milagro: picspam, icons, & headers
I made this for xf_is_love. Sorry if you see it twice. I worked too damn hard on it to not post it in my journal too. :D :D
50 icons
2 headers
Kinda HUGE picspam
EXTREMELY IMAGE HEAVY! oooops!
50 icons
001 002 003
004 005 006
007 008 009
010 011 012
013 014 015
016 017 018
019 020 021
022 023 024
025 026 027
028 029 030
031 032 033
034 035 036
037 038 039
040 041 042
043 044 045
046 047 048
049 050
Take, credit, edit. You can credit me for the base if you'd like. :)
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2 headers
Feel free to add text if you use them.
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(Note: I had originally planned a music video and while making it, I realized I suck. So, here's a picspam instead. Enjoy!)
MULDER: And yet, you still refuse to believe my theory-- that what this is psychic surgery?
SCULLY: Mulder, psychic surgery is some man dipping his hand in a bucket of chicken guts and pretending to remove tumors from the sick and gullible.
MULDER: Or … it's a grossly misunderstood area of alternative medicine.
SCULLY: Well, medicine, as you're referring to it is about keeping people alive.
MULDER: Well, absent another theory how else do we account for the impossible extraction of this man's heart?
SCULLY: I don't know. I have no idea.
MULDER: I mean, we have no evidence-- no MO to speak of. This could be the perfect crime.
SCULLY: Well, a crime is only as perfect as the man or the mind that commits it. Even if it were perfect-- even if he made not one mistake-- there's still his motive. You find his motive and you find the murderer.
MULDER: Yeah. I'm sure many a person's had their heart broken out here, but not quite like this. I was hoping you'd be here to explain it in medical terms to the local PD.
SCULLY: I'm not sure that I could. Did anybody see anybody?
MULDER: No, nothing. I mean, it's like there's nowhere to start on this case. Nothing to ask nothing to say.
SCULLY: Well, there's got to be something, Mulder...
SCULLY: Something about his victims-- why he chooses them, a pattern.
MULDER: So far, there's absolutely nothing, Scully. It appears to be just a series of random attacks.
SCULLY: An envelope's been slipped under your door.
MULDER: Yeah? From who?
SCULLY: It's unmarked.
SCULLY: It's some kind of a pendant. Like a charm.
(Her prompt mind ran through the golconda of possibilities-- was this trinket from the killer? Was there a message contained in its equivocal symbolism? Was he a religious fanatic who had, in fervid haste licked the envelope, leaving the telltale DNA that would begin his unraveling? She had a condign certainty the killer was a male... and now, as she held the cold metal at her fingertips she imagined him doing the same trying to picture his face. It would be a plain face, an average face... A face people would be prone to trust. She knew this inherently, being naturally trusting herself. But the image she conjured up was no better than the useless sketch composites that littered her files. Preconsciously, she knew this wasn't her strength as an investigator. She was a marshall of cold facts, quick to organize, connect, shuffle, reorder and synthesize their relative hard values into discreet categories. Imprecision would only invite sexist criticism that she was soft, malleable not up to her male counterparts. )
"Even now, as she pushed an errant strand of titian hair behind her ear she worried her partner would know instinctively what she could only guess. To be thought of as simply a beautiful woman was bridling, unthinkable. But she was beautiful... fatally, stunningly prepossessing. Yet the compensatory respect she commanded only deepened the yearnings of her heart... to let it open, to let someone in."
SCULLY: I know you. You live next to somebody I work with. Why are you following me?
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'm not. I'd only imagined that you'd come here today.
SCULLY: You imagined it.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Yes.
SCULLY: Yeah.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'm a writer. That's what I do-- imagine how people behave. I have to admit I've noticed you. I do that... Notice people. I saw that you wear a gold cross around your neck so I was taking a chance with the painting-- explaining something you may have already known. I saw Georgetown parking permits on your car dating from 1993 and a government-exempt sticker that lets you park anywhere you like. You don't live in this area but as a federal employee, you have reason to frequent it. You're fit, with muscular calves so you must exercise or run. There's a popular running route right nearby that you might use at lunch or after work. You'd have noticed this church in passing and though parking is always a problem in this part of town your special privileges would make it easy to visit … not as a place of worship but because you have an appreciation for architecture and the arts... and while the grandeur is what you'd take away from your visit … this painting's religious symbolism would have left a subconscious impression jogged by the gift you received this morning.
