucifix, and scattered salt. Same as before. Scully nodded and walked around the makeshift witch’s table, taking in the whole picture.

“What is it?” Mulder asked.

Scully shook her head and circled the rocks, looking contemplative. Mulder, unsure of what to look for, followed behind.

Without warning Mulder was on his back, taking Scully down with him. She fell onto his chest. His breath was heavy and ragged from the fall, blowing her hair with each exhale. They stared at one another in a moment of surprise.

Scully apologized, pushing awkwardly off his chest in an effort to climb off him. Mulder stood beside her brushing dirt off his tailored suit.

“What happened,” she asked, with genuine concern.

“I’m not sure. There was some…”

But then he lost his balance again, his arms flailing.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Scully said, reaching out to steady him. He caught her arm, finding his balance.

“Uneven ground,” he finished.

The agents bent to investigate the area beneath their feet. Next to them was a patch of sticks and leaves, more heavily concentrated than the rest of the clearing.

“Mulder,” Scully said urgently. “You’re bleeding.”

She pointed to a trail of blood on his left hand.

“I didn’t even feel it,” Mulder said.

Together she and Mulder unearthed a slightly buried dagger with a short, leather-bound handle, and discovered that Mulder had tripped on a large hole covered by forest debris. A human trap. And a folded piece of paper.

As an officer approached them to ask about Mulder’s fall, Scully noticed Mulder slip the paper into his pocket. She held his gaze, but didn’t say anything.

*****

“So what did you find?” Mulder said by way of greeting when Scully walked through the office door. She set down her bag and two coffees. He grabbed one.

“Nothing unusual. For this case,” she emphasized, sitting opposite Mulder.

“I did some research on some of the witch material we found yesterday.

“Witch?” Scully arched a brow.

Not to be discouraged by Scully’s questioning, he continued. “The dagger is called an athame. It’s used in rituals, to command spirits and direct energies. In the Satanic arts.”

“Mulder…” Scully interrupted.

“But there was also the crucifix and salt,” Mulder continued. “Someone cast a protection spell. There were two forces at work.”

“Good against evil?”

Mulder nodded. “Exactly.”

“But evil won.”

“This time.”

“What about the paper?” Scully inquired.

“That,” Mulder said, taking the paper from his jacket pocket and placing it on the desk in front of Scully, “is up for debate. This drawing is of the Romanian Muma Padurii, or Mother of the Forest. She is known as an ugly old woman who can transform her body. An urban folk legend used to scare children into being good.”

“Be good, kids, or the Boogie Monster will get you.”

“She lives in a dark little house in the forest,” he continued, “and kidnaps children to enslave them.”

“Or murder them,” Scully offered.

“Or maybe protect them,” he countered.

“Or a seriously disturbed person, inspired by Eastern European folklore, wants to make this look like witch’s ritual killing.”

“No, I think this witch is casting protection spells against a Satanist,” Mulder said.

“So, how do we find a shape-shifting witch?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Mulder said, smiling. “There are a large number of spells that can be used to defeat her, according to legend. Or, in our case, find her.”

“Mulder, no.”

“Get out your crystal ball, Scully. We’re going to find a witch!”

#the x files #fictober23 #today in fic #txf #scully #mulder #thexfiles #dana scully #msr #the x-files #spooky mulder #halloween #witchcraft #witches #fox mulder #case file #fictober 2023 #fictober #romanian folklore

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tangletowergalery · 27 days

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Case File

Back to Exhibition list

#Case file #Tangle tower #Detective grimoire series #SFB Games #Concept art #Object art #Evidence #Tangle tower art galery #NOT MY ART

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princesshillaryellaworld25 · 1 month

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Case File: Subject 02145721/ Cherry Rose Lynn

Name: Cherry Rose Lynn

Gender: Female

Age: 27

Occupation: Serial Rapist

Species: Human, Immortal witch(Revenge Arc) then Imp demon later.

