#x files prompt

[charlietheepicwriter7]

"Grandfather."

Ra's knew who the boy was the moment he'd snuck into the room. He'd allowed the child--more man than child now, but everyone was a child compared to him--moments to steel himself while Ra's refrained from acknowledging his presence. The boy's breath was barely audible but unsteady, and a drop of something fell to the floor.

His grandson was injured. "Danyal," he greeted and finally gazed upon him for the first time in seven years.

Danyal had grown into his father's height, yet stayed lean in regards to his musculature. His black hair had grown out of the League-regulation haircut, held back in a messy braid. He held himself as strong as he could, but kept an arm wrapped around his stomach. His shirt--standard American teenage garb, he dismissed--was spotted with blood and he could see bandages poking out from under the cloth.

With great care, Danyal knelt before the Demon Head and recited the Oath of Loyalty.

Ra's watched.

The boy's tongue, fat with English, spoke the League's variant of Arabic with the grace of a mace to the head, yet his words were clear. He took his time speaking the oath, carefully sounding out words, working hard to avoid mispronunciation. The Oath in question was the older version, from before Deathstroke's insurrection, but Danyal spoke it with a calm certainty that it would be accepted.

And without a doubt, it would be accepted.

Talia's eldest son had been born from her body instead of through science, a mistake that nearly cost her the child and damaged him upon birth. While the best doctors in the world saved his life, Danyal Al Ghul would always be weak in a fight, always prone to illness, always struggling to excel. When it became clear that the boy couldn't become the next Demon Head, Ra's sent Talia to create a replacement while arrangements were made for her first child to be taught business and science, for the betterment of the League. Danyal, very much his father's child, thrived in his intellectual pursuits while Damian grew and developed into a budding assassin.

But Danyal was more like his father than he'd ever knew. Ra's couldn't miss the signs of one of his family turning away from the League. Not the mission--Danyal had written several university level papers defending the environment by the time the boy was 10--but Ra's methods...

Ra's had a conundrum. Danyal was a dedicated conservationist; once the boy was an adult, Ra's was certain he'd take the world by storm and bring the League to new heights. But if he forced his methods onto Danyal, he could create an enemy of him, just as his father was.

Ra's gave Danyal an offer; Danyal would be allowed to leave the League and live a normal life if and only if he faked his own death in such a way that reinforced Damian's loyalty to the League of Assassins.

Danyal had been hesitant at first, but past his test with flying colors. Instigating one of the more unstable assassins into organizing a coup, cutting the insurgents off near immediately, but "dying" protecting both his younger brother and mother. It was a masterful performance. Even Talia hadn't known about the deceit.

And yet, here he was, on his knees, pledging loyalty. Danyal knew what that meant, knew what he was returning to, which morals he would be allowed to keep.

"And what do you bring with you, child of no one?" Why should the League accept the return of this child, who left once before?

Danyal met his eyes. "I bring with me, my team, who are loyal to me and me alone. I bring with me, research surrounding the Lazarus Pits, in origins and further uses for the waters." Ra's raised an eyebrow, and Danyal smirked. "I bring with me, my knowledge, nurtured within this very home and sharpened in the world outside. I bring with me, my weapons, built with my own hands. I bring with me... my body, finally healthy and whole." He brought his head down to the floor, trembling with pain. "I bring my whole self to the Demon's Head, for Him to accept or reject."

Ra's smiled. "By the shadows that guard our order and the blood that binds us, I accept this oath. From this day forward, you are an instrument of the League, a harbinger of justice, and a weapon in the hand of Ra's Al Ghul."

Danyal returned to his feet, swaying percariously. He needed immediate medical attention. Despite this, he continued, "Long live the League of Assassins. Long live Ra's Al Ghul."

And he collapsed onto the floor.

[whumpypepsigal]

@whumpgifathon | Day 29 (alt. prompt): “Bedside Vigil”

Fox Mulder in The X Files 2x25

[bisexualfbiagents]

Come on Scully, it'll be a nice trip to the forest.