SCULLY: That was from you?
PHILLIP PADGETT: I have to admit to a secret attraction.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'm sorry I didn't include a note explaining that but you didn't know me then.
SCULLY: Yeah, and I don't know you now and I don't care to.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I see this is making you uncomfortable and I'm sorry. It's just that I'm taken with you. That never happens to me. We're alike that way.
SCULLY: Mulder, this... is nothing more than a tool used by a lovelorn Romeo who just happens to be your next-door neighbor.
MULDER: Who, the writer?
SCULLY: Yes-- my secret admirer who claims to know the mysteries of my heart.
MULDER: You're kidding.SCULLY: No, I wish I were. He cornered me today and told me my life story. It was kind of frightening, actually.
MULDER: Is … he our killer?
SCULLY: No. "Frightening" as in too much information and intimate detail. What kills you is his audacity.
MULDER: Did you get his name?
SCULLY: No, but that shouldn't be too hard to find out, should it?
MULDER: I'm sorry I forgot your name.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Padgett.
MULDER: Padgett.
PHILLIP PADGETT:Phillip Padgett.
MULDER: You're a writer. Anything I'd know?
PHILLIP PADGETT: I don't think so.
PHILLIP PADGETT: You're an FBI agent. Working on anything interesting?
MULDER: A murder case.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Anything I'd know?
MULDER: Possibly.
She felt an involuntary flush and rebuked herself for the girlish indulgence. But the images came perforce and she let them play-- let them flood in like savory-- or more a sugary confection-- from her adolescence when her senses were new and ungoverned by fear and self-denial. 'Ache,' 'pang,' 'prick,' 'twinge'-- how ironic the Victorian vocabulary of behavioral pathology now so perfectly described the palpations of her own desire. The stranger had looked her in the eye and knew her more completely than she knew herself. She felt wild, feral, guilty as a criminal. Had the stranger unleashed in her what was already there or only helped her discover a landscape she, by necessity, blinded herself to? What would her partner think of her?
SCULLY: How is it you think you know me so well, Mr. Padgett?
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'm writing about you.
SCULLY: Right. (realizes he is serious) Since when?
PHILLIP PADGETT: Since I first noticed you. You live in my old neighborhood.
SCULLY: And you moved into this building by coincidence?
PHILLIP PADGETT: No.
SCULLY: You moved here because of me?
PHILLIP PADGETT: There wasn't anything available in your building and it's not like you spent a lot of time at home. I-I should've said something but I just couldn't get it all down fast enough. To really write someone, I have to be in their head. I have to know them more completely than they know themselves.
SCULLY: (looking at the thick manuscript) This is all about me?
PHILLIP PADGETT: Well, you're an important part.
SCULLY: May I read it?
PHILLIP PADGETT: It's not finished. I can't tell you how helpful it is having you here-- being able to talk with you like this. Would you sit and stay a minute?
MULDER: Why, Mr. Padgett? Maybe that's a question you can answer.
PHILLIP PADGETT: That's the one question I can't.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Agent Mulder, my book... did you like it?
MULDER: Maybe if it were fiction.
SCULLY: Mulder, where are you going?
MULDER: To find his accomplice, the Brazilian psychic surgeon.
SCULLY: I did that. That's what I've been doing. Dr. Ken Naciamento, Sao Paulo, Brazil, emigrated here in 1996.
MULDER: Where is he now?
SCULLY: He's dead.
MULDER: He can't be.
SCULLY: Two years dead, Mulder. I'm having them fax me a certificate of death.
MULDER: Padgett couldn't have done this alone.
SCULLY: Well, maybe he didn't do it at all.
MULDER: Scully, it's all on the page. How else would he know it?