Family: Sara Lynn(Mother), Eric Lynn(Father), Thomas Lynn(Big brother)

Personality: Selfish, nasty, self-centered, cruel, Spoiled, crazy, obsessed, perverted, Naughty, Mean

Likes: Taking advantage of people, money, molesting people, Manipulating people into doing things that they didn’t want.

Dislikes: Getting in trouble, psychopaths, getting caught, people cheating on her instead, Police officers, Being arrested

Arrested for: Sexual Assault in the second degree, Massive Rape,Breaking and Entering.

She's in a family of 4. The Lynn Family are rapists and molesters, They used people, molested them and then kill them. The mother, father and brother were only caught and thrown in jail and sentenced to death but Cherry wasn't cause she escaped and she was a minor.

Status: Alive (meant to be executed for Serial Rape)

Victim: Sick Boyfriend/ Stephanie Sickest

Case reported: Jan 9th, 2011

She trespass through the Sickest residence, She broke into the top floor into the victim's room, attacked him and sexually assaulted him. The victim managed to call for help and help was on the way, Cherry was caught red-handed but she managed to rape him and escape before the victim's parents manage to keep her for the police to get her. The victim was tramatized and is seeking therapy ever since and is now scared of being sexual assaulted again.

#friday night funkin #case file #prisoner profile #Cherry Rose

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spirits-fury · 7 months

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BABUHBABAAAAAA MAIN CHARACTER DESIGNS (PART 1 BUT I'M KINDA DOING THEM AS THEY APPEAR/IMPORTANCE LEVELS)

Kazmir is a tough, No-Nonsense guard who’s a stickler for the rules. He’s been around for around twenty years, and by the gods there will be NO security breaches on his watch. Avery was as close as they’d ever get to a true breach during his time on the job. He always seems jaded, on alert, and extremely harsh on new recruits, and no one knows why. Maybe after the worst EXTREMELY PREVENTABLE breach will he actually try opening up to anyone… maybe not.

Avery is a very experienced researcher who’s extremely passionate about its job. Its job is training new recruits and, well, researching the anomalies in and out of the facility. Despite looking very human, Avery is rather anomalous, having been formerly considered an anomaly, and possessing the body of a fallen researcher. Why they let it work at the ACU is a different question entirely. Whether this means human based anomalies will work on it or not is a question with much debate, and it won’t let anyone run any more tests on it to find out.

Toffee is the newest researcher on the team and it is very clear based on her general demeanor. She’s awkward and shy, always tagging along close to the people training her, and doesn’t quite understand the severity of some of the things she’s handling. Her stubborn demeanor doesn’t clash well with this naivety so when something happens, she’ll go to lengths that the most unethical fringe scientists would cringe at to make sure people are safe without knowing the issues.

#Case File #Kazmir Morozov #Toffee Mako #Avery Hatal #Reference art #Spirit's Fury

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defectivenancydrew · 2 years

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Case File Notebooks? *Leela voice* Oh yeah!

A5 Dot Grid notebooks, hand-stamped with CASE FILE to mimic the appearance of Nancy’s trusty case file. Just click on the plane ticket and you’ll be on your way!

#nancy drew #clue crew #her #my art #nancy drew games #the clue crew #her interactive #clue crew art #stickers #art #case file #notebook

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jaspermyth · 5 months

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Welcome to the Jasper Myth OC Database.

Loading file “JMOD/MyHeroRoleplay/Tyler_Hunt.pdf”…

Access granted

Note: the art in this file is not mine, it is a set of picrews that I create and edit for aesthetic and design purposes. Credits below.