THE X FILES GIF MEME [4/20] EPISODES Darkness Falls (1.20)

[eupheme]

“𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚, 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨.” 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡 𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙥𝙨, “𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩.”

when lucy is kidnapped by a band of raiders, king maclean sends out a fierce knight only known as ‘the ghoul’ to bring her back 🏰💖 | knight!cooper x princess!lucy | medieval!au | prompt: knight

[tales-of-the-ghost-zone]

The anti ecto laws go into effect just before S2E2 “Doctors Disorders”. So when Danny’s entire class, including Sam and Tucker, becomes sick with ghost flu and start exhibiting ghost powers, the GIW swoop in and cart all the sick kids off to a GIW facility. They claim the kids are all ecto contaminated and therefore fall under the anti ecto laws! And the GIW aren’t concerned with trying to help the kids get better. Instead they’re experimenting on them. Danny knows he can’t get into the GIW facility to rescue them on his own without getting captured. So he does the only thing he can do, he goes to the Justice League for help.

The Justice League, and the Justice Dark are all together in the watchtower for a meeting when Danny shows up. He’s an absolute mess because his friends and classmates have all been taken by the GIW. And he latches onto the first person in the room that he sees. Which just so happens to be Batman. Now Batman has a sobbing hysterical ghost child clinging to him! Everyone is super confused. It takes them half an hour to calm Danny down enough that he can explain what the problem is.

When they find out about the anti ecto laws and what the GIW have done they are all horrified and pissed!! They immediately set out to rescue Danny’s classmates. And if they just so happen to accidentally destroy the GIW facility along the way well none of them are to broken up about it. After the kids are all rescued, cured from the ghost flu, and returned to their parents, the Justice League sets out to get the anti ecto laws repealed. They reveal to the whole world just what the GIW did to a whole class of innocent human children while using the anti ecto laws as cover to do it! The whole world is outraged! It only takes two days for the laws to be repealed, and for the GIW to be permanently disbanded.

A few days later Danny Phantom does a live tv interview where he answers questions about ghosts and the ghost zone. He hopes that this will help people better understand ghosts and their true nature.

[television-overload]

fate is the handspike

(an X-Files ficlet)

[Read on AO3]

Summary:

Starting on February 23, 1964, Teena Mulder begins to worry about her young son. At first, she thinks maybe he's wishing for a little sister, a wish that will be granted very soon. But he insists the little girl he talks to is called Dana, and she's too little to play, but she likes when he reads his books to her.

(fic below the cut)

i.

At first, Teena thinks it's cute.

"She's just a baby, mommy, she can't play yet," he'd say.

"Oh, is that right?" she'd reply, indulging him in his childish fantasies. Perhaps this was his way of asking for a sister. The other moms in the neighborhood often urged her to give Fox a sibling, citing a child's need for company and social engagement, but Fox had always seemed so happy to play alone. She's not on the best of terms with her husband at the moment, either, which complicates things.

But then there's times when she sees Fox on the floor, legs splayed out before him as he recites his favorite picture books to his imaginary friend, and she wonders if she ought to be worried. Just a little.

Dr. Seuss, Curious George, Clifford the Big Red Dog... The boy has a photographic memory. Though he's too young to properly read, he has a grasp on the basic plots and recounts them in great detail, turning the pages as he goes.

"This one is called 'Where the Wild Things Are,' Dana," he says, because his friend's name—he insists—is Dana. He turns the book in his hand and shows the colorful illustration on the cover to a patch of carpet on the living room floor. "Don't worry, it's not scary," he assures her. Her. It. Whatever it is he's spent his days talking to since late February.

When he tells the story, he uses his own name, instead of 'Max.' That's how she'd always read it to him, and that's the only way he knows.

"And Fox told the monsters to be still!" he narrates with enthusiasm. "He used a magic trick and looked right in their BIG yellow eyes, and they were all scared. They said Fox is the most wild thing of all, and they made him king!"

ii.

There was one night when she'd woken to find Fox standing in the corner of his room, speaking softly to the wall.

"Shh, it's okay, Dana," he soothed in his little voice. "Here, I'll sing you a song. Twinkle twinkle little star...."

She never tells Bill what she's seen. He's always too busy to notice himself. But others know.

