My very first Fanfic recommendation column was in the September 1997 newsletter. (Autumn pauses to realize she's been doing this newsletter a hell of a long time). The very first fanfic author I recommended at that time was a new gal on the scene known as Jill Selby. I thought she was great then, and I still do now. Over the years Jill has written a few pieces just for me, and that I will always delight in. The good news is Ms. Selby's fanfic writing has opened up other doors for her career-wise. The bad news is, it means she's leaving fanfic writing behind for professional pursuits. So, let me recommend her work one last time as one who always got Scully right. She recently finished her final story Paper Saints, so take some time to enjoy it, or any of the rest of her fine work. Good luck Jill, and thank you.
Now, I'd like to introduce a new author: V. Salmone. This author has but two stories out so far, but both are worth your time and attention. If your'e missing the days of Mulder and Scully, they might help you bide your time. I've always liked stories where we find out just what the heck Charles Scully has been up to and Scully is on his trail in The Second to Last 7-Eleven a case with a dash of mytharc. How to Fake an Orgasm may seem like it's about Mulder and another woman, but it really is all about Scully and her reactions to it and discovering something sweet back in the days of the sixth season.
And if you're in the mood for something completely different with a talking parrot and a Scully having a "Mulder awareness day on overdrive" try Gutless by Magdeleine. I mean why read babyfic when you can read parrotfic, right?
Hanfox and Gretscull
Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a small FBI Building built in the clearing of a forest. In this FBI Building lived an Assistant Director, his Accountant, and their two little agents, Hanfox and Gretscull. Business had been slow, what with the FBI Building being the only building in this particular section of the forest, and the Accountant was fretting about how they were going to afford their weekly Starbucks delivery.
"Sir," the accountant said, "I've conducted a thorough audit and I've determined that the only way for us to survive is to get rid of the Agents."
"But we can't get rid of the Agents!" cried the Assistant Director. "I'm very fond of them!"
"Sir, we can keep the agents and continue paying them such a ridiculously high salary that Gretscull can buy a new brown suede jacket every week, but don't come crying to me when you don't get your hazelnut latte."
The Assistant Director was heartsick at the thought of not having his latte, so he agreed to get rid of the agents since they contained no caffeine and did not come with foamy steamed milk. He asked the Accountant if he had a plan.
"I have a marvelous plan," cackled the Accountant. "We'll have Hanfox abducted by aliens. Gretscull will immediately forget all about him and go chasing after wild geese with the first funny-talking idiot she finds."
"Well, that's a STUPID plan," responded the AD. "What, did you pull a genie out of your ass and ask him if he had any ideas?"
After much squabbling about the true nature of butt genies, the two finally decided to lead the agents out to a location deep in the woods, give them a phony assignment, and leave them there without food, water, or means of returning to the FBI Building. Unbeknownst to them, Gretscull had been upstairs looking for a freaking nameplate and had overheard the entire conversation. Filled with righteous fury, she went back to the basement office and gave the sordid details to Hanfox.
"Don't worry," Hanfox reassured her, "I have a plan."
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The Assistant Director burst into the basement office and briefed the agents on their pseudo-assignment. "Let's GO!" barked the AD. "Daylight's burning, Agents." The quartet set off into the forest, but after they had gone a few yards, Hanfox dropped his gun. "I dropped my gun," he announced, and then slowly leaned down to pick it up. After they had journeyed another ten yards, Hanfox once again dropped his gun, and once again slowly leaned down to pick it up. This happened repeatedly until the Accountant finally demanded, "Can't you keep hold of that thing?"
Gretscull sighed. "No sir, he really can't."
Gretscull shielded Hanfox from the others as he retrieved his weapon; she did not want them to notice that every time he picked up the gun he left a sunflower seed in its place to mark their path. The group continued slowly into the forest, until they came to the thickest part of the woods.
"Ok," said the AD, "the evil rabid squirrels have set up their HQ in that little green compound right over there."
"Also known as a shrub," muttered Gretscull.
The AD contined his instructions. "You will set up wiretapping equipment here and remain at this post until I come to relieve you this evening."
The two agents settled in to pass the time until they could follow the seeds back to the FBI Building. "Just in case," volunteered Hanfox, "we should probably keep watch for those rabid squirrels. 'Cause you just never know when it comes to those squirrels."