OC “Favian” coming soon…

Picrew credits: @Elle_koi34 on picrew

#original character #oc #my hero academia #roleplay #picrew #case file #jaspermythocdatabase

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sisterspooky1013 · 2 years

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More Than A Feeling, Chapter 3

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

The sun sits high in a cloudless sky just before noon, the murmur of hundreds of voices seeping through the chain link fence that surrounds the fairgrounds as crowds gather in wait of opening day. The rides stand still and proud, each bolt and screw carefully installed, inspected, and tested by the crew, who sip ginger ale to calm their agitated bellies. The oil in the deep fryers is hot, the long curls of fries carved from impossibly large potatoes standing at the ready for their bath, while plain white sugar waits for its chance to be spun and dyed electric pink or baby blue. Each joint booth has been carefully hung with plush that sticks out into the Midway so it catches the eye of awestruck children and haughty teenagers, the agents ready with aprons full of change and the ability to tell a mark from a rube from an honest customer who’s just looking for a good time. Everything is ready; all they have left to do is open the front gates.

Mulder sits on an overturned milk crate, pulling deep breaths in through his nose and pushing them out through his mouth as he steals glances at Scully. She’s leaning against the side of the ticket booth, talking and laughing with Summer and Picker, her coveralls half undone and tied around her hips as the full heat of the day presses down on her bare shoulders around her tank top. She is, unsurprisingly, unaffected by the spin of the Music Fest or the swing of the Viking, and he has half a mind to tell her to put some sunscreen on that lily white skin, if not for the tumult in his gut and the fact that she’d probably tell him to fuck off just to keep their cover.

Tami steps out of what she calls her office, which is a small trailer towed by a pickup truck, and claps her hands, then rubs them together like she’s up to something devious. Jean stands from her seat in the shade of a joint booth and cups her hands around her mouth.

“SHOWTIME!” she hollers impressively loudly, and everyone scrambles to their feet or away from wherever they’d been leaning, gathering around the main entrance.

Mulder follows the lead of the other staff, lining the entryway to the park on either side to create a human tunnel that customers will walk through as they enter, corralling them towards either the ticket booth or the midway. Tami steps into the ticket booth and fidgets with the sound system until the familiar opening chords of “More Than a Feeling” tinkle through the monstrous speakers that are aimed at the entrance. She then runs out to the front gate, pulling it open and stepping aside as streams of smiling and excited customers push into the human tunnel and line up at the ticket booth or set out on the midway. Mulder mirrors what he sees others doing: welcoming people to the show, waving at beaming children, and tossing out empty recommendations like, “You gotta try the elephant ears,” or, “You look like you’d be able to stomach the Ring of Fire.” There is an air of excitement and promise, and the unadulterated joy of a once-a-year opportunity to eat junk and then get so sick you throw it all up, and walk out the door with a comically large teddy bear under your arm. The first wave of customers starts to thin out, and the ride jocks make their way back to their dog houses, ready to take tickets and dodge puke.

“First show?” asks the man beside him, who is taller even than he with weathered ochre skin and black square-rimmed glasses.

“Is it that obvious?” Mulder replies with a nervous smile, and the man nods knowingly.

“You look a little green,” the man says.

“Just started yesterday,” Mulder says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

“No, I mean sick. You don’t have to test the rides if you don’t have the stomach for it, son.”

Mulder feels his cheeks warm and nods gratefully. “Luke,” he says, extending his hand.

“Lenny,” the man says as he clutches Mulder’s hand and then pats him on the back with his other one. “I’m in charge of the joints. That’s what we call the games.”

“Any other advice you can offer a newbie?” Mulder asks.

“Yeah,” Lenny says, beginning to walk away. “If anyone asks you to find the key to the midway, tell ‘em to piss up a rope.”

Mulder doesn’t understand what that means, but he nods anyway, and then heads back to the cook trailer.

Within fifteen minutes of the gates opening, Scully’s walkie-talkie squawks and a warbled voice reports that the Chump Churner is making a weird noise.

“Mother fuck,” Summer says through her teeth, kicking the leg of a picnic table and cocking her head in indication that Scully should follow her as she takes off into the crowd.

“What’s a Chump Churner?” Scully asks as they weave through customers to take the quickest route to the back of the show.

“The Ferris Wheel,” Summer answers. “There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just friction between the bearings and the spindle, but anything making a noise scares customers. We greased the shit out of that son of a bitch this morning but apparently it wasn’t enough.”

