#my fics: season 6

[amariram]

Sir Gwaine, Sir Percival and Sir Lancelot when at the banquet they see another foreign Lord hitting on Merlin in front of a very pissed Arthur.

[1doesnotsimplyhavejust1fandam]

Half questioning my memory of the post s4 era, half side eying a certain character, so correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think there was ever a time when the Buddie fandom fully took the single “Evan” from the season 4 finale as Eddie receiving “Evan” privileges from then on. From my recollection, fics stayed mostly consistent with their uses of “Evan” by Eddie, perhaps just with an emphasis on important moments (love confessions, Christopher’s adoption papers, wedding vows, NDEs, etc.) after the finale. And I had to stop myself from wondering why that is because I know why. We all know. Because nobody wanted to use “Evan” in fics when Buck had just told his parents that people who know him call him Buck. So Buddie fandom heard that, accepted it, and uses it only sparingly. In canon and fanon, even Maddie only rarely uses “Evan” anymore, and it feels even less common for her to use post-Buck Begins (if at all, actually). So the fact that Tommy and BT fans tend to use “Evan” (at least, this has been my experience) is so utterly jarring. Buck told everyone his preference, and I believe LFJ has spoken about being told to use only “Evan” when referring to Buck, so I simply do not understand anyone who believes that BT is in love already or endgame. Yes, it could go the “Buck gave Tommy ‘Evan’ privileges off-screen” route, but then why push it off-screen? It would be a major allowance made for a new love interest, and a significant step in Buck’s character arc. Yet we see nothing of the sort. So why would anyone believe that’s what happened? The last we heard, Buck had told his parents and everyone else to call him Buck exclusively, with the minimal exception of Maddie (who was, for most of his childhood, his one and only lifeline and confidant). That sort of history and characterization is not ignored if there is not something very wrong with the writers’ room. It was not even ignored by a significant portion of the fandom post-season 4, although Eddie gaining permanent “Evan” privileges would’ve been a strong indicator of a Buddie endgame (had an on-screen explanation of Eddie gaining this privilege been released). It was not ignored, and it did not change the nature of Buck in fic nor fanon. So why in hell is the same not holding true for a brand new relationship like BT?

[mischiefbuckley]

I’m so excited for episode 5 and 6 now with how it’s been talked about in interviews lately like can’t wait to see what happens to both Buck and Eddie

[laurrelise]

peacefully scrolling through ao3 for a five + sibling bonding fluff fic because i was bummed about season 4 again and i suddenly come across…

………. mpreg five

[ozzo-the-wozzo]

I need to you guys to stay with me and imagine Adrien Agreste experimenting with what to wear after he quits modeling but being hopelessly lost on where to start so, after much consideration, he gets the brilliant idea to mimic his friends clothing aesthetics.

So naturally one week he’s wearing a backwards cap and baggy jeans in an attempt to mimic Nino who is ecstatic and another he’s wearing a lot of flannel which makes Alya roll her eyes and another him and Marinette are practically twins much to his delight until she gently tells him he only likes it because they are matching and he should probably keep looking until he finds something that is his own.

But instead he just keeps on mimicking classmate after classmate until he runs through them all and he starts talking to Kagami who’s figuring things out herself and doesn’t provide much to go off of and he settles on wearing suits until someone mistakes him for Felix.

So then he decides to move on from people and starts to look on Pinterest at Marinette’s suggestion and he copies the outfits down to a science but why does everything STILL feel not right? He decides it’s the website so he moves on and copies what he sees in magazines and in ads and it feels a little better but he also feels a little sick when he does it and why isn’t anything right and he’s twisting the ring on his finger so much it’s leaving a mark and hes pacing around the mansion and it has so many portraits and his dad is in all of them and why is he suddenly getting the feeling nothing he puts on will ever be right and why in the world does this stupid ring feel so heavy.

