O (she/her). 34. Long Island.
Currently obsessed with The X-Files (especially John Doggett and Walter Skinner) (obviously)
But you'll also see: 📺 The Pitt. Twin Peaks. Flanaverse. House. Ted Lasso. Psych. The Office. Brooklyn 99. Parks & Recreation. Friday Night Lights. Parenthood. Teen Wolf. DC and Marvel. Just... tons of TV. Sometimes movies. 🎮 Horizon Zero Dawn. Ghost of Tsushima.
MY GIFS
Skinner would've let the night go unnoticed. Doggett had another idea.
Word Count: 957
Rating: Teen
Pairings: John Doggett/Walter Skinner
Additional Tags: Birthday, Cigars, Pre-Slash
Read on AO3 or below the cut ⬇️
The ding of the elevator doors opening echoed through the late-night silence of the fourth floor hallway. John Doggett lifted his head and stepped out, the soft tap of his shoes following. Light spilled from the door he was approaching, drawing him in despite the hour.
He entered quietly and leaned in the doorway that led to the inner office, watching the man who sat inside—jacket off, illuminated by soft lamplight—working through stacks of folders without the interruptions daytime so often brought.
"Really hoped I wouldn't find you here, sir."
Skinner glanced up at him. "In my own office, Agent Doggett?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"At this hour," Doggett clarified as he took a step into the room. "On this day of all days." And another.
Skinner looked back down at the paperwork on his desk, pen scrawling a signature on one of many documents scattered across the surface. "This day?"
"Well sir, it's"—Doggett lifted his wrist, glancing at his watch—"12:01AM, so… it's officially June 3rd."
Skinner sighed and leaned back in his chair. "How'd you know?"
A grin tugged at Doggett's lips, and he tapped his temple with one finger. "Once I read somethin' I don't forget it." Skinner rolled his eyes as Doggett finally landed beside his desk. "Now I'm sure you've got some riveting case reports here, but…" He held his jacket open, revealing two cigars peeking out from the inside pocket. "Wanna take a break up on the roof?"
The gesture was so unexpected that Skinner caught himself smiling—something he typically didn't do in the Hoover.
"I think I can spare a few minutes," he said, shifting his lips into a more comfortable smirk. He stood and stepped toward Doggett, who was still grinning—clearly pleased with himself for cracking Skinner, even if just a little.
The echo in the hallway was nearly unchanged as they fell into step, walking to the elevator to ride the two floors up to the roof.
The night was warm, and the scent of rain lingered from an earlier summer shower. They settled in a corner overlooking 10th Street as Doggett slid the cigars from his pocket. He handed one to Skinner and placed the other in his own mouth. Skinner followed suit as he leaned back against the ledge, stretching out his legs, crossing them at the ankles.
Doggett dug through his pockets for a lighter, grumbling as he patted himself down, struggling to find it. When he finally did, he stepped forward, his legs arched over Skinner's, crowding him against the stone. Skinner briefly wondered why Doggett didn't simply hand him the lighter—but the warmth of Doggett's legs against his own seemed to erase the thought entirely.
Doggett raised the lighter to Skinner's cigar, and Skinner watched as his fingers flicked the flame to life, his opposite hand shielding it from the wind. He held it steady, toasting the tip until smoke curled into the night sky.
Skinner took a few short puffs, rotating the cigar, before drawing in a full breath. His eyes fell shut as the warmth coated his palate. It wasn't anything fancy, but the flavor was smooth—a little sweet, a little nutty—and it hit just right on this late summer night.
He parted his lips to exhale softly, and his eyes opened again. Through the cloud of smoke he could see another flame flickering, this time at the end of Doggett's cigar. And as the smoke faded, he found Doggett's eyes—brighter than ever behind the light of the fire—looking right back at him.
Skinner's chest tightened for just a heartbeat.
He watched Doggett repeat the ritual he'd just run through—the motions, the breaths—all with his eyes open, so open.
And then Doggett pulled the cigar from his face, smoke floating from his lips. "Not bad, huh?"
Skinner traced the taste on his teeth with his tongue, eyes still fixed on Doggett's. "Not at all."
Half of Doggett's mouth quirked up into a crooked smile. It was almost sheepish—but before Skinner could even begin to decipher why, he'd suddenly looked away, down at his own legs that he was finally separating from Skinner's.
Skinner found himself missing the contact—that is, until Doggett settled beside him, his arm pressing against Skinner's as if there weren't a whole roof's worth of space available to them.
They stayed like that for a long while, side-by-side, drawn together like magnets. The world around them was mostly quiet, aside from occasional faint sirens in the distance, or the odd shout from the streets below. They, too, were quiet—comfortable simply with presence, warmth—from the summer air, the clouds of smoke, and ultimately, each other.
Time stretched with little regard, measured only by paper turning to ash. The lights surrounding the helipad glowed in front of them, reflecting off of Skinner's glasses, highlighting the hard edges of Doggett's face. Skinner studied them through the cover of smoke. Doggett didn't move.
A question had been playing on Skinner's mind as they stood. He rotated the cigar in his fingers, watching the buildup of ash fall past his feet, before finally voicing it. "Did you stay here until midnight just for m—this?" He stumbled over the last word as he looked up at Doggett.
A faint chuckle escaped Doggett as he lowered his cigar, smoke drifting from his lips. He smiled the same sheepish smile—and suddenly Skinner felt that he understood it; when Doggett's gaze met his, a warmth spread through him that he was pretty certain wasn't his alone.
Doggett shifted his hand to the ledge just behind Skinner.
So, this old painting of mine inspired the wonderful lousy_science into writing the most lovely and thoughtful and perfect fic about my favourite old men in love! :D
On the Banks of the Arno (1194 words) by lousy_science
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dark Knight Rises (2012), Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Lucius Fox/Alfred Pennyworth
Characters: Alfred Pennyworth, Lucius Fox
Additional Tags: Firenze | Florence
Summary: The hero of the Batman story got his happy ending.
it's fun going to a con and appreciating the performers who brought to life your favorite characters and then going home like thank you i will now resume putting said characters into Situations goodbye
Put in the tags the completely finished (whether cancelled or wrapped up on its own terms) TV series that has YOUR perfect ending, however you define that
Please don’t include huge spoilers for the specifics of the endings, and it would also make me happy if people don’t use this to talk about the shows whose endings they hated
I feel like I need to share this because idk if Europeans are familiar with the presence of Aldi in the US, but at least especially in my area they’ve been growing a lot recently. Like Aldi bought out some local failing grocery chains where I live (Louisiana) and have opened Aldis in all these somewhat rural communities and small towns, which for the record I’m fine with
But as a result of this they are advertising a lot more in my area and also in many cases, the people in these areas have never been confronted with Aldi or any European grocery store. So the ads that Aldi is pushing out to its new US customer base feature a cowboy shopping at Aldi who is explaining to new Aldi customers how Aldi works. Like this cowboy is explaining you gotta put a quarter in the shopping cart and why there are very little name brands. A cowboy is how they want to reach their American customer base. They gave us a cowboy
2087
stormborns
theartofmadeline
izzy806
jacobvanloon
dededos