By the time they arrive at the ferris wheel, a long line of customers is grumbling at the “out of order” sign hung at the entrance, and the ride jock, Mickey, is practically shooting daggers out of his eyes.

“Do not fucking look at me like that, Mickey,” Summer warns him with a finger pointed at his face, and he bristles.

Summer goes straight to the main support of the ride, which hosts a criss-cross of metal bars that double as a ladder, and starts climbing towards the spindle at the center of the wheel. Scully looks around self-consciously at her large audience, the music pumping from the speaker mounted on the spindle vibrating her eardrums, and feels a sudden wave of nervousness. She’s used to death-defying stunts, but not with so many eyes on her.

“Time’s a wastin, Penny,” Summer calls down, and despite her nerves Scully begins to climb.

Within ten minutes, they’ve applied “enough axle grease to drown a hooker,” in Summer’s words, and are back on the ground so Mickey can start up the ride and verify that the concerning noise has been eliminated. Mickey pulls the “out of order” sign off the gate and the line cheers enthusiastically as Summer and Scully head back to the maintenance trailer.

“Is that pretty typical?” Scully asks, and Summer casts her an amused smirk.

“It happens enough that it keeps us employed full time,” she says, and Scully accepts this with a shrug.

“Sometimes we get a quiet day where things seem to go right, and then we get to fuck around a bit, but that usually only happens when it…” Summer stops walking and looks around, then steps close and brings her lips to Scully’s ear. “When it rains,” she says conspiratorially, then moves away and starts walking again. “Don’t ever let Tami or Jean hear you say the R word,” she cautions. “They think it’s bad luck to even talk about it.”

“Any other rules I should know about?” Scully asks.

“Aside from shit that should be obvious like not being drunk or high while the show is open, don’t let Tami hear a single note of a song that wasn’t released between 1970 and 1979,” Summer says with no trace of sarcasm.

“Oh,” Scully remarks with a mix of surprise and realization. “It’s by design that every song I’ve heard here is from the seventies?”

“Tami’s grand design, yes. She firmly believes that all other music is, and I quote, ‘tone-deaf garbage.’”

“Well, there was a lot of good music in the seventies, at least,” Scully says optimistically, and Summer barks a humorless laugh.

“See if you still feel that way when you’ve been here a full season,” she quips.

Before they’ve made it back to the maintenance trailer, they are called to look at a bumper car that’s sitting motionless in the middle of the rink.

“You got things under control here, Buddy Boy?”

Mulder lifts his head to see Madge leaning heavily against the door of the cook trailer, one eye squeezed shut.

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” he answers, looking around at the colossal mess he’s made working on dinner prep.

“Good, good. I’m gonna go lie down for a few minutes, okay? I’ll be back soon,” she says, her breathing labored.

“You okay?” he asks with genuine concern, and she waves her hand dismissively.

“I’m fine, just a spell. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

She slowly makes her way toward the boneyard, and Mulder sticks his head out of the cook trailer door to watch her until she disappears into her camper. Satisfied that she made it safely, he turns back to the list she made for him and realizes he’s finished, aside from cleanup. He pokes his head out again to see if anyone is sitting at the picnic tables and, seeing no one, he pulls the door to the trailer closed.

He begins opening drawers and cupboards, not quite sure what he’s looking for. He finds every cooking and serving utensil imaginable, pots, pans, and small appliances. Near the front of the trailer where it narrows above the tow hitch, he finds a drawer full of miscellaneous odds and ends: pens, scraps of paper, receipts from grocery stores and gas stations. There are lighters, cigarettes, nail clippers, sunscreen, and time-worn sheets of carbon paper detailing oil changes on Madge’s truck and maintenance done on the trailer. Underneath all the junk, he finds a photograph of a much younger Madge standing beside a young man with shaggy brown hair and a patchy mustache. Madge has her arm wrapped around his waist and she’s smiling broadly, while the young man looks wan and gaunt, his cheeks drawn and his skin pock-marked. He doesn’t look well.

