#Diana's Pov

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hey, I have DpxDc God Au prompt for you: Dani is the goddess of untraditional families, traveling, clones, and lost (emotionally and locationwise, not deathwise) children. She becomes a patron to many people (mostly kids and teenagers) struggling in the hero community and otherwise and comes to help them in times of emotional turmoil. Kon is one of her followers/friends, the speedsters pray to her for multiple reasons, and Billy and her sometimes hang out. Danny is the god of protection, space, revival, and neglected and lost children (emotionally and those who died before they reached adulthood). He also ends up becoming a patron for many heroes and abused kids. He helps Jason out when he dies young and gets revived. (Bruce prays to Danny for Jason when he dies to beg Danny to help Jason find peace in the afterlife if there is one). Danny also befriends Tim when he’s all alone in Drake Manor and keeps him company when he can and helps him survive. Dan on the other hand is the god of apocalyptic futures (and alternate and future evil selves), repentance and redemption, aggression, and devastation (emotional and deathwise). He doesn’t want most of his domains to be so dark, but it’s weird how much overlap there is between the same people praying to him along with Danny and Danielle. (SO many heroes have apocalyptic future/evil selves and have done terrible things. Example: Tim: Evil future gun batman and Jason: Aggression and Repentance/Redemption. They would definitely pray to Dan just in case). They’re all pretty respected gods who have been known for ages, worshiped, who actually help not just their followers but those who need their help that fall in their domains. The mythology got a bit weird throughout history, but the Dan(y/i)s were generally thought to be benevolent sibling/triplet gods. Jazz didn’t have enough power to ascend to goddesshood, but she was a patron spirit of psychology and mental health, and low-key a patron of people with eldest daughter syndrome (Looking at you, Dick). Then of course there’s Vlad. Mostly creeps want to pray to Vlad. He’s thought of as more of a predatory demon than a god, he has never been known as benevolent. He embodies most if not all of the seven deadly sins and his domains and immorality reflect that. He is the god of theft, power, greed, lust, cheating, obsession, ego, twisted family, immorality, corruption, envy, and vengeance. He has more domains than the Dan(i/y)s either because he was depicted so negatively from all of his schemes that people just gave him all the dark domains, or because he stole several artifacts and found some loopholes to get more power for himself. The Dan(ny/i)s stand together as one to protect the world from Vlad’s immorality, however there are some moments where Vlad helps starving children steal food or things they need to live, helps people to steal medicine they can’t afford to bring to a sick loved one. He gives self esteem and confidence to those who pray for it that struggle with self worth or mental illness. So yes, he is a more morally bankrupt god, but he has his good moments. Anyways, please write more of this prompt in whatever way you see fit. It could be stuff from the batfamily’s and/or halfas perspective as the years go by and they interact with the gods or something like that as vigilantes and as civilians, or you can write scenes out with the hero community or batfam discussing the little pantheon or whatever, or go into further detail with my examples, have conflict between the Dan(i/y)s and Vlad, change things up, or anything you want. Thank you!

Wonder Woman watches as Nightwing very claps his hands, bows his head, and mutters under his breath. The language is one she is not fluent with but has started to learn over the years in her time of man.

Esperanto.

She can pick out a few words. Enough to know that Nightwing is sending a prayer and hopes of a "Older Sibling" patron saint. He wants her to keep a eye over his younger siblings and to offer him "inner- peace".

Diana is aware that all of Bruce's children, minus Dick, are out on extremely dangerous missions. Dick had been benched due to an injury he sustained in the last confrontation. He was sent to the watch tower were a team of trusted surgeons had operated on his leg.

He would be fine in time but it would be a long wait before he would be ready to go out to the feild.

Understanding that he needed guidance from his gods, she waited paintently for him to finish, taking a few steps away from the doorway of his recovery room so as not to overhear any further prayers. A conversation between gods and man should remain private.

As she leaned on the wall outside, she wondered—not for the first time—who the Bats prayed to. Athena and Aphrodite would always have her loyalty, but she acknowledged that there were gods outside of her own.

She met some of them.

And while she had never seen the Bats or anyone else from Gotham's gods, she knew they were worshiped and believed as much as her sisters loved on Themyscira. It would be rude to ask about them, when she would never offer the gods of Gotham any offerings, so she refraimed but she wondered.

Oh she wondered.

She had witnessed Bruce pray to one of them, usually after a complex case involving children. He never mentions the god by name, but much like Nightwing, he clasps his hands, bows his head, and mutters that rhythmic language. Once, he even saw him place a star carved from one of the stones of his historical home by the window of the watch tower.