"He's quite an imaginative young fellow," Spender notes, taking a draw from his cigarette as Fox rolls around in the grass outside the house in Quonochontaug. Since "Dana" learned to crawl, he's been even more preoccupied than usual. He shows her all his toys, tells her the names of all his action figures. He announces to his mother one day that he's going to teach Dana how to walk. That she can only stand on her own for a little bit right now, but she doesn't cry anymore when she falls down.

Bill, if he ever catches wind of this, must think he's talking about one of the other kids from Teena's ladies' group. But there's no "Dana" in this neighborhood. Not on the Vineyard, either. She's checked.

iii.

The day she finds out she's pregnant, a part of her wonders. Though her knowledge of her husband's work is small, she knows enough to gather that things she might have thought impossible, could in fact be possible. Perhaps her son had been having visions of his baby sister, long before she was even conceived. Maybe it had simply been a sign that he would one day be a big brother. Soon.

She'd long since dispelled thoughts of ghosts and hauntings and exorcisms.

He tells Dana all about the baby in mommy's tummy. He giggles and makes silly faces, pausing in between sentences, which she gathers must mean his friend has developed the ability to speak.

"Mommy, she said my name! That's right! Fox! Fox!"

iv.

When Samantha is born, "Dana" seems to disappear overnight. This, at least, supports her theory that he had simply been preparing himself for a new sibling, and after a few years, she's completely dismissed the issue. Fox shows no other signs of strange or unusual behavior. He is nothing but a doting big brother, who occasionally gets annoyed by his freckle-faced kid sister, as any brother is wont to do. He reads to her, plays games with her, watches the television with her. They're two peas in a pod, and not once does the name "Dana" escape his lips. She is all but forgotten.

Until he's twelve years old. Samantha is gone, and Teena lacks the patience to deal with his questioning.

"Mom? Does the name 'Dana' mean anything to you?" he asks.

"What? Of course not, Fox, why would you ask such a thing?"

He looks down at his feet, shoulders slumping. "No reason. Forget I asked."

v.

When Fox lays awake at night, the bedroom next to his now dull and empty, he thinks he can hear a voice. It isn't Samantha's—though he'd thought so at first.

"By heaven, man," she reads, "we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded sea!"

What does this girl know about fate? What does she know of this upside-down world?

"Read the next chapter, Dana!" he hears another girl's voice speak. The words are faint—muffled—like he's underwater. But her voice is clear.

He falls asleep, like most nights, listening to the tales of Ahab and Starbuck, and a great white whale.

-.-.-

Tag List ♡: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @numinousmysteries @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf @thursdayinspace

[slippinmickeys]

A prompt, formally. Shepherdstown WV.

Mulder pulled the car into the gravel lot and cut the engine. In front of them was a long wood building, painted a light blue. Over the entrance was an olde-tymey sign that said “O’Hurley’s General Store,” and on every conceivable surface on the rest of the building, it listed its wares: Glassware, Hardware, Furniture, Yard Goods. Hats, Music, Dolls. Housewares, Toys. Guns, Knives, Tools.

Scully threw him a skeptical look. “Did you…forget to pack something?” she asked.

Mulder put his seat back and settled in. “No,” he said. “We’re here on surveillance.”

Scully balked. “Surveillance?”

Mulder nodded. “I think our suspect shops here.”

“I wasn’t aware we had a suspect.”

Mulder turned to her. “We talked about this. The witch.”

“You’re right, Mulder, we did talk about this.” Scully could hear the whining in her own voice and did her best to level it. “Just because there was a pentagram found near the body doesn’t mean it was a ritual sacrifice. I explained this to the Sheriff as well.”

“It wasn’t just the pentagram, Scully. There was salt on the scene. Incense. All items used in ritual consecration practices.”

“t was the kitchen of a college student, Mulder. Salt and incense are pretty much par for the course.”

“Your autopsy showed he was killed with a sharp knife, ‘likely with a curved blade,’” he invoked a line directly from her report.

“…and that means witch?”

Mulder smiled at her. “The boline is a white-handled, curved, ritual knife, used mainly for the cutting of herbs and inscribing candles.”

Scully leaned back begrudgingly in her own seat. He wasn’t going to let this go.

“Fine. Our suspect is a witch. Why would he or she be shopping here?”