SCULLY: Maybe he imagined it, like he said. Like Shakespeare or Freud or- or Jung. I mean, maybe, maybe he has some gift and he has a clear window into human nature.
MULDER: No one can predict human behavior. No one can tell you what another person's going to do.
SCULLY: Well, isn't that what you do, Mulder, as a behavioral profiler? You … you imagine the killer's mind so well that you know what they're going to do next.
because the sexual tension just exploded
MULDER: If he imagines it, it's a priori-- before the fact. I think that's pretty clear from what he wrote about you.
MULDER: You know you're in here, don't you?
SCULLY: I read a chapter. What does he say?
MULDER: Well, let's just say it ends with you doing the naked pretzel with "the stranger" on a bed in an unfurnished fourth floor apartment. (pause) I'm assuming that's a priori, too?
SCULLY: I think you know me better than that, Mulder.
MULDER: Mmmm. Well, you might want to finish it.
SCULLY: Mulder, why couldn't he have imagined it? Why couldn't he just be in the killer's head?
MULDER: You read his book. You read what he wrote about you. Are you trying to tell me that he got inside your head? That what I read is true?
SCULLY: Mulder, of course not.
MULDER: I don't know how they communicate. This is the only way I can think to catch him.
MULDER: Mr. Padgett... you can go. We apologize for our mistake. You're free to finish your book.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Thank you.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I made a mistake myself.
MULDER: What's that, Mr. Padgett?
PHILLIP PADGETT: In my book, I'd written that Agent Scully falls in love but that's obviously impossible. Agent Scully is already in love.
MULDER: Padgett! Freeze. Step away from the incinerator.
MULDER: What do you think you're doing?
PHILLIP PADGETT: Destroying my book.
MULDER: Destroying evidence, you mean. Let me see what you wrote.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'll tell you. He kills her.
MULDER: You came down here to give these instructions to your accomplice?
PHILLIP PADGETT: No, he told me how it ends.
MULDER: When?
PHILLIP PADGETT: In my apartment.
MULDER: You were alone up there.
50 icons
2 headers
Kinda HUGE picspam
EXTREMELY IMAGE HEAVY! oooops!
50 icons
001 002 003
004 005 006
007 008 009
010 011 012
013 014 015
016 017 018
019 020 021
022 023 024
025 026 027
028 029 030
031 032 033
034 035 036
037 038 039
040 041 042
043 044 045
046 047 048
049 050
Take, credit, edit. You can credit me for the base if you'd like. :)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
2 headers
Feel free to add text if you use them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Note: I had originally planned a music video and while making it, I realized I suck. So, here's a picspam instead. Enjoy!)
MULDER: And yet, you still refuse to believe my theory-- that what this is psychic surgery?
SCULLY: Mulder, psychic surgery is some man dipping his hand in a bucket of chicken guts and pretending to remove tumors from the sick and gullible.
MULDER: Or … it's a grossly misunderstood area of alternative medicine.
SCULLY: Well, medicine, as you're referring to it is about keeping people alive.
MULDER: Well, absent another theory how else do we account for the impossible extraction of this man's heart?
SCULLY: I don't know. I have no idea.
MULDER: I mean, we have no evidence-- no MO to speak of. This could be the perfect crime.
SCULLY: Well, a crime is only as perfect as the man or the mind that commits it. Even if it were perfect-- even if he made not one mistake-- there's still his motive. You find his motive and you find the murderer.
MULDER: Yeah. I'm sure many a person's had their heart broken out here, but not quite like this. I was hoping you'd be here to explain it in medical terms to the local PD.
SCULLY: I'm not sure that I could. Did anybody see anybody?
MULDER: No, nothing. I mean, it's like there's nowhere to start on this case. Nothing to ask nothing to say.
SCULLY: Well, there's got to be something, Mulder...
SCULLY: Something about his victims-- why he chooses them, a pattern.
MULDER: So far, there's absolutely nothing, Scully. It appears to be just a series of random attacks.
SCULLY: An envelope's been slipped under your door.