He had engraved all his children's hero names into it and allowed the moon to power it with protection.

Jason prayed as well, but not as profoundly as his family. He was Catholic growing up, and his mother often refused to have him pray to another god despite everyone else in Gotham doing so. He only did so as Red Hood because, according to Jason, that was the only time he needed Dan or Vlad.

Diana wondered if those were gods or people in his gang. Jason did not say their names with the same reverence as she did her gods.

Tim, on the other hand, took his Gotham-based region very seriously and had an entire timesheet of proper prayers. He did not pray every day nor did he stop what he was doing in order to do so, but he made it very clear that he would not be availbe three times a week for religious purposes.

Short of an emergency, those three hours every week were dedicated to his rituals for all of Gotham's gods. Diana knows that Steph, Barbara, Cass and Bruce would join only one of those three hours for their own god prefernce.

Despite that however, they were not very religious and often she wondered if the Bats were more atheists. Maybe meeting the gods and fighting some of them had the people of Gotham numb to the faith.

Or Gotham had the practices for such a long time that it became a background, much like tax season. Diana had noticed that despite the prayers and the dedication, the Bats treated their gods much like suppursitations to do before a big game.

It was a odd system to her, but once again, the "Gotham's Stars and Shadows" were not her gods. She did not have enough information to make any sort of statement about them.

Maybe they preferred to be treated as superstitions? Or maybe they liked to be close to their followers to the point they saw them the same way they did decorating their bedrooms? - A form of self-expression but not true faith.

A cold breeze blew by her, shocking Diana into a combat formation. There shouldn't be any wind up here. They are in space.

A whispered laugh echos down the hall, and for a brief moment she senses a god. Falling to her knee just in case, she stares towards the laughter watching a quick outling of a woman with flaming hair and a young girl in a black pony tale laugh and skip.

In their hands are carved stares, glowing green.

They vanish just as quickly as they appeared, but she knows who they were without having to call out to them.

"Diana?" Dick says from the doorway, pushing his wheelchair. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I am." She smoothly slide up to her feet smiling at him in what she hopes is comforting. "Have you finished speaking to yoyr gods."

"Yeah I hope they protect my siblings and help find Kon."

She thinks of the laughing ladies "I assume they will."

An hour later, Kon is recovered, and Tim miraculously escapes death due to strong wind and a conveniently thrown traveling map into his attacker's face. Diana witness the superman clone add a stone form Kent Farm to the one by Batman's in the watchtower.

It has the words Red Robin carved within a heart. She smiles.

[frownyalfred]

the truth is, between the capes, broad shoulders, and armor, the Trinity really do look the most regal and dangerous out of almost all of the Justice League members. sure, there are others who look intimidating or powerful, but the three of them? they look royal.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny learns a few more words with practice.

Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.

…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.

They don’t even sound all that mean.

It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.

Firstly: horrible.

Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.

So. Uh. That’s…gross.

He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.

God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.

…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.

Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.

…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.

“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.

She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”

Anyway.

Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.

None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.

He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.

And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.

For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…

Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.

…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?

(It did, didn’t it?)

(…Didn’t it??)

His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.

It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.

Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.

He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.

...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.

He is sick. He has been sick.

The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.

He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.

And then he feels something weird.

Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.

There is something solid sticking out of him.

Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.

And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.

His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.

People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.

Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.

He doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.

They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.

He thinks he’s going to cry.

Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.

It’s the lady. He knows her.

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.

She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?

She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.

“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”

She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.

Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.

But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.

“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.

But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.

There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,

Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.

When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.

Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.

They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.

It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.

The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.

Danny frowns.

The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.

The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.

Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.

The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.

And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.

Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.

Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.

The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.

Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.

She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.

“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.

The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.

It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.

[pendleton-manor]

POV you're some poor servant and this drunk noblewoman keeps flirting with you in the hopes that her husband will beat your ass

[rising-volteccers]

The Dad in him jumped out so hard this episode. I love this man and his protectiveness and care over these kids so much sir are you single asking for a friend-

[fine-nephrit]

🥏 TXF Fic Rec #21: "Calculated Risk" by Sarie Fairy

Sarie Fairy (@sarie-fairy) does a great job turning on the heat in this spicy, fervent MSR first-time story. Following the high emotions of episode 7x02, “Amor Fati,” what’s a better way for our agents to blow off steam than a drunk and frenzied smutting session in a public bathroom?

What I liked most though, is their conversation in the bar leading up to the deed. Long repressed feelings come out to play, and the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. I never get tired of post-“Never Again” angst. Their discussion about Ed Jerse, finally happening after three years, is particularly well-handled and unfolds exactly as it should.