And so after a month of experimenting, he gets up in the morning one day and decides to try on the outfit he always used to wear and attempts to do his grown out hair the old way and looks in the mirror and stares at himself for a while. He slips on his sneakers and then the door rings and he heads downstairs to meet Marinette for school. As they’re walking he is still trying to decipher what he feels and he suddenly realizes that his dad would like this outfit a lot. He smiles to himself and tells Marinette and she smiles weakly and says she supposes he would and then avoids his eyes.

Adrien feels that familiar twist in his stomach that tells him something isn’t right, but when he tries to reflect on why that would be he’s only met with the same fuzzy memories of his father that he can’t quite sort out. He wonders if that’s where the unease comes from but then he shakes his head because those memories must be good because his father died a hero.

And so he wears the same outfit he always wore, ignoring the fact it feels a little too tight on him and that it makes his new ring feel heavier than ever.

[cecilysass]

Honest Man (1/3)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter One

He almost never goes out to bars in Alexandria, and when he does, he’s typically in some kind of despairing mood. But Mulder isn’t despairing tonight. He’s hopeful.

It’s hope tempered with some reservation, of course. He’s not stupid—the other shoe can always drop—but there’s definitely a feeling that there could be less troubled paths ahead. If all goes well.

The pub is crowded, so he stands in the entrance scanning the room for her, feeling strangely awkward, like an adolescent boy. He jogged a little to get here at the time they arranged, and Mulder’s uncomfortably sweating now in his work clothes. He loosens his collar and tie.

She’s sitting with stately posture at a side booth, a menu propped in front of her. She spots him and raises a single hand.

He eagerly makes his way across the room, ducking in between the people making their way to get a drink at the bar, and slips into the seat across from her. “Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I’m used to it, Fox,” she says, coolly amused. Diana slides him a menu. “It’s given me plenty of time to look over the culinary options here at the Honest Man Pub.” She draws out the name of the bar in an affected way, a little mockingly.

He smirks at her. “Come on. Who doesn’t like an Honest Man, Diana?”

“Who indeed.” She smiles tightly. “As it happens, I remember your taste in restaurants, so I’m not surprised.”

“Mozzarella sticks,” he says, pointing a finger at the menu enthusiastically. “You want to share some? I’m starving.”

“No thanks. I ordered a negroni.”

“Look,” Mulder gestures towards a woodcut illustration of Abraham Lincoln on the cover of the menu. “It’s Honest Abe, Diana. Trustworthy. You sure you don’t want a burger or something?”

“I’m really not hungry,” she says. But she, too, flips the menu over to look at it. She traces Lincoln’s face with her fingertip. “You think it’s supposed to be a reference to that story about chopping down the cherry tree?”

“That was George Washington.” Mulder sets the menu down and gives her a mildly admonishing look.

“What? I’m no historian,” she says dismissively. “And what politician has the luxury of honesty anyway?”

Diana’s not wearing her work clothes, he notices in surprise. Unless she wears a form-fitting black dress to work, and he doesn’t think she does. He chews his lip, wondering why she bothered to go home to change, especially because he’s pretty sure she lives in DC.

After the server passes by, and Mulder orders his beer and mozzarella sticks, he turns his attention back to her. “Well? What’s up?” He folds his hands on the table. “You made it sound like good news.”

Her cocktail is placed directly in front of her, and she murmurs a polite thanks to the server. “Potentially it is,” she says. “I need your help on a case, and I think if you do well, it could be … a step in the right direction.”

He tries to play it cool, even though this is exactly what he hoped. “My help? Did Kersh have a personality transplant or something?”

“This would be outside of official channels,” she explains. “At first, anyway.”

There are several cardboard coasters on the table with quotes printed on them in homey, old-fashioned typeface. The one nearest Mulder reads: “An honest man is always a child. - Socrates.” He pushes the coaster around the table with his fingertip, nodding slowly. “I’m listening.”

“There have been a series of credible sightings of unusual crafts flying low outside of Groom Lake,” she says in a low voice. She sips her drink, meeting his eyes. “I know you’ve probably been following it. Kersh doesn’t want Jeffrey and I to spend too much time there. But you could go.”