Mulder reached in his pocket and pulled out a folded up flier for the store they were parked in front of. Scully pursued the list.

“Cast iron,” she read off. “Enamelware. Dinner bells.”

Mulder nodded enthusiastically. “Candles,” he said. “Coffins. Frogs.” He pointed at the words painted on the side of the building. “Plus dolls. Dry goods. Knives.”

Scully turned to look at him.

“One stop shop for your modern day witch,” he said with a smile.

Scully looked back down at the advertisement, feeling her irritation give way to bemusement. “Who in the world drops into a general store to pick up a steam engine?” she said.

“Probably the same person who goes in for an anvil.”

She graced him with a grin.

“They sell ‘notions?’” She had to admit to being at least a little bit charmed.

Mulder bent his head to peer through the windshield at the store. “I really want to go in.”

Scully unbuckled her seatbelt. “So let’s go in.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Open your door before I change my mind.”

Mulder whipped off his own seatbelt and was out the door before Scully had a chance to button her coat.

She followed him up the gravel walkway, the stones crunching crisply under their feet. “I’ll bet you twenty bucks it smells weird in there,” she said.

“There’s no way I take that bet,” he replied, smiling. He trotted up the steps and held open the door for her and she shuffled in and turned to him, tapping her nose. His smile grew wider.

Scully then paused, five steps in, taken aback by the sight before her.

“Jesus,” she said. “I’ve never seen so much crap in one place.”

”Isn’t it great?” Mulder beamed.

A saleswoman appeared from behind a behemoth stack of crockery.

“Can I help you find anything?” she asked.

Mulder looked poised to say something she would probably wish he wouldn’t, so she decided to carry the mantle herself.

“Any chance you have a cauldron?” Scully asked.

“Absolutely!” The woman said brightly.

“How about a besome? A censer? An Athame?”

The saleswoman smiled. “Right this way,” she said, turning to make her way around several large barrels filled with wax-wrapped salt water taffy.

When Scully turned to see if Mulder was following her, she found him glued to the spot, his mouth agape.

“Scully?”

“Yeah?” she asked, more than a little pleased with herself.

“If they sell engagement rings, I’m buying you one.”

[numinousmysteries]

24 - He/she called for him/her in his/her sleep.

super quick and dirty. no edits, just need to grease the old writing gears. s8 for some reason even though i hate it.

She’s not afraid of flying. Being afraid would be irrational and she’s not an irrational person. Commercial air travel is orders of magnitude safer than driving, she knows. Especially safer than driving in the middle of the night on unlit backroads with a Mulder who hasn’t slept in 36 hours behind the wheel, which she’s done on multiple occasions. Experience does nothing to allay her fears. Even before arriving at Quantico, she’d racked up thousands of international air miles as a Navy brat. Seven years as Mulder’s partner tacked on thousands more. 

And yet. And yet, she can’t rationalize away the surge of adrenaline she feels every time the engines start to fire up for takeoff. Recalling statistics doesn’t calm the drop in her stomach whenever the wheels rise off the tarmac and she feels the ground recede beneath her feet. 

Early in their partnership, she cursed Mulder for being able to drift off to sleep in a cramped coach seat while she was left alone to white knuckle the armrest and monitor every rise and fall in altitude as if she knew enough to assign any significance to them. Of course, as the years went by, their hands would find each others and she’d be able to rest with her head on his shoulder.

Don’t fall asleep, she wills herself now. She doesn’t want to show any weakness in front of her new partner. She doesn’t trust Doggett yet. But somehow the first trimester fatigue catches up. Where is this deep exhaustion when she’s lying awake in bed in the middle of the night, her mind racing with fears for her child and guilt that she hasn’t found Mulder yet? 

She twists the air vent all the way open hoping the cold air will keep her awake. The flight attendant offers coffee but she’s already had the single cup she’s allotting herself these days at home this morning so she asks for water instead which does nothing to allay her exhaustion. 

As much as she despises turbulence she wishes this particular flight hit a few more bumps but instead it’s a smooth ride over a cloudless Midwestern sky that only makes her eyelids feel heavier and heavier.