---

🥏 on Ao3

length: short, 11,000+ words season: season 7, 7x02 Amor Fati, mentions of 4x13 Never Again pairing(s): M/S First-time tags: episode-related, smut, angst, jealousy, Diana Fowley, Scully-POV rating: explicit/NC-17

[diana-ds]

Moonwalkers have a piece of my heart, they are the type of person that I can talk and not being bored 🫶

[puppetmaster13u]

You may regret this @phoenixcatch7 lol, what if I start spamming you /j

Less cryptid Batman in this particular WIP since it's semi-outsider pov lol (one of two outside person not unnerved by them lol)

🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇

   Clark knew Batman wasn’t human, even before that disaster of a mission where he had let it slip to the others. 

   He’d known for a long time, from one of their early meetups, when Batman had first referred to him as Clark Kent instead of Kal-El, and he had panicked. He hadn’t ever lied to his teammates when he said that the cloak prevented him from seeing his body, but his ears still worked. 

   He’d tried to listen to a heartbeat, to see if his at the time temporary ally was lying when he stated he wasn’t going to tell anyone and… Nothing. There was no heartbeat, no breathing, nothing even remotely human, and if he didn’t know any better, nothing even remotely alive about the silence. 

   He couldn’t help but to pay attention more, to seek out the strange almost silence-feeling that accompanied the Gotham vigilante each time he felt it. It was… almost comforting, like the swaying of branches and the rustling of cloth over stone. Familiar, compared to the hustle and bustle surrounding him in the city. 

   The first thing he had noticed, physically that is, was Batman’s ears. Previously he’d thought the man unemotional, what with the rough voice, expressionless white eyes, cloak-covered body and the gas mask covering a good chunk of his face. 

   Yet the longer he watched, even idly, the more he noticed that while the man’s face or body didn’t show much, his ears did. 

   While Batman could stay silent and still for hours, the long ears twitched and swiveled, catching on the hood that he’d always wear around them. They’d pin back sometimes, a near silent sound he couldn’t quite place accompanying the movement, while other times they’d twist a near full three-sixty, as though searching for whatever sound it had caught. 

   Sometimes, when he’d startled the other vigilante, there’d be rattling noise, like wood and metal clacking together before it was cut off. It was a strange sound, one he’d not heard anywhere else, except with his… friend. 

   Were they friends? He’d like to think so. 

   The next time he was reminded that his friend wasn’t human was when he saw him get injured. It hadn’t been a bad injury, even if the Gothamite’s head had hit the wall with a very loud cracking noise, but he’d still smelled what he’d eventually come to recognize as blood. There was an almost pickle-like scent to it though that wasn’t quite it either. 

   Honestly the closest he could think of describing it was some sort of formaldehyde. And once he focused, he could pick out other things beneath it. Maybe not flesh and blood in the traditional sense, but still. 

   There was always that scent of cloth and wood, but he could smell the black liquid, paint, a metallic thing underneath like iron and steel. No heartbeat, no breath, but life all the same. It was honestly beautiful in a way, like a part of the city the other vigilante called home had come to life. 

   And it wasn’t like Batman minded whenever his own human mask slipped. Clark may have been raised by his Ma and Pa, whom he loved, but it didn’t make his body any more human in nature. There were just some things that he couldn’t change, and it took effort to move like one all day as a civilian when his body wasn’t designed to do so.

   So he stayed quiet for the most part when their group of three grew, and people started to speculate. He diverted the conversations whenever it turned to him, lightly admonishing over the various rumors. 

   It didn’t matter if Batman wasn’t human, he was still his friend, their ally and teammate. Was he curious? Oh of course, he’d gone into journalism for a reason after all, but it was still his friend. If he wanted to tell, he’d tell, and Clark wouldn’t break his trust. 

[mediumgayitalian]

crying from ur baby will fic thank u for my life…… they’re so cute and sweet and tragic and what if i walk into the ocean what then huh

NO NO I GET YOU I HAVE BEEN SO SO WEEPY.....would you like to see the info charts i have made for the rest of his siblings

[glowinggreeneyes-e]

Cap’s big blue-grey eyes becoming 99% black when seeing Havers shirtless

[randomfoggytiger]

CSM Inflicted Insanity On the Syndicate

POV: You're the Syndicate.

You've just been contacted, threatened, and struck a deal with mercenary alien overlords. Your partner Carl Spender decides this is the perfect time to have a messy affair with another partner's-- Bill Mulder-- wife. They dodge that issue for years (because Bill either A. willfully blinds himself to that reality or B. doesn't care to know the details) while butting up against biology concerns with the Mulder children; and, because he hasn't caused enough trouble, Carl then helps direct the abductions from each Consortium member's family but somehow loses Samantha Mulder in the process. You don't know until later that this IDIOT didn't return her because "she was his daughter", which sent Bill Mulder's son on a crusade that will unravel the entire Conspiracy and send the planet into possible Colonization.