“Under what auspices?”

“It would have to be extracurricular.” She shrugs, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, Fox.”

“Shiner Bock,” the server says cheerfully, setting a bottle down in front of Mulder. “Your mozzarella sticks should be out soon.”

“Thanks,” says Mulder. As the server darts off, he takes a slow sip, mulling over Diana’s words. “How would this be a step in the right direction?”

Diana leans towards him, her glass resting against her cheek. “Jeffrey and I have received some information about experimental craft at Groom Lake,” she says softly. “If we could put that together with your field work—and what you already have in the files—then we could have a report they’d have to take seriously.”

Mulder can’t help but feel excited, but he takes pains to mask it, chuckling cynically. “I’ve been down this road before, Diana.” He shrugs. “It never amounts to much. Plus, Kersh is already looking for any reason to chuck me out of the Bureau. This could easily be it.”

She reaches across the table and clasps his hand tight. “Not if I have your back.”

He frowns a little, confused by her meaning. She’s much more open to this than he expected. Still, his whole soul cries out to get back to working on the X-files. It’s almost all he thinks about these days. If there is a way forward here, he needs to hear all of it.

“We’ve always made a good team,” Diana points out. “We could be again. And this is your life’s work. You’re wasted in the bullpen.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says uneasily, “but what would—”

“I knew it.” interrupts a booming voice startlingly close to their table.

Mulder looks up blankly, and it takes him a half second to place the tall, pink-faced man towering angrily over them.

He knows Bill Scully’s face very well—associates it with some of his most emotionally vulnerable moments, in fact—but seeing it here in this Virginia bar, out of context, gives him a moment’s pause.

“I just knew it,” repeats Bill, his eyes narrowing. He squints down at Mulder murderously. “You’re not even worth … one of her goddamn pinky toes, you no good son of a bitch.”

“Bill,” Mulder murmurs, staring back. The man seems to be swaying slightly from side to side as he spits words out, as though he’s insulting Mulder on rough seas. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Bill leans over, placing a palm flat on the table, and Mulder can distinctly smell whiskey on his breath.

“You have some nerve,” Bill hisses. “This is how you treat her? After everything you’ve done? Now you’re just out … on some date?”

Diana gives him a significant, questioning look, and Mulder straightens in his seat, his eyes scanning behind Bill’s back for a sign of who might be accompanying him. “I think you‘ve had a few too many tonight,” Mulder attempts genially. “You’re not making much sense. Why don’t I—”

“Why don’t you shut your damn mouth for once in your life?” Bill bellows. The group of young people at the next table looks over, watching them now, their expressions half interested and half alarmed.

Bill turns his attention to Diana, pointing one of his large fingers at her like a scolding father, even though Mulder is pretty sure Diana is at least Bill’s age, if not older. “What do you know about this guy, miss?” His words are definitely slurring. “How much did he tell you? Did you know he’s a dangerous sonofabitch?”

Diana smiles stiffly. “I’m safe, thank you.”

“Well, when he asked you out,” Bill says to her, gesturing sloppily, “did he mention he’s been fucking my sister for years? Destroying her life? Breaking her heart?”

He knows Bill’s drunk, and he knows Bill doesn’t have his facts right, but Mulder can’t help feeling the sting of shame over what he’s being accused of. Part of it, anyway. He hears himself inhale sharply by reflex.

Diana’s eyebrows have arched in surprise. She looks pointedly at Mulder. “Oh? Is that right? Who’s your sister?”

“My sister Dana,” Bill spits out, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. “My baby sister.”

“Ah,” Diana responds conversationally. “You’re Agent Scully’s brother.” She seems unfazed by this information. “We both work with her, actually. Why don’t you join us for a moment?”

She scoots over in her seat, gesturing calmly to the spot next to her. Mulder doesn’t move, paralyzed with horror at the way this is unfolding.

Bill looks at Diana a moment, his jaw clenched, and then, to Mulder’s shock, slides in next to her in the booth, turning to direct his glare at Mulder.

