#bbc the fall

[aloysiavirgata]

Think maybe Mulder knew Stella from his time in England? 👀

“Hello, Mulder,” she says, in her silk and sandpaper voice. “Fancy meeting you here.”

As though he hasn’t met her here before, as though his subconscious hadn’t sent him this way for her Hitchcock hair and her Hepburn timbre. He hasn’t worn the Stonehenge Rocks hat, thank goodness.

“How long has it been?” he asks, over Phoebe and Diana and Scully - Scully, like a bruise whose tenderness he keeps testing with a finger. He knows, nearly to the month, how long it’s been.

But he asks.

“Back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day,” Stella murmurs. She sips at the rock glass with her mouth like a damask rose. Blouse the color of old blood.

“‘Til he came to the place where the wild things are,” Mulder finishes, dreamy and wistful for the past and the future.

Stella makes a liquid sound. “You look good, Fox. Phoebe still misses you. Phoebe will always miss you.”

“I’m sure her aim’s getting better,” Mulder says.

Stella laughs into the sweet blackberry dark, the fiery gold of her drink. “I heard about your partner,” she says. “She desperately in love with you yet, Fox? Phoebe said she was quite devoted already a few years back, but you know how Phoebe is. A bit histrionic.”

He coughs a little. “We parted badly last time, Phoebe and I.”

“I heard,” Stella says. “Even I know better than to fuck victims, for heaven’s sake.”

She raises her brows for punctuation. Her eyes cooler than Scully’s, more calculating, however big and blue.

Mulder shakes his head. Good old Stella. He knows perfectly well she’d never get away with being so outspoken if she didn’t look like she does. The fact that Stella is perfectly aware of this pleases him. He knows his own Halo Effect as well, has exploited it shamelessly. Stella, like him, is a survivor.

“I’ve missed you too.” She winks for the fun of it. Mulder wonders how many poor bastards are desperately in love with Stella. He thinks Phoebe might have been, at a time.

“No you haven’t,” he says warmly. She is playful, but always honest.

“No, I haven’t.” she admits. “But I do now that I remember…aspects of you.” She makes a lazy circle with her tongue against the inside of her sculpted cheek.

Jesus, Stella! He blushes.

“I heard your partner is a doctor though,” Stella muses, swirling her ice. “I suppose she knows all the fun bits.”

“We haven’t…Phoebe doesn’t…” Mulder shakes his head again.

“Oh. Well. You around tonight?” she asks, direct as ever.

He is, he technically is, and he doesn’t have what it takes to say no to Stella or yes to his longing for his partner.

“Stella…” he says, low, hardening, remembering the sinuous machinery of her body, the way she left him both deeply satisfied and profoundly alone.

She gets to her feet, Detective Gibson, nudges his thighs apart with hers.

Mulder puts his hands at her hips, their roundness always surprising in such a small woman. She is pressed between his knees like a plucked flower. He touches her, draws her close. She smells like good breeding and warm silk and forgetting.

“What is it, Stella?” he murmurs. Remembers the constellation of freckles along her sternum, the taut vellum of her belly.

A whiff of her skin when she leans forward, a kiss of her platinum hair on his cheek. She presses her mouth to his, darts her tongue against his lips. Stella, Stella, this is what he needs to avoid the hard choices at home. Stella like an Akhal-Teke, lean and golden and rare. Riding her for miles.

“Go home,” she murmurs, her sweet, peaty breath in his mouth. “You’re absolutely useless, darling.”

He is stung. “Stella, I-“

“Let’s not spoil the memories, hmm?” she says. “Go tell her.”

“I don’t -“

Stella’s immaculate finger at his mouth.

She leaves cash at the bar, saunters out from between his legs without ever looking back.

[samanthamulder]

GILLIAN ANDERSON as DSI STELLA GIBSON in every episode of The Fall [16/17] 3.05 Wounds of Deadly Hate (2016)

[arcadiabay]

FAVOURITE STELLA GIBSON QUOTES: 1 / ?

