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Honey, please squeeze me tight / Don't you want your baby to be alright?

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Howard Zinn nailed it.

Universities and righteous students are targets of the fascist conservative industrial complex.

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i love 90s television all these high quality fabrics got me so turned on i almost passed out

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you wanna see some badass shit from the early 20th century?? The Lumière brothers created the first full color photograph… in fucking 1903! So these dudes dyed potatoes (in red, blue, and green), mashed them down into just pure fuckin’ starch, and used these dyed potato starches as filters to block out/let in certain wavelengths of light. They coated one side of a glass plate with the starches and sensitized the other side with a mixture of gelatin and light sensitive materials (silver nitrate) and loaded these plates in their cameras.. This is a really simple explanation of the process and I may have missed some things A few of my favorite autochrome photos:

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when I see something dated 2019 I think “oh that’s not too long ago” and then I remember that 2019 was not only five years ago but those five years have somehow contained several lifetimes

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Look, Mulder, you want to talk about werewolves to me, you can knock yourself out. I may not agree with you, but at least I'm not going to hold it against you, but this, Mulder, this could ruin your career. What career? THE X FILES, Season 7 (1999)

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Flowers by Irving Penn (1980)

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How about some middle-aged reflections on the early days of their (romantic/sexual) relationship?

They’re spreading mulch around the trees, tucking flowerbeds in for winter. The air is crisp and dry, sharpened by the pungent smell of the mulch.

“Got the Stanford alumni newsletter yesterday,” Scully says. “Guess who their new entomology professor is.”

He frowns back, puzzled. Her tone indicates that the answer is one he should get. Does he know any entomologists?

Mulder starts to shake his head. “I have no-“

He sees her face, the smirk she’s trying hide, and then he remembers. “Nooooo,” he says, drawing the word out with a laugh. “Bambi?��

“Bambi,” she confirms, grinning now. “Did you sleep with her? I honestly can’t remember.”

“No!” He’s a bit shocked that she thought this. He’d kind of wanted to though, he recalls. Little khaki shorts.

Scully rolls her eyes. “Oh, sorry to impugn your virtue.”

Mulder offers her a petulant look. “You make it sound like I was Wilt Chamberlain-ing my way through every case.”

She leans against the big sycamore, scoffs. “You’re mighty defensive there, Marty.”

He grins back. “Judge away. You weren’t putting out yet. Not to me, anyway.”

Scully laughs. “We were so young.”

“We were so young.”

She rolls her palms around the rake handle, her beautiful slim fingers with oval nails like the inside of a seashell. She’d been pretty back then, he thinks. Lovely. But now she’s ethereal, refined to some radiant essence.

“I think….hmm. I think some part of me really felt that if you and I followed the rules then everyone else had to as well, you know?” Her expression is a little wistful. A little sad.

He does know. “I like to think it made it that much sweeter in the end.”

“It did. I loved you so…so….purely. I remember when you made it to that Congressional hearing. I think I was done then. The rest was just waiting to happen.” She laughs, a little shy even now.

“You were like Beatrice,” he says to her, adoringly, in the honeyed light. “Come to lead me into Paradise.”

Scully drops the rake, walks over to take his hands in hers. “Is this heaven?” she asks, gazing up.

Mulder smiles back, squeezes her cool little fingers. The wind chimes on the deck ripple like harp strings. The sun makes a halo on her tawny head.

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Eve//1x11

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gk

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I asked Twitter to give me some drabble prompts as well, and boy did they:

They’d been on the road for hours and the tank was running low, having burned extra fuel passing a convoy of Army trucks through the Ozarks. They rattled off the highway and through a gravely intersection, the haze of Missouri’s farms clinging to the car in a fine layer of dust, and Mulder opted for the Kum & Go instead of the Mobile station merely for the pleasure of needling Scully with innuendo.

The storefront of the station was bright and bustling, its windows peddling cigarettes and Route 66 tchotch, and his partner stretched languidly before slamming her door and heading inside. The handle of the gas pump was gummy and the prices were insane, but it was worth filling the tank if only to watch the sway of Scully’s hips as she walked away from the car.

A ratty old coupe pulled up next to him and four college-aged boys unfolded out of it, one tipping the last dregs of a can of Mountain Dew into his yaw. They were probably hungover but they were still brimming with energy, youth, their skin sun-kissed and pliant. They could put anything in their bodies and it would turn into thin, ropey muscle. Just looking at them made Mulder’s knees ache. He watched them over the roof of their rented Ford.

The driver of the coupe loped off toward the cashier window with a handful of crumpled bills and loose change, and the three other boys, left to their own teenaged devices, started scrumming on the asphalt, kicking at one another joyfully, laughing too loud and getting in other car’s way. A sharp honk from a Honda cowed them back to their own vehicle, but spurred them into defiance, and they shouted obscenities at the older driver as they leaned back against their car.

A flash of spun gold caught the edge of his vision, and he turned to see Scully making her way back to him, her hair bright as corona in the sharp slant of the sun. Her beauty was not lost on the boys next to him, who quieted upon her approach, their eyes fixed on her like statues, her heels snapping crisply on the tarry blacktop.

Scully seemed not to notice their gaze, or if she did, she gave no sign of it, though her eyes flicked to Mulder’s as she neared the side of the Taurus. As she reached for the door handle, the air was pierced with a single sharp wolf whistle. Mulder felt his dander rise like mercury but he said nothing, and the boys leaning against the coupe watched Scully in curious regard, waiting for a reaction.

His partner did nothing but pause casually in the doorway of the Taurus and carefully unbutton her suit coat, shrugging it off her shoulders as one of the boys hissed something too quiet for Mulder to hear. She folded the jacket and turned to deposit it in the car’s rear seat, turning to reveal to the teens behind her the steely black grip of her Glock, the leather of its holster a dull matte in the rays of the sun.

Mulder heard one of the boys mutter a quiet “oh shit,” and he rehung the gas pump handle as Scully slid into the car with a small smile, the boys behind her doing the same, clamoring against each other in their haste.

Mulder got in the car himself and secured his seatbelt before turning to his partner.

“You enjoy that?” he asked.

“Immensely,” she said, not meeting his eyes, but grinning toward the dash.

Mulder chuffed a laugh and ground the ignition, unable to contain a smile.

“Atta girl,” he said.

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Eric Kogan

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The X-Files 8.14 | “This Is Not Happening”

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need this

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"You should be at the club" Direct exposure to the club would kill me instantly

"You should be at bar trivia night" This I cannot deny