Now she’s lying on Mulder’s couch, leaning her back against his chest. His arms wrap around her and he’s resting his hands on her belly, now heavy and round. His long fingers dance across the taut skin chasing a protruding foot or elbow. “Incredible,” Mulder says quietly, not so much to her or their baby but to himself. Slatted sunlight filters in through the window shades and she feels warm all over. Warm from the sun, Warm from her partner’s body wrapped around her own, warm from the life growing within her. She brings her palms to cover his, holding him in between herself and their baby.

Suddenly, the ground starts trembling beneath them. The window is wide open now and the soft sunlight has been replaced with an unnaturally bright glaring white glow. She feels Mulder’s body rising from behind her and watches helplessly as he drifts toward the window. She’s paralyzed on the couch, the weight of her belly pinning her down. “Mulder!” She tries to scream, but no sound escapes her throat and he keeps being pulled away from her. “Mulder!” 

“Mulder!” She calls again. This time she hears her voice as her hand involuntarily reaches out for him. 

But it isn’t Mulder next to her. His living room has dissolved into the cabin of a plane quaking with turbulence and she’s immediately mortified to find her fingers gripping John Doggett’s dry-skinned hand. She gasps and pulls her hand away but his eyes are already locked on hers. 

“I’m sorry,” she mutters under her breath. 

He gives her the grace of a silent nod and then turns back to the newspaper in his lap. 

She’s too keyed up to sleep for the rest of the flight so she just stares at the casefile she brought to read. She can’t absorb a single word, though. Her mind is running in a loop berating herself for being stupid enough to let her guard down. 

She avoids looking at Doggett the rest of the flight. When they land, he retrieves both of their bags from the overhead compartment and she whispers a quiet thank you. 

“We’ll find him,” Doggett says stoically before turning his back to her and walking up the aisle as she follows behind. 

She still doesn’t trust him, but she wants to believe him.

[cutemothman]

Fox Mulder being the Prettiest Boy ♡ 1/??

5.04 Detour

[thursdayinspace]

Fic prompt: Mulder wearing Scully’s clothes!

Does he stay the night and need something to wear on his morning run? Does the airline lose his luggage? Does he ruin his shirt cooking dinner at her apartment? Does he find an old pair of sweatpants she wore while pregnant and decide they’re his now? (It’s not the first time I’ve given someone this prompt but I’d be interested to see your take on it 👀)

FIC!! This took me a while, but I finally figured out how to put a twist on it that I liked. Thank you for this prompt, I had so much fun writing it.

Summary: “Is it a bit cold in here?” He wraps his arms around himself, looking at her in her thick cardigan next to him on the couch.

“The heating’s broken,” she says. “I’m sorry, I should have called you before you came over.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[randomfoggytiger]

"It's Not a Choice, but a Calling"

(Thanks to the Discord prompts for: beach, sickfic, family vacation with William, and Scully wearing Mulder's shirt~)

Mulder, Scully, a nameless child, and their last night at a beach.

*****

The world, for once, is silent. 

The horizon separates its light from its dark, the cool, pristine black of the water rising up to consume the last embers of a dying sun. Shadows scurry across the shore while a curious giant explores the chasms of life below-- a finger poked here, a foot kicked there-- and its watchers rise behind like pillars in the dusk. 

In this celestial space between endless lines and the end of all things, paths stretching forward become another frightening possibility. Another road not traveled, another tragedy undiscovered. Every moon bears a face of the dead, every whistle an echo of their pain. 

“Scully, if,” breathes, dies the first voice, consumed by the power of that fathomless darkness.

“Hm,” answers the second. Stronger, coming alive from the stupor of old thoughts. “No, Mulder. Not a day.” 

The sun is consumed; and the stars blaze light, illuminated. 

*****

The cold stays by their heels, misting their windows and guttering their fire. Scully consults the old magic, silently searching for a lighter while Mulder winds up the stairs and to the left, tucks away their tuckered miracle with a chilly kiss and silent retreat. Tomorrow, they face a drive littered with pit stops: burgers and fries and sunburn salve bought and consumed between each pull-off highway shop. For now, she prays that the logs will ignite, hopes to spend one more night surrounded by homestead incense instead of the dry burn of artificial heat. 

