nobody down here

[nick / name]: Alms
[personal LJ name]: gossamerrain
[other characters currently played]:
Rudy Cooper :: Dexter :: cold_dry_pieces
Silk :: Book of the Long Sun :: silk_for_calde
Aziraphale :: Good Omens :: mr_phale
[e-mail]: [REDACTED]
[AIM / messenger]: [REDACTED]

[series]: The X-Files
[character]: Fox William Mulder
[character history / background]: takin’ the lazy way out-- here is the wiki~ And there’s also the x-files wiki article which is more informative but might make your eyes bleed with its tl;drness.
[character abilities]: Nothing special. He’s intelligent, well-read, has a photographic memory (or nearly.) He’s in good physical shape and has experience with firearms.
[character personality]:
“I'm the key figure in an ongoing government charade, the plot to conceal the truth about the existence of extraterrestrials. It's a global conspiracy, actually, with key players in the highest levels of power, that reaches down into the lives of every man, woman, and child on this planet, so, of course, no one believes me. I'm an annoyance to my superiors, a joke to my peers. They call me Spooky. Spooky Mulder, whose sister was abducted by aliens when he was just a kid and who now chases after little green men with a badge and a gun, shouting to the heavens or to anyone who will listen that the fix is in, that the sky is falling and when it hits it's gonna be the shit-storm of all time.”

For someone whose motto is trust no one, Fox Mulder is surprisingly open-minded. He’s willing to listen to anyone’s crazy story about aliens, werewolves, their night of passion with Luke Skywalker, being attacked by the Jersey Devil, or, well. You name it. Seriously. The truth, after all, is out there, and bits of it can be found in the most surprising places.
Mulder’s search for the truth—about his sister’s abduction, about extraterrestrials, about the government’s conspiracies to cover-up their existence—is his primary motivation in life. He’s driven; some would say obsessed. A well-known author, for example, once described him as “ticking timebomb of insanity” whose “quest into the unknown has so warped his psyche, one shudders to think how he receives pleasures from life.”
The passion and enthusiasm he has for his work has led to a trend of disregarding authority, and a habit of pissing off those in power. He’s often seen, not without reason, as reckless and even dangerous, more concerned with proving his pet theories than doing his job. The mounting evidence of corruption and conspiracy within the government has only served to increase his mistrust of authority, and as such he won’t hesitate to disobey orders if he disagrees with them.
Mulder has a well-earned reputation for being arrogant, aloof, and emotionless among those who don’t know him well. He tries (but often fails) to keep his distance from cases; while he wants, desperately, to believe, he knows it’s necessary to take tales of the paranormal with a grain of salt. When something touches a personal chord, though—for example, reminding him of his sister or of his own experiences, Mulder is prone to dangerous leaps of faith.
Those who know him a bit better are well aware of his cynical, sarcastic sense of humor, though his jokes often go over the heads of those he’s mocking. He’s fiercely loyal to those few who’ve earned his trust, and will go to great lengths to protect them.
As such, his true friends are his greatest weakness—particularly his partner, Dana Scully. Although she was originally assigned to the X-Files to debunk his work, putting them at odds, they’ve grown incredibly close over the years. She’s become an important part of his life; his devotion to her far exceeds the bounds of their professional relationship. In addition, Fox blames himself somewhat for everything Scully has suffered because of their work together. At this point in canon, their relationship is almost certainly a romantic one, though it hasn’t been publicly acknowledged as such.
In terms of his personal life, he can be a bit of a slob; Mulder’s apartment is your typical bachelor pad. He tends to sleep on the couch, often watching porn, although for a brief period he took advantage of the waterbed he somehow acquired. Until it sprung a leak. He’s still not sure where the damn thing came from to begin with, but, well. After a while you get used to strange things, in his line of work.

[point in timeline you're picking your character from]: Just after 6x21 [Field Trip], right before the end of the sixth season.

[journal post]:
[Voice]
[Almost inaudibly]

Shit.

[Long pause.]

O-kaaay… Not in Kansas anymore. Look, if I’m dead, Clyde Bruckman? You owe me an apology.

So, working on the assumption that I’m not… Is anyone out there?

I could use a hand here.

[third person / log sample]:

You would think, by now, that he’d be used to strange things happening.
Yet he lived in a daze, half-waiting for the world to fall apart again, dripping yellow as his consciousness recalled glimpses of the viscous, organic acid slowly eating away at him. He’d seen hundreds of unimaginable things, lived to push the boundaries of reality— but somehow it was different, being trapped in his own mind while his body lay calmly underground in North Carolina. He’d abducted an alien. He’d shot Skinner. He’d gotten Scully to admit he’d been right all along. They’d both been so certain, the last time, that they were out—that they’d escaped the hazy unreality—until he’d stopped to think about it, until the world dissolved once more.
Was he out now? The burns were healing, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder. What was real? How could you know, ultimately, whether you existed? That you wouldn’t wake up suddenly from what you’d imagined your life to be?
He started awake in the middle of the night; as he had years ago, but without the quiet cracking to calm him, his father eating sunflower seeds in the next room, reassuring him he wasn’t the last person left alive. But the world hadn’t fallen apart yet. He’d lay waiting, watching shitty science-fiction or cheap porn—whichever he found first— until he fell asleep again. Not even trying to make sense of the vast questions lingering at the edges of his mind; just trying for rest.
What could he be certain of? The question came unbidden to his mind as a cloaked Tom Mason drifted across the screen, an unconvincing replacement for Bela Lugosi. What if he didn’t know everything he imagined he knew? When his perspective seemed to shift every day, what could he be certain of?
Trust no one was a pragmatic mantra, one he'd taken on himself although it warred with his inherent desire to believe, to trust in truth. He'd told Scully, years ago, that trusting her meant he had more than himself to rely upon; he valued that most of all. Even when she didn't agree with him. Because she didn't agree with him; he had to fight to prove himself, and it kept him honest. He often suspected that in her own way, she, too, believed; believed in him, though she could never credit the things he claimed.
A woman shrieked awkwardly onscreen; he shut his eyes.
There were always things to trust; instincts. The sun would rise. Kersh would hate him. His partner would give him a hard time about everything, despite six years of his being right most of the time. The truth always comes out, despite the best efforts to erase it. It wasn't certainty; but he felt too old, too jaded for that, anyway. Crack. Crack.
He fell asleep, and didn't dream.