The door to the trailer snaps open, and he shoves the photograph back into the drawer and closes it quickly, scurrying towards the prep area as Tami heaves an overflowing paper sack up and onto the floor.

“Here’s those condiments you asked for, Ma—” she starts, but then sees that it’s not Madge she’s addressing. “Sorry, what was your name again?” she asks with an apologetic cringe.

“Luke,” Mulder says with a smile, his heart rate slowing as he concludes that she hadn’t noticed nor wondered what he was doing when she walked in.

“Luke, right,” Tami repeats. “Glad to have you with us.”

Monday is the final night of their week in St. Joseph, and the crowd pops at 6:00 pm after parents get off work and agree to bring the kids out one last time before they lose the opportunity for a full year. At midnight, the music cuts and the flashing lights dim to nothing, only the glaring safety lights left to guide customers back to their cars. Agents begin to pack up their plush and everyone takes a break before the back-breaking and nonstop work of slough commences, and then the jump to Kansas City.

Scully is already waiting on the grassy knoll when Mulder makes his way over, lying on her back with her hands folded over her belly and her eyes on the starry night sky. He sits heavy beside her and she pushes up onto her elbows, looking curiously at the plate in his hands.

“Whatcha got there?” she asks with a hungry look in her eye, and he moves the plate away a bit.

“Madge asked me,” he says, and then pauses to clear his throat and affect an impersonation of Madge’s lopsided husk, “does that little lady of yours like peanut butter, Buddy Boy?”

“She does,” Scully says with an edge of irritation. “Hand it over.”

“Now hold on, Penny, I need you to know that I told Madge that the little lady does like peanut butter, but only creamy.”

“And?” Scully asks, her eyes ready to roll.

“Peanut butter and jelly pie sticks. Creamy,” he says with a flourish, moving the plate close enough for her to pluck one of the lolly-pop-esque treats off the plate with child-like wonder.

She takes a big bite and then closes her eyes and hums with satisfaction. Mulder watches her, gratified by her enjoyment of his cooking, which is an unexpected upside to this assignment.

“You know I’m going to make you cook things like this for me after we go home, right?” she tells him, wiping a bit of jelly off the corner of her mouth.

“I’m not sure I can produce the same results without Madge’s oversight, but I’ll give it my best shot. Looks like that might be tomorrow, huh?” he says, taking a bite out of his own little pie on a stick.

“Looks like it,” she agrees.

They haven’t gotten any indication either way regarding their continued employment, and with tonight being the last in St. Joseph it’s looking like they will receive their pay for the week and fly home to Washington with nothing to show. Chris, Damian and themselves are all alive and well, and while there are many gruff characters working for the carnival, none have demonstrated a proclivity towards homicidal tendencies, at least not that Scully and Mulder have been able to garner in the stolen moments between the real, hard work they’ve been performing.

A twenty something blonde woman struts by and winks at Mulder before shooting Scully a dirty look, to which Scully scoffs.

“Friend of yours?” she asks, and Mulder turns to look at her incredulously.

“Becky? The kissing booth girl? Is it anti-feminist to say I’m not interested in a woman who kisses strangers for a fin?” he asks reticently, using one of the many “carny cant” terms they’ve learned, this one representing five dollars.

Scully shakes her head dismissively. “Summer said that joint is gaffed, no one actually wins a kiss.”

“I’ve definitely seen her kissing a customer,” Mulder retorts.

“It’s always the same guy, that agent from the bottle game. He just knows how to get around the gaff and make it look like he won so the customers don’t get pissed,” Scully explains, and Mulder considers this.

“Would you kiss a stranger for a fin?” he asks, and she balks.

“I wouldn’t kiss a stranger for a double,” she says emphatically, “or even a half yard.”

“A yard?” he asks, upping the ante to one-hundred dollars.

Scully considers this. “Is he cute?”

“Who?” Mulder asks.

“The stranger,” she replies.