Her one-in-five-billion reappears, face drawn in nonchalance, heater clutched in his left hand. He pauses, she pauses. “You wanted the fire tonight?” 

“Yes,” Scully replies, tossing the wand somewhere conscionable, “but it won’t start, anyway.” Standing, she watches her partner bend at the waist, fiddle with ancient dials nearly rusted into antiquity. “Why? Is your cough back?” 

“No,” Mulder drawls, warm and preoccupied. “Just feeling a little mucusy.” 

“I see.” 

“Thought I’d take it a little easy, tonight,” he adds, eyes down, ashamed to admit weakness. To come close to admitting weakness. 

There are days, she knows, when it is impossible to face one’s frailties. When the sound of the bath tap makes her want to run, run, run away until that paralyzing fear is gone. When she catches a glimpse of her inescapable horror in the mirror. When her panic is mirrored by Mulder’s slack face or shaking hands. 

Gripping his shoulder, she bends, too. “We don’t need the fire tonight.” Watches an exhale plume from his mouth in relief.

*****

There is nothing much to watch, and nothing left to read. 

Scully leaves him on the couch, darting from room to room until she finds her potion jar and a pair of long, woven socks. “For your mucus,” she instructs, pulling at Mulder’s shirt until he hands it over, disappointing him by transferring the goop on her fingertips to his. Divesting him of his beach sandals, she sets to work slathering the fleshy part of one foot, then the other, with Vick’s while Mulder sniffs, then snorts, behind her. “Don’t eat it.”

“Unlike our kid, Scully, I learn from my mistakes.” 

“Uh huh,” she parries, without bite. The marvel of this body, she muses. Protecting him from callouses, rot, and infection, no matter how he abuses it. 

“Scully, I can feel you thumbing my big toe.” His eyebrows, she knows, are dancing wickedly. “There something you want to share with the group?” 

Thumbing his foot once more, in reproof, Scully's too late to catch her chin tuck. She feels his triumphant chuckle tremor down before she hears it-- an all-too-rare shaking followed by its squeaky wheeze.

The floor is still chilly, the stones cold under her cold-blooded limbs. Expediency dictates that Scully cover Mulder’s feet with his socks and reclaim her perch on the couch. The old, haunting clock of an older, daunting age ticks in time with her movements, ringing out the hour once she's settled against her personal heater. 

Mulder holds out a hand for his shirt; but she curls defensively, triumphantly, away from his reach while slipping it over her head. “Wh-- hey,” he grins, charmed by her blatant thievery, “that’s my shirt.”

“Mm.” 

“My favorite t-shirt.” 

“Mm,” Scully hums, lazily blinking at his side grin and crinkled lines. At the razed haircut he’d wanted before they came here. At the path in his eyes she’d tumbled down, countless times, to his heart. “You’ll get Vick’s on it.” At his furrowed brows as he remembers her cure-all on his chest. 

Sighing with a smile under his breath, Mulder maneuvers her between the couch and his restless limbs, luring her past her protests by generously sharing heat. “I don’t think it’ll mind, Scully.” 

*****

Dawn will ultimately claim the dark, sending its shadows to wait in their corners, beaming upon its victims with a little word called hope. 

In a few hours, the heater will switch off and the house will whirl with final checks and final feasting. 

But, for now, all that is needed are dreams.

*****

Thanks for reading~ Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic, @illaisland, @agent-troi.

[chaoswarfare]

dp x dc prompt #49

danny and damian twin au, but it’s crack. :))

danny and damian get into being really competitive at a very young age in the league, and even on their very rare off time they secretly played games, even if they often got out of hand, nobody ever seemed to care so long as they were improving.

during one of their first missions, it’s starting to go really bad, and damian figures it out before danny. he makes up a game of hide and seek, and danny scrambles off to look for a hiding spot while damian does the same, except he knows it’s because there’s someone after them. by the time backup arrives and the threat is taken care of, the only thing they’re able to find is a scrap of cloth and a splatter of danny’s blood.

eight years later, the two lock eyes in a gotham alleyway while danny tries to drag an unconscious mugger through a wall.

“oh dang. i guess i lost hide and seek than.”