MULDER: Yeah? From who?
SCULLY: It's unmarked.
SCULLY: It's some kind of a pendant. Like a charm.
(Her prompt mind ran through the golconda of possibilities-- was this trinket from the killer? Was there a message contained in its equivocal symbolism? Was he a religious fanatic who had, in fervid haste licked the envelope, leaving the telltale DNA that would begin his unraveling? She had a condign certainty the killer was a male... and now, as she held the cold metal at her fingertips she imagined him doing the same trying to picture his face. It would be a plain face, an average face... A face people would be prone to trust. She knew this inherently, being naturally trusting herself. But the image she conjured up was no better than the useless sketch composites that littered her files. Preconsciously, she knew this wasn't her strength as an investigator. She was a marshall of cold facts, quick to organize, connect, shuffle, reorder and synthesize their relative hard values into discreet categories. Imprecision would only invite sexist criticism that she was soft, malleable not up to her male counterparts. )
"Even now, as she pushed an errant strand of titian hair behind her ear she worried her partner would know instinctively what she could only guess. To be thought of as simply a beautiful woman was bridling, unthinkable. But she was beautiful... fatally, stunningly prepossessing. Yet the compensatory respect she commanded only deepened the yearnings of her heart... to let it open, to let someone in."
SCULLY: I know you. You live next to somebody I work with. Why are you following me?
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'm not. I'd only imagined that you'd come here today.
SCULLY: You imagined it.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Yes.
SCULLY: Yeah.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'm a writer. That's what I do-- imagine how people behave. I have to admit I've noticed you. I do that... Notice people. I saw that you wear a gold cross around your neck so I was taking a chance with the painting-- explaining something you may have already known. I saw Georgetown parking permits on your car dating from 1993 and a government-exempt sticker that lets you park anywhere you like. You don't live in this area but as a federal employee, you have reason to frequent it. You're fit, with muscular calves so you must exercise or run. There's a popular running route right nearby that you might use at lunch or after work. You'd have noticed this church in passing and though parking is always a problem in this part of town your special privileges would make it easy to visit … not as a place of worship but because you have an appreciation for architecture and the arts... and while the grandeur is what you'd take away from your visit … this painting's religious symbolism would have left a subconscious impression jogged by the gift you received this morning.
SCULLY: That was from you?
PHILLIP PADGETT: I have to admit to a secret attraction.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'm sorry I didn't include a note explaining that but you didn't know me then.
SCULLY: Yeah, and I don't know you now and I don't care to.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I see this is making you uncomfortable and I'm sorry. It's just that I'm taken with you. That never happens to me. We're alike that way.
SCULLY: Mulder, this... is nothing more than a tool used by a lovelorn Romeo who just happens to be your next-door neighbor.
MULDER: Who, the writer?
SCULLY: Yes-- my secret admirer who claims to know the mysteries of my heart.
MULDER: You're kidding.SCULLY: No, I wish I were. He cornered me today and told me my life story. It was kind of frightening, actually.
MULDER: Is … he our killer?
SCULLY: No. "Frightening" as in too much information and intimate detail. What kills you is his audacity.
MULDER: Did you get his name?
SCULLY: No, but that shouldn't be too hard to find out, should it?
MULDER: I'm sorry I forgot your name.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Padgett.
MULDER: Padgett.
PHILLIP PADGETT:Phillip Padgett.
MULDER: You're a writer. Anything I'd know?
PHILLIP PADGETT: I don't think so.
PHILLIP PADGETT: You're an FBI agent. Working on anything interesting?
MULDER: A murder case.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Anything I'd know?
MULDER: Possibly.
She felt an involuntary flush and rebuked herself for the girlish indulgence. But the images came perforce and she let them play-- let them flood in like savory-- or more a sugary confection-- from her adolescence when her senses were new and ungoverned by fear and self-denial. 'Ache,' 'pang,' 'prick,' 'twinge'-- how ironic the Victorian vocabulary of behavioral pathology now so perfectly described the palpations of her own desire. The stranger had looked her in the eye and knew her more completely than she knew herself. She felt wild, feral, guilty as a criminal. Had the stranger unleashed in her what was already there or only helped her discover a landscape she, by necessity, blinded herself to? What would her partner think of her?