“I know that everything feels tainted, polluted. But it's not. We all have those voices in our heads, that tell us we're a disappointment, that tell us our work is insignificant. That it's not good enough, it takes too long, it's too hard. But when times are tough, we need tough dreams. But real dreams, not lies. Not an unreality like Paul. You need to fight for yourself, Katie, because right now... ..you're in danger.”

THE FALL ( 2013 - 2016 ) S3, E6 | “Their Solitary Way”

[i--am-the--one]

“Your presumption of innocence of women is even starting to amuse me.”

“In this case, it is quite justified by statistics.”

“What evidence in the case can confirm the sex of the killer?”

“There are none, but a woman is physically incapable ...”

“An ordinary woman may not be able to. But the one who is familiar with forensic medicine and criminology is capable. The one that's in contact with the crime scene and the evidence. The one that can manipulate the course of the investigation and the opinion of the police.”

“Miss Gibson… You do realize that we both fit into that category, don't you? A cop by day, a vicious vigilante by night... Just imagine: a murderous profiler and a lovesick police inspector covering up the tracks of crimes. What would be the headlines! Folie a deux. Madness shared by two. Let's drink to that. For insanity.”

[many-gay-magpies]

me seeing john lynch as jim burns in bbc's the fall: yo what's balinor doing here?

me seeing colin morgan show up as tom anderson eight episodes later: yo!!!

[queer-me-out-blog]

QUEER ME OUT! is video series about canonically queer characters in our favorite pieces of media.

Episode 1: Stella Gibson from The Fall.

Got thoughts on the character? Comment on this post to have today’s host, @jewish-mulder, interact.

[myoonmii]

Participated in this years @bbcmerlin-reversebang and had an absolute blast! I was very very lucky to have worked with lavender_spice who took my art prompt and bettered it 100x times with their gorgeous fic

I highly recommend checking it out if your a sucker for Merthur pining/idiots in love/angst/secret relationship realness like me, Thank you again and again to my writer I adore every single word of your amazing 24k fic 🫶

[spoopdeedoop]

first conversation they have after partners in crime trust me im the tardis

[justaz]

lol arthur realizes with the other knights after watching merlin flirt and being hit with a wave of deja vu: holy shit you asked me out

merlin and the rest of the knights around a campfire after leaving a village bc gwaine and leon somehow started a brawl in the tavern: ???

arthur points at merlin: after valiant! you asked me to buy you a drink! you were asking me out!

merlin is busy cooking dinner and confused out of his fucking mind: what???…..valiant….oh the knight with the snakes.

gwaine who was slightly tipsy now stone cold sober and sitting up straight against a tree: wait. explain. what do you mean merlin asked you out??

arthur snaps his fingers as he recalls the memory: i apologized for sacking you and you said that if i bought you a drink we’d be even.

merlin now remembering how he had stumbled into camelot, picked a fight with a pigheaded bully which quickly turned homoerotic and flirtatious, and continued their teasing-flirting for days before merlin shot his shot and asked the prince out only to be rejected: oh yeah, i forgot i did that…..wait, you mean you didnt realize what i was asking?

arthur: no?? we argued everyday, how was i supposed to realize you were asking me out??

merlin now abandoning the dinner and staring across the camp at arthur while the rest of the knights watch their back and forth like a game of tennis: to you we were arguing, to me that was very much flirting. i thought you were flirting back so i decided to ask you. then you rejected me

arthur, mentally beating his past self up for fucking up their chance: i didn’t reject you!!! i just didn’t realize what you were asking me. how was i meant to? we fought every chance we got

leon, nudging elyan, glee and excitement riling through him: its happening!!! its finally happening!!! seven long, grueling years is finally paying off!!!

merlin, realizing the misunderstanding and acknowledging the fact that he wasn’t rejected, his flirtations just weren’t noticed - realizing he still has a chance: oh…oh i see. arthur, my dear, our fights were extremely flirtatious. need i remind you of what you said? “do you know how to walk on your knees? would you like me to teach you?” or “i could take you apart with one blow”

arthur, mental capabilities at an all time low: m…my dear….?????????

merlin grinning devilishly as he realizes that his flirtatious persona he had hidden away after falling head over heels for arthur can make a come back: that is what i called you. should i call you something else? say…mine?

percival gags in elyan’s ear: cheesy

elyan hides a laugh: at least they’re finally getting somewhere. better than the hopeless pining

arthur, flushed from head to toe: ah uh no um im uh

merlin thoroughly enjoying himself: oh come now, your majesty. use your words.