Now that Idiot Carl caused unnecessary fracturing in the group, twice-- within the same family-- he will abandon his own son and near-crazed wife to hover over Bill Mulder's instead, claiming the boy as his own (to which you will roll your eyes in a "what does it matter, you have a son RIGHT THERE, CARL" manner) and indulge that insanely smart and talented young man to eventually discover and take over the files-- so much so he sends a recruitment girlfriend to intercept him out of college, steer him towards FBI, guide him to said files, then reassign her when Mulder gets mired in Squatchin' instead of the "more important things"... which Carl didn't foresee because, again, he's an idiot.

Idiot Carl will then, because he's bored, send Schrodinger's Son a scientist to-- he assures you, hand on his heart-- debunk Mulder's work, which will, most definitely, get him off our tails, guys. (He will then claim, later, when she helps instead of hindering Maybe Son's work, that this was his long-game recruitment for his Second Son all along.) Scientist Partner will then ring your necks with logic and data; and you will grasp at Carl's when he has the gall to say "in due time" to all your concerns.

You decide Idiot Carl has bitten off more than he can chew, sending his close friend Alien Shooter to monitor the Mulder situation in 1993. All of you are fooled because he was the first of a long line of double-crossers, somehow believing Spooky Mulder is saner than Idiot Carl (agreed) and the lot of you (highly offensive.) Alien Shooter is shot, the files are closed, you scowl Carl back into his place, the end. Problem solved.

...BUT THAT IDIOT'S PET PROJECT WON'T LET THE FILES GO. Because Carl decided to play god and not recruit Schrodinger's Son from the start, Mulder is now on a self-pitying "how dare you take my life's work away from me" quest (despite the fact he's only had the files barely three years.) And because this brat was indulged since Carl indulgently stole away his sister after breaking up his family after having an affair with the Purposefully Forgetful Tena Mulder, you're stuck with this convoluted mess because someone else-- likely a loyal disciple to the late Alien Shooter-- is now double-crossing for the cause your betrayer colleague was killed by last year.

AND BECAUSE CARL CAN'T LEAVE WELL ALONE, he hires a spy to spy on said Maybe Son-- who is already off the X-Files, lest that detail be forgotten, CARL-- to possibly suss out the new double crosser and help bury any leads Mulder comes across... and then Idiot Carl sends this New Rat to send Mulder right into a conspiracy-alien hornet's nest just to set up an unnecessary abduction for his brat's scientist-ex-partner-not-girlfriend who was ALREADY REASSIGNED ELSEWHERE anyways and who IS RETURNED BY IDIOT CARL FOR NO REASON... and survives. Because of course. (And Carl also had a chance to kill Mulder in his apartment but never did and probably never told you, his buddies, about that because you likely would have killed him sooner than Redux II.)

Idiot Carl Spender lets the clones get loose, bringing Bill Mulder back into the game briefly; then Idiot Carl Spender's two-penny goons assassinate Bill Mulder and THEN they willy-nilly shoot the wrong Scully sister, reigniting HER dedication to the cause. CARL HAS MULDER IN HIS GRASP, grenades a traincar and sets fire to it for good measure... AND SCHRODINGER'S SON LIVES. Not only that, but Rat Boy Rootin' Tootin' Wrong Person Shootin' threatens Idiot Carl with exposure and he loses the group's leverage in a deal with Skinner. Mulder escapes a face full of alien blood, being blown up in a train car TWICE, and being shot at by a fleet of agent operatives all by Season 3.

Because of these escapades, your contempt of Carl Spender's methods have reached new heights; and you send out another colleague-- the British one-- on behalf of the Group to Scully. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders; so from here on out, the members continue to trickle to her throughout the year 1995 whenever CSM can't stop Mulder's zany shenanigans.

1996 brings another problem: Russians and that Rat double agent that Idiot Carl hired back in 1994. (He also tag-teams with Mulder before double-crossing him again.) This particular thorn is far from done his double-crossing ways, however: elevating them to TRIPLE crossing the following year in a three-way between your group, Mulder, and the Russians (throw in the UN for a quadruple feature.) Before that, however, IDIOT Carl makes a deal with Mulder's groupies during Scully's cancer because he just won't let her die without playing god some more.

At this point, you're done. You hire an assassin and have Idiot Carl taken out before he can do something INSANELY STUPID like hand over a cure to the one person that validates Mulder's work-- oh, wait.