“It’s a hypothetical question, Penny. He doesn’t exist,” he says dryly.

Scully shrugs. “I guess it depends. If he’s cute…maybe for a yard.”

Mulder shakes his head, which she interprets as judgment.

“You wouldn’t? For a yard?” she asks.

“Oh, I’d do it for a fin,” he quips, and she slaps his arm.

Jean approaches, breathless and carrying a large flashlight.

“Hey lovebirds,” she teases, though by now they’ve become used to people commenting on what reads as a romantic connection between them that they’ve neither bothered to confirm nor deny. “Tami’s looking for ya, head on over to her office soon, okay?”

“Roger that, Jean,” Mulder says as he collects both he and Scully’s pie sticks and stands, then tows her up to stand as well.

They walk side by side across the darkened grounds, the buzz of the flood lights ringing in their ears. The constant noise from the rides, games, and customers starts to become unnoticeable after a few days, and it’s only when they stop that she realizes you can hear the chirp of crickets and the hush of highway traffic. A skinny yellow lab gallops up to them, and Mulder gives him a few pats on the head before telling him to go on. Summer told her they see a lot of strays hanging around no matter where they go, and figures they must follow the smell of the food until they end up at the fairgrounds.

When they enter Tami’s office, they find Chris and Damian already waiting in the two available chairs, so they stand awkwardly in the doorway of the small space. Tami is behind the desk, her hair wrapped up in a silk bonnet, and a Carhartt coat that is at least two sizes too big hangs from her shoulders.

“Okay, everybody’s here,” Tami says, collecting a stack of pre-filled checks in her hands. “Chris, Damian, you’ve done good, hard work this week. I thank you for your time, but we won’t be needing your services after tonight. You can clear out your bunks and head on home.”

Damian looks disappointed while Chris looks relieved, and they accept the proffered checks before leaving the trailer. Mulder and Scully remain standing, ready to take their own checks and go, but Tami gestures to the empty seats until they drop into them and look at her expectantly.

“Penelope and Luke, I hear great things from Summer and Madge. You’ve both got a lot of potential, and if you’re interested I’d like to invite you to go on with us to Kansas City. This isn’t a guarantee of full-season employment, but as long as you keep doing good work you should have the opportunity to stay on through September, if you’d like to.”

There is a beat of silence, and Tami narrows her eyes while a smile plays on her mouth, trying to discern whether they are pleasantly or unpleasantly surprised. Finally, Mulder speaks.

“Absolutely, Tami, thank you for the opportunity. I’d love to stay on,” he says.

“Me too,” Scully pipes in, remembering that this is the desired outcome. “That sounds great, thank you.”

“Perfect,” Tami says triumphantly. “This means you’ll help with slough. Nobody sleeps until we get the show loaded up and on the road to Kansas City. Penny, you’ll have to drive your trailer over there but Luke should be able to get some shut eye on the ride at least.”

“I can ride with Penny so we can drive in shifts,” Mulder offers, and Scully shoots him a look that tells him it was a too-familiar offer–Mulder speaking, not Luke. “If you want, I mean. Your call,” he adds, feigning disinterest.

“We’ll see,” Scully says, seeming similarly uninvested.

“It's only an hour to KC from here,” Tami comments, confused by the tension in the conversation. “Now that you’re regular crew, you’ll get a day off each week after we set up for opening at the new spot. If you need something to get you through slough, Picker is flush with beanies. Just don’t overdo it and get wiggy on me.”

They both nod, mutually understanding that whatever beanies are, they don’t want them.

“That’s it, get outta here and get to sloughin’,” Tami says with a wave of her arms, and they exit into the cool night.

On their way back towards the maintenance shed, in search of Summer and some direction regarding how they might go about assisting with slough, Scully sees the Princess Doraldina fortune teller machine sitting on a hand truck.

“Oh, have you seen this?” she says to Mulder, uncoiling the cord from the side of the machine and plugging it into a nearby power strip.