[heyheresathou]

how do y'all not let the things you like consume your entire being

[spooksicl-e]

co-parenting<33

[aloysiavirgata]

Title: Fern Hill

Rating: NC-17

Timeline: pre-series

Category: XF/The Fall crossover

Summary: For everyone who asked for a Stella/Mulder prequel from my little prompt ficlet

Author’s Note:

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,

Time held me green and dying

Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

The blonde two stools down is eyeing him unashamedly. She’s got on tight jeans and a white cable knit sweater, summer-wheat hair straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad. Eyes like Lake Tashmoo before a storm.

“You’re Phoebe Green’s American,” she observes. It isn’t a question. Her voice is buttery, a burnt-velvet purr that makes the back of his neck tingle. She sips at a rock glass full of something tawny in the subfusc gloom of the pub.

Mulder, intrigued, moves next to her. “What the fuck?”

She blinks, the barest hint of a smirk tightening her lips. “I’m not wrong.”

“I’m not Phoebe’s anything,” he replies. “She stole my Pink Floyd sweatshirt and burned my Knicks hat. She fucked a vegetarian trumpet player.”

The blonde smiles fully now. “You’re marked forever, I’m afraid. You’ve some kind of animal name, haven’t you? Bear, was it?”

He knows she knows his name, this unsettling girl. Somehow, he knows she does. “Bear,” he agrees.

“Stella,” she says, holding out a slim, white hand. “You’re Fox.”

It’s a warm plum in her mouth. Delicious, desirable, something to be proud of. Belongs in the Ralph Lauren ad with her pre-Raphaelite face and flag of golden hair.

“Mulder,” he says, shaking the proffered hand.

“Mulder.” She squeezes his fingers, then withdraws.

Mulder sips his gin and tonic, pondering. “So you know Phoebe socially,” he says. “That must be a hell of a thing. As a woman.”

Stella considers him down the length of her nose. She has the androgynous beauty of a Greek youth. A Roman statue of Minerva.

“Where do you think she got the idea for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s grave,” Stella asks.

He almost chokes on an ice cube.

“If you’re coughing you’re breathing,” she observes, dispassionate, as he nearly hacks up a lung.

Mulder’s heart rate settles back to normal after a moment. He looks at Stella, the hard lines of her cheekbones, her incongruously cute freckles.

He thinks of Stella and Phoebe together. Wonders if he could make that happen, their peony mouths and fine-boned faces. He would be willing to temporarily make up with Phoebe for it. Phoebe would love the theater of a dramatic apology and a threesome.

“Was the grave a hot tip or a shared experience?”

Stella only smiles, sphinx-link. Taps her glass in the bartender’s direction.

“Does it matter,” she asks, watching as her drink is refilled.

Tremendously.

“No. Do people do a lot of Brando impressions?” He clutches his t-shirt with an anguished expression.

She chuckles a bit at that and Mulder feels like the cleverest man in England. In the Northern Hemisphere.

“Plenty,” she says. “Which I like, because it creates a self-selecting population of people to avoid.”

People, he notes. Not men. He thinks of Phoebe again, her dark hair against Stella’s blonde, imagines ringing her up and what he’d say and-

Stella’s hand on his thigh. “Where do you live?” she asks. Her voice is obscene, her high breasts soft against the sweater, slender neck and perfume rich with amber and honey and musk.

He gulps at his drink. “Uni flat. You?”

“Summertown,” she murmurs. “It’ll be nicer than your place.”

Mulder blinks, impressed. His parents give him money but not Summertown money.

“Are you inviting me home with you, Stella?” he asks, low.

She considers him, swirling her glass. “I’m inviting you to my bed. I don’t need you lingering in my home.”