Just as you've gained a breather-- your newest dead colleague's family and ego drama is over, Mulder drops his belief and is no longer a threat, and British Colleague has taken back from Triple-or-Quadruple Agent what was yours-- Carl's infuriating legacy lives on: Triple-or-Quadruple (T or Q) Agent pops up from the dust like a cockroach and triple-quadruple-crosses all of you again by siding with Mulder. NOW all of you have Carl's vanity project to deal with again without Carl there to corral or counteract him (not that that helped.) But at LEAST the one person Carl hasn't tampered with seems the most promising. Oddly enough, it's his own child-- Abandoned Son.

BUT THEN CARL HAS TO RUIN A GOOD THING BY CONTACTING ABANDONED SON... which means the Idiot's alive. So, having no choice, you send a Triple-or-Quad out to track down his master; and the quadruple-crosser brings back your not-dead colleague, who sweeps in and... actually helps out, for once, cleaning up the Psychic Kid Mess and closing down the X-Files for good. Wow. He's changing, you think.

Foolishly.

AND THEN your last "on the ground" colleague-- the British one-- betrays all of you by siding with and giving Mulder the cure for Scully's viral infection after you all agreed, soundly, that she needed to be done away with.

AND it turns out Idiot Carl is STILL an idiot, because he's back to his melodramatic family drama by RE-OPENING THE X-FILES HE CLOSED DOWN AND PUTTING HIS OWN SON ON THEM WITH HIS SCHRODINGER SON'S RECRUITMENT GIRLFRIEND. Not only that, but he muddies the waters further by having former recruitment girlfriend string along Schrodinger Son Mulder to pull him away from scientist Scully (because Well-Groomed-Now-Dead British Colleague saved her life) while also forcing Abandoned Son to rot in the basement-- hoping to ignite his passion with Recruitment Girlfriend or the Truth or some such thing that worked the first time around. And, of course, Idiot Carl fails-- no dice.

Abandoned Son then TURNS ON ALL OF YOU because Idiot Carl abandoned his mother; and he and the Rat T-or-Q spy split off from your efforts to save yourselves from Colonization by attempting to stop your plans. NOT ONLY THAT, but Schrodinger's Son joins the cause from a talk with Idiot Carl and Recruitment Girlfriend... BUT THEY DIDN'T DO A GOOD ENOUGH JOB BECAUSE SCIENTIST PARTNER THAT CARL RECRUITED ALL THOSE YEARS AGO TALKS HIM OUT OF IT AGAIN AND STOPS HIM FROM JOINING.

And you realize, too late, that the only intelligent member of this entire, foolish, fumbling charade was the British one who chose to go out in a car bomb after saving all the necessary pieces.

So, in the end, you all toast.

Because of Idiot Carl's idiotic melodrama.

[themyscirah]

I should make a post about how insane Diana being chosen as champion is at one point. Like yes ik in most versions it was an anonymous competition but like the sheer level of trust and hope and desire for reconciliation and peace that comes with that gesture is a so insane to me. Hippolyta the woman that you are...

[italianhorror]

SZA on the cover of her 2022 album, SOS | Princess Diana during her final days on a yacht, 1997, Italy

[marstyler42]

It's not that I want to argue that ZTD is not a bad game, but I feel like reducing it to just a bad game kinda ruins all conversations about the fact there are some genuinely good bits of writing in it? Like I'd argue the fact that there's those few moments of greatness is honestly what makes it such a complete letdown in the end, but that shouldn't discredit the game entirely

[socialprawn]

i cant sleep and i have a lot of work for uni halp

[fine-nephrit]

🥏 TXF Fic Rec #37: "Sixty Degrees of Separation" by denynothing1

After Mulder drops his bedside love confession and gets an “oh brother” in return, it’s never brought up again, seriously? You’d expect their feelings to be jolted, especially during such a delicate time right after Diana’s arrival and their loss of the X-Files, right?

Today’s rec is possibly the best post-ep for ‘Triangle’. It continues with the surreal atmosphere, taking Mulder in and out of more WWII dream sequences, which is a treat. The angst is there, but the tone stays light and fun. It’s a character-driven story that earnestly tackles the complex dynamics between our leads, featuring excellent character voices for both. This is the kind of top-shelf writing I live for.

---

🥏 on AO3

author: @denynothing1 length: short, 12,000+ words season: season 6, 6x03 Triangle pairing(s): M/S UST tags: episode-related, fluff, angst, humor, jealousy, hurt/comfort, Diana Fowley, Mulder-POV rating: G