“danny??? where have you been, it’s been eight years?!?!”

nobody ever challenges danny to hide and seek again after that.

(edit- sorry for any typos, this is hour 47 of no sleep)

[bisexualfbiagents]

Nine minutes, Scully. Do you remember the last time you were missing nine minutes?

CELEBRATING 30 YEARS OF THE X FILES Day 5: Favorite Arc Part One ➤ The Suspicious Crash of Flight 549 from Tempus Fugit (4.17) and Max (4.18)

[enoughslices]

fic prompt: "if your knees are game then so am i" from this post from @laurencem (thank you so much for the prompt!!) (omg i guess we're really doing this lollll okay everybody buckle up)

try it bite it lick it spit it

Author: thefinestmuffins on AO3, enoughslices on tumblr Rated: E Word Count: 5150 words Status: Complete Some Tags for Vibe: Smut, Oral Sex, Humor, PWP, Feelings, Banter, Happy Ending Summary:

In the course of an investigation, Scully ends up perched on Mulder's shoulders. One thing leads to another... _______

There isn’t a ladder in the old warehouse.

Local law enforcement taped off and cataloged the crime scene weeks ago, but they’d somehow overlooked a little loft space near the ceilings. It’s just a small, shadowy nook, easily missed, at least ten feet up off the ground.

“No ladder,” Mulder says, hovering unnecessarily close to her ear.

“No ladder.” Scully shines her flashlight up at the ledge, but the beam of light reveals nothing but motes of dust.

“Maybe I could, uh…” Mulder scrunches up his face in consideration, then shrugs. “Boost ya?”

“Boost me?”

“If you climb up on my back, piggyback-style, then sit on my shoulders, chicken-style, and get your hands planted over the edge, then I’ll help push up your thighs so you’re —”

“So help me God, Mulder, if the next words out of your mouth are doggy-style —”

“Scully!” Mulder whistles a low, scandalized whistle, but his eyebrows are delighted. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I was going to say no such thing!”

She rolls her eyes. “So that’s your best idea? Boosting me?”

He simply smirks. “I’m game if you’re game.”

“If your knees are game then so am I.” Before she can overthink it, and before Mulder can say any more about animal-based body positions or make any quips whatsoever involving game or livestock, Scully starts to hike up her skirt.

Keep reading on AO3!

tagging: @today-in-fic

[mindibindi]

[atths--twice]

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined this scenario. We should have had it.

But since we didn’t, how about a little fic instead? 😊

The abandoned garage offers no assistance for their overheating car as the suspect they’re chasing gains ground. Mulder sees a motorcycle and hurries to find the keys.

“Mulder,” Scully shouts, as he runs to it and sits down, grinning as he starts it up. “You know how to drive a motorcycle?”

“Yeah, I do,” he yells back, revving the engine and gesturing for her to get on with a tilt of his head. “Hurry, Scully. We need to go.”

She stares at him and he nods. She puts a hand on his shoulder and throws a leg over the bike, sitting down behind him.

“Hold on tight,” he yells, moving her hand to his waist and squeezing reassuringly before grabbing the handlebars.

Her heart rate speeds up instantly, her breathing increasing as she puts her other arm around his waist and holds tightly, the scent of his leather jacket filling her nose.

“Ready?” he yells and though she is the farthest thing from it, she nods against his back.

With one more squeeze to her hand, he pushes the kickstand up and they swerve a second as he steadies the motorcycle and they speed out of the garage. Her grip intensifies, both with her arms and thighs, as the wind rushes past them and she closes her eyes, her cheek pressed against his back.

His right hand squeezes her knee once and she raises her head, her eyes flying open and her heart racing from the simple touch, even as she immediately feels calmer.

“Remind me to take you for a ride under better circumstances,” he yells back to her and she laughs nervously, her knee feeling as though it is burning.

She closes her eyes again, her cheek once more pressed against his back, as they hurry down the road to catch their suspect.

Her grip tightens as they lean to the left and she gasps.

No, she thinks as very unpartnerlike thoughts enter her head and refuse to leave, her face flushing as her thighs press into him. No, I definitely won’t be reminding you.

Or would she?