He laughs aloud while wondering if he is capable of falling for a woman who doesn’t have substantial emotional damage. “So you don’t want me to show up with two dozen roses and a box from Charbonnet et Walker?”

Stella sniffs disdainfully. “I’m not interested in the girlfriend role as a concept. I plan to finish school and be a detective.”

He perks up. “I’m planning on the FBI when I wrap up the DPhil. Don’t know that I’m interested in the girlfriend thing as a concept either at his point,” he says, knowing it savors strongly of bitterness.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stella says. “I think you’d make someone a very nice girlfriend.”

Storm-goddess eyes wicked over her glass.

He pays both tabs and watches her finish the Scotch.

***

Her flat is full of solid wood furniture and good upholstery. Some of the framed artwork appears original, and there’s Cross Townsend pen on her walnut secretary. A stack of leather notebooks that look like Smythsons or Conway Stewarts.

He wishes he could stop this, the eternal analysis.

Her bedroom smells of lemon wood polish and clean cotton and expensive unguents. The queen bed is made, an ivory silk robe draped at the foot of it. There’s no girlish clutter on her shelves, no stuffed bear on the pillow.

There’s a copy of Where the Wild Things Are on the mantel. “Seems a little below your reading level,” Mulder observes.

“It was my favorite book when I was little.” She touches the cover. “Well, one of my favorites at least. I rather wanted to be King of All Wild Things.”

He grins at her. “You wouldn’t have even needed the wolf suit I bet. You’re a bit scary, Stella.”

She snaps her teeth.

Mulder sees the two of them in her gilt-framed mirror, Stella fierce and delicate as a faerie out of Perrault. Her pale throat, her bright eyes. In the moment he wants a cantrip that will bind her.

Her face is serious again. She unbuttons his shirt with focused dexterity, her brows furrowed, her lips pursed. Dior Poison, he sees on the vanity, and gives a name to her scent.

Stella planes her hands over his chest. “Very nice,” she says, peering up through dusky lashes. She pulls her sweater over her head, drops it to the floor. Wriggles out of her jeans and kicks them aside.

He is hard as a fifteen year old.

“I try.” He hasn’t kissed her yet, even though her mouth reminds him of a little Parisian pastry and he wants to nibble at it. Apropos of which, Mulder had expected plain cotton lingerie but it’s all frou-frou lace confectionery trimmed with rosettes and ribbons. Feminine. Delightful. Flawless.

“God, you’re so-“

“Shhh,” she says, pushing him down onto her bed with a single, imperious finger. “I know all that.”

Stella straddles his lap and he’s somehow surprised that such a large presence should weigh almost nothing.

She leans into his grasping fingers, rolls against his tensed thighs. Sighs when he thumbs the front of her panties.

“Stella….”

She leans forward to kiss him, her hard belly against his own. Her clever hands at his fly.

“Let’s see how badly Phoebe fucked up, hmmm?”

***

They had wine from a Thermos and went to bed. She’s lithe and breathless in his arms, spine like worry beads against his palms.

He’d spoken to his father who helpfully reminded him that Samantha had gone missing around this time and shouldn’t he come home to see his mother?

Stella’s fully nude, hair a long braid over her shoulder, and he tugs it experimentally.

Stella makes a liquid noise in her throat, tightens around him.

He unwinds the elastic band and works the plait loose with his fingers. Spools her hair around his hand and pulls down hard until their lips are brushing.

“Fuck,” she hisses into his mouth, and it’s what he needs somehow, the grinding pain of her little teeth and he comes and comes and comes.

***

He’s headed home in six weeks with a DPhil and an acceptance to the FBI Academy and vague praise from his parents.

“Fox,” she groans against his temple. “Fucking hell.”

Mulder nips at her throat, her hair spread behind her like the tail of a comet. “Why did you call me Fox?”

“Why did your mother call you Fox?” she asks.

“She is a very sick woman,” he says into Stella’s patrician ear.

She laughs and bites his lower lip. “Me too,” she mumbles, and her heels dig into his kidneys.