Mulder shoots her a skeptical look. “Have you gone to the dark side, Penny?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes.

“You know I don’t believe in it, it’s just fun. Do you have a nickel?”

Mulder fishes one out of his pocket and pops it into the machine, and they watch Doraldina begin to turn her head and wave her arm, her lifelike breathing making Mulder stick out his lower lip in a show of being impressed. The card pops out of the bottom and he reaches down to retrieve it.

“What does it say?” Scully asks, but as he opens his mouth to answer, Summer yells at them from several yards away.

“No, no no no, Penny, what are you doing?!” Summer says angrily, and they both turn to watch as she yanks the cord out of the power strip and moves to stand between Mulder and Doraldina.

“I was just showing him the fortune teller,” Scully explains, confused by Summer’s demeanor.

“I told you I don’t like just anyone touching her,” Summer says indignantly, leveling a glare on Mulder. “I don’t fucking know this guy.”

“I’m Luke, we’ve met several times,” Mulder says, confused.

“He’s my friend, Summer, it’s okay. He won’t do anything to her,” Scully elaborates, anthropomorphizing the machine as she’s heard Summer do.

“Did you put a nickel in?” Summer asks Mulder, and he nods, holding up the fortune.

“Cool. Don’t touch my shit again,” Summer spits at him, then strides off.

“I thought you said she seems even-keeled,” Mulder says to Scully as they watch Summer fade into the dark of night, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“She did,” Scully defends. “Until now.”

Twelve long hours later, the trucks are fully loaded and on the road to Kansas City. They, along with the crew in their personal vehicles, follow the directional arrows Jean left along the way when she set out hours ago to plot out the new site and clear the last of the permits needed for the show. Mulder sits behind the wheel of Scully’s pickup truck, the radio on low though he suspects not even a marching band in the seat beside her could wake her right now. Somewhere around 4:00 am they started to understand why beanies, or amphetamines, are a standard part of slough as the bone deep tired of a full day and then a full night of manual labor hit them. He being the one who fares better on lack of sleep made him the obvious choice for the one-hour drive to Kansas City, and Scully was asleep before they got to the highway.

He glances over at her, pink-cheeked from too much sun with remnants of grease still streaking her cheeks as she hasn’t yet showered and won’t have the chance to until the bunkhouse is set up at the new site. While the feeling he should have had when learning that they’d be staying on with the show is accomplishment for a job well done, he found that he was mostly just happy to get to continue seeing her this way: unpolished, dirty, rough around the edges. Some version of herself that he still hasn’t pinpointed as playing a part or just fully letting her guard down. Their midnight meetings on the grassy knoll quickly became his favorite part of the day, and the relentless teasing from other staff over their alleged budding romance made his heart swell as Scully blushed demurely. He feels like he doesn’t have to be so careful here, careful about what he says and does in her presence, how he touches her. He feels like he can just let his instincts drive, and those instincts tell him to soak up every second of her time he can manage, but not for any reason other than the joy of being near her.

She pulls in a deep breath, adjusting her head on the makeshift pillow she’s created out of a balled up sweatshirt and crammed against the door jam. He plucks the card he got from the fortune teller machine out of his breast pocket and taps it against the steering wheel, considering its meaning for at least the hundredth time since he got it.

True happiness lies on the other side of a leap of faith—if you are willing to risk the fall.

He puts the card back in his pocket, rolling his neck side to side for the stretch. The thing is, he’s willing to risk just about anything for a chance at something more with her, but he’s afraid that the one thing he isn’t willing to risk is the exact thing he’ll lose if he does take that leap. Her friendship, her trust, her presence in his life. He’s never understood the meaning of a catch 22 more than now, as he looks down the double barrel of this particular gun. One chamber holds the potential of getting to love Scully the way he truly wants to, and the other holds losing her altogether. The only way to find out which barrel will fire is to pull the trigger, to leap.

He knows he’ll do it, he has to. It’s become clear that it’s only a matter of when.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #txf #x files fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #case fic #case file

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