And so they waited, keeping watch for the squirrels, munching berries, and occasionally singing verse 2 of "Joy to the World." By and by, they decided that it was time to look for the sunflower seeds and follow the path back to their basement office. As they approached the head of the path, they saw a lone bunny rabbit run off with the last seed in their path.
"Nooo!" howled Hanfox. "I was going to eat those on the way home!
Gretscull mentally kicked herself for trusting Hanfox's plan and not executing her own plan, which involved a compass and a bag of survival gear. Since nightfall was fast approaching, and it had yet to rain sleeping bags, she decided to take the lead and begin foraging a path through the wilderness.
They walked through dense wood and lonely thicket until, at last, they came upon a house in a clearing. The house shimmered and shimmied in the dying daylight--upon closer examination, they realized that it was made of a whitish, gelatinous substance. Hanfox immediately stuck his unprotected fingers into the gooey architecture. Gretscull took a cautious sniff and whispered, "Hanfox, I think..I think it's YOGURT. With bee pollen." He immediately betrayed his cool exterior by shaking the yogurt off his fingers as Gretscull ate a few delicate bites of the tasty house.
"Nibble, nibble like a mouse..Who's the redhead nibblin' at my house?" came a manly voice from behind.
Hanfox and Gretscull guiltily jumped back from the house. "I told you," muttered Hanfox, "you're a scientist and you should know better." Gretscull kicked him in response.
"Who are you and where did you come from?" Gretscull asked the manly cloaked figure.
"The name's Dogwitch. Originally, I come from a small town in New York called Atlanta, Georgia. If you mean just now, I came from back behind the house. I brew an ale back there that I like to call Shiner Bock. Come on in and try some."
Gretscull had a bad feeling about this guy with the funny accent. She was about to politely decline the offer when she realized that Hanfox was already inside drinking a pint. She sighed and went in.
Over a few ales and some cheese, the mysterious man told the agents that he was a farmer. "I like to stick to good old-fashioned crop work," he told them. He invited them to spend the night so that they could resume their journey refreshed in the morning. Gretscull uneasily accepted the invitation and vowed to remain awake for the duration of the night.
Two hours later, as Gretscull was snoozing in her stakeout position, the manly man crept out into the living room, grabbed Hanfox by the ankles, and dragged him out to the shed. He threw Hanfox into a cage, locked him up tight, and cackled evilly to himself. He then returned to the living room and shook Gretscull awake. "Get up, Red, and take some food out to your parnter." Dogwitch was planning to eat Hanfox in a few days, but he wanted to get him nice and plump and juicy first.
For the next couple of days, Gretscull dutifully took Hanfox trays of toast and Velveeta. They took advantage of those opportunities to plot a way to escape Dogwitch's many clutches. "I'm telling you, you should just shoot him!" cried Hanfox, who was beginning to chafe from the metal bars itching his skin.
"And I'm telling you, I'm not shooting an unarmed man again! I haven't finished penance from the last time!"
The argument continued for a good twenty minutes before Dogwitch came out to the shed to retrieve them. He grabbed Gretscull with one hand, and with the other dragged the caged Hanfox into the kitchen.
"All right, Red. Fire up the oven and get ready for some Fox-B-Q." As Dogwitch commanded, Gretscull turned on the oven and the three waited for it to warm. "Climb in, Red, and see if it's hot enough," Dogwitch commanded.
Gretscull opened the door and peered inside. "I can't climb in, Dogwitch. There's something in the way."
Hanfox looked at her questioningly. "I've already got a bun in the oven," she whispered.
Dogwitch impatiently shoved them out of the way and peered into the oven. "What the frig is it? Dollars to donuts, I'll get it out." As he leaned further in to the oven, Gretscull shoved him inside with all her might and slammed shut the heavy iron door. Within minutes, Dogwitch had burned to a tasty NY strip steak with a slight Georgia peach tang.
"Now how is that different than shooting him?" demanded Hanfox.
Gretscull raised an eyebrow at her partner. "Because the giant slug who lives in my spine told me so," she replied sarcastically. "It just IS." She then unlocked Hanfox's cage and commanded him to help her search through the house for a compass and some survival gear. Armed with the essentials, the two headed back through the woods until they reached the FBI Building. The Assistant Director was so happy to see them that he immediately sacked the Accountant and vowed never again to drink a hazelnut latte. And the three lived happily ever after; that is, once they agreed to let the wise and level-headed Gretscull run things from that point on.