SCULLY: How is it you think you know me so well, Mr. Padgett?
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'm writing about you.
SCULLY: Right. (realizes he is serious) Since when?
PHILLIP PADGETT: Since I first noticed you. You live in my old neighborhood.
SCULLY: And you moved into this building by coincidence?
PHILLIP PADGETT: No.
SCULLY: You moved here because of me?
PHILLIP PADGETT: There wasn't anything available in your building and it's not like you spent a lot of time at home. I-I should've said something but I just couldn't get it all down fast enough. To really write someone, I have to be in their head. I have to know them more completely than they know themselves.
SCULLY: (looking at the thick manuscript) This is all about me?
PHILLIP PADGETT: Well, you're an important part.
SCULLY: May I read it?
PHILLIP PADGETT: It's not finished. I can't tell you how helpful it is having you here-- being able to talk with you like this. Would you sit and stay a minute?
MULDER: Why, Mr. Padgett? Maybe that's a question you can answer.
PHILLIP PADGETT: That's the one question I can't.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Agent Mulder, my book... did you like it?
MULDER: Maybe if it were fiction.
SCULLY: Mulder, where are you going?
MULDER: To find his accomplice, the Brazilian psychic surgeon.
SCULLY: I did that. That's what I've been doing. Dr. Ken Naciamento, Sao Paulo, Brazil, emigrated here in 1996.
MULDER: Where is he now?
SCULLY: He's dead.
MULDER: He can't be.
SCULLY: Two years dead, Mulder. I'm having them fax me a certificate of death.
MULDER: Padgett couldn't have done this alone.
SCULLY: Well, maybe he didn't do it at all.
MULDER: Scully, it's all on the page. How else would he know it?
SCULLY: Maybe he imagined it, like he said. Like Shakespeare or Freud or- or Jung. I mean, maybe, maybe he has some gift and he has a clear window into human nature.
MULDER: No one can predict human behavior. No one can tell you what another person's going to do.
SCULLY: Well, isn't that what you do, Mulder, as a behavioral profiler? You … you imagine the killer's mind so well that you know what they're going to do next.
because the sexual tension just exploded
MULDER: If he imagines it, it's a priori-- before the fact. I think that's pretty clear from what he wrote about you.
MULDER: You know you're in here, don't you?
SCULLY: I read a chapter. What does he say?
MULDER: Well, let's just say it ends with you doing the naked pretzel with "the stranger" on a bed in an unfurnished fourth floor apartment. (pause) I'm assuming that's a priori, too?
SCULLY: I think you know me better than that, Mulder.
MULDER: Mmmm. Well, you might want to finish it.
SCULLY: Mulder, why couldn't he have imagined it? Why couldn't he just be in the killer's head?
MULDER: You read his book. You read what he wrote about you. Are you trying to tell me that he got inside your head? That what I read is true?
SCULLY: Mulder, of course not.
MULDER: I don't know how they communicate. This is the only way I can think to catch him.
MULDER: Mr. Padgett... you can go. We apologize for our mistake. You're free to finish your book.
PHILLIP PADGETT: Thank you.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I made a mistake myself.
MULDER: What's that, Mr. Padgett?
PHILLIP PADGETT: In my book, I'd written that Agent Scully falls in love but that's obviously impossible. Agent Scully is already in love.
MULDER: Padgett! Freeze. Step away from the incinerator.
MULDER: What do you think you're doing?
PHILLIP PADGETT: Destroying my book.
MULDER: Destroying evidence, you mean. Let me see what you wrote.
PHILLIP PADGETT: I'll tell you. He kills her.
MULDER: You came down here to give these instructions to your accomplice?
PHILLIP PADGETT: No, he told me how it ends.
MULDER: When?
PHILLIP PADGETT: In my apartment.
MULDER: You were alone up there.