***

They never said goodbye, not really, and he meant to let her go like the tide.

His flight home is in thirty six hours.

“I thought I was ready but I- a pregnant woman,” she says flatly into the phone. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He lets her use him, her lean swimmer’s legs against his own and her skirt rucked up at her waist and her tailored Met jacket and blouse fallen open along her breasts, lacy cobweb of a bra fighting for its life.

He gazes up at her, pink and silken as rose petals.

White and distant as the moon.

“Hurt me,” she gasps. “Mulder, please, I want-”

He hurts them both.

***

He leads her into the hotel room shower, washes her princess hair while she stands still, staring at nothing.

***

He left bruises along the softest parts of her. The hidden parts, where she asked. The palimpsest of her skin will be flawless again in a few days, and he tries not to think about how else the dark things in her might like to play. He absorbed her pain like charcoal absorbs poison.

“I truly don’t know if I can do this,” she remarks to the ceiling, palms against her eyes.

He tastes her on his lips, oysters and Sauternes. He wants to nudge his face back between her thighs in the way we are called by water. She is primordial and essential and delicate and terrifying. He has an Ivy League degree in psychology, even if it’s only from Pennsylvania, and he still can’t figure her out.

“You can,” he promises, like a faithful acolyte.

“And what does it mean if I can,” she asks and he wonders the same thing about himself.

***

He fucks her against an alley wall, thick with refuse and ennui. She’s gorgeous the way that supernovas and jaguars are gorgeous.

“Stella,” he groans. “Jesus.”

“You’ll miss your flight,” she mumbles, then laughs at the idea that they care.

“You going to see me off?” he pants into her neck. “Kiss me goodbye at the gate?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I told you I have a meeting in 45 minutes.” She hitches a knee up higher. “Oh, god, like that.”

Mulder grinds into her until she cries out, nipping at his chin, his earlobes.

He follows her into the starburst haze of an orgasm, his back shuddering, and Stella hot and twitchy against his chest.

They breathe together for a moment, riding out the wave.

“We both have to go,” Stella reminds him. “A parting of the ways this time, I think.”

Mulder lowers her to the ground. He ties off the condom and shoves it into a garbage can.

He zips his jeans up, watches Stella smooth her uniform, her hair.

“Here’s lookin’ at you kid,” he says, rather lamely.

But Stella smiles one of her rare, full smiles. “One day when you’re a world famous profiler and I’m Commissioner we’ll team up,” she says.

He brushes brick dust from her shoulder. “Why are you running the Met and I’m a lowly Special Agent still?”

She looks confused. “Because I like to be in charge and you don’t. You didn’t want to be King of All Wild Things.”

He palms her jaw, thumbs her cheekbone. He smiles fondly down at her.

“Don’t,” Stella warns.

Mulder shakes his head. “No. Go, run the Met and remember the little people when you ascend the throne.”

She covers her hand with hers for a moment. “Phoebe fucked up badly,” she says. “Now go back to the colonies and teach them how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“We just throw it in the Harbor.”

Stella squeezes his hand before taking it from her face. She walks briskly out of the alley without ever looking back.

***

He makes the plane, though barely. He falls asleep over Dublin. He dreams of sailboats and lonely islands and even in dreaming he knows Stella is right. He wants to be where someone loves him best of all.

[samanthamulder]

GILLIAN ANDERSON as DSI STELLA GIBSON in every episode of The Fall [15/17] 3.04 — The Hell Within Him (2016)

[arcadiabay]

GILLIAN ANDERSON as STELLA GIBSON

I think you're struggling to understand things that are way outside your experience. “Enlighten me.” You're a very self-aware person, Stella. You spend a lot of time observing yourself. You have sex in the head. I doubt you've ever fully given yourself to anyone. I doubt you ever truly lose yourself.

BBC’S THE FALL (2013) S2, E6 | “What Is in Me Dark Illumine”  

[i--am-the--one]

Goodbye, Stella.

[many-gay-magpies]

watching the fall with my parents was part psychological thriller and part "ayo wtf are balinor and merlin doing here"