For a moment Mulder just stares, slack-jawed, back into the man’s furious face. Bill seems to be waiting for something—for Mulder to explain himself, probably.

“This … isn’t a date,” Mulder begins, pointing between Diana and himself. “It’s work. And you need to understand that your sister and I aren’t in a romantic relationship either. Or a, uh, sexual relationship.”

Bill chuckles, shaking his head slowly, then abruptly changes mood, pounding his fist loudly and suddenly on the table and causing both Diana and Mulder to startle.

“Then why?” he demands, meeting Mulder’s eyes intensely in a way that reminds him, unsettlingly, of Scully. “Why does she do it? Why does she put up with you?”

“I … really don’t know,” Mulder admits miserably. “You’d have to ask her.”

“I know my sister,” Bill says, his features softening a little. “There are only … a few reasons why she would do it.” His tone goes cold. “Does she know you’re on a date?”

“No,” Mulder answers quickly, “but it’s not a—”

“I hate you,” Bill leans forward to whisper to him. “I hate you for what you’ve put her through. Now you’re cheating. On a fucking date. Jesus.”

“Yo, Scully,” comes a masculine voice from the bar. “Where’d you go?” Mulder looks around nervously, half expecting to see his partner, but of course the voice is calling for Bill. A group of men in their 30s and 40s, all with square shoulders and military haircuts, seem to be looking in this direction. Bill doesn’t even look back at them.

“You don’t understand,” Mulder says. He feels panicky and anxious. “It’s not a date. And Scully’s my partner, not my—”

“Jesus, shut the fuck up,” Bill groans. He slides out of the booth. “Don’t you ever get tired of your annoying-ass voice?”

He does, actually, more often than one might think.

“Bill, wait, are you—” Mulder stops suddenly.

He realizes what he was about to ask—are you going to tell Scully that you saw us here?—sounds completely at odds with what he has been telling Bill, what he has been telling himself. That question doesn’t make him sound like a partner out talking about work with a colleague.

It makes him sound like he thinks he’s doing something wrong, something he needs to hide.

The truth is that he does think Scully would be angry to know he’d met Diana here. She would be angry for a whole snarl of tangled reasons—and yeah, hurt, like Bill says. He doesn’t especially want her to know.

“Am I what?” Bill sneers, turning back around jerkily.

“Are you … okay to get home?” Mulder mumbles. “You have a ride?”

Bill gives him a look of withering contempt. “That’s none of your fucking business.” He turns and staggers back towards the bar.

Mulder watches him go, trying to swallow back his self-loathing. He realizes after a second that his fists are clenched.

“Fox,” Diana says in concern. “Are you all right?”

He says nothing for a beat, making a game attempt to pull himself back together.

“Yeah,” he says to Diana. He takes a fast swig of beer. “That guy—he, uh, just really hates me.”

“I gathered,” Diana says. She looks at Mulder appraisingly. “You seem to be taking what he says awfully seriously.”

“Well,” Mulder says grimly into his beer, “it’s just he’s not entirely wrong.”

Diana leans back in the booth, lifts her glass to her beautiful lips, and takes a careful sip. “No,” she says coolly, “he’s not.”

Mulder exhales raggedly. “Gee, Diana,” he says, “don’t hold back how you feel on my account.”

“He’s wrong about plenty,” she breathes. “He underestimates you, like most people do. But he’s not wrong that your work has hurt Agent Scully.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snaps at her. He pauses to compose himself. “I don’t want Scully to be hurt,” he says in a more controlled voice. “I never have. Her choices are her own.”

“And your choices are your own,” Diana says. Her eyes are dark and shining. “You know, Fox, I hope that if all goes well with this initial foray at Groom Lake, we might all be a little more ambitious in our choices.”

Mulder shakes his head rapidly, still rattled by the encounter with Bill. “Ambitious in our choices how?”

“Well,” she says. “Thinking longer term, I don’t know if Jeffrey is working out on the X-files. I think he might prefer to be elsewhere at the Bureau. And if he does… then I’d be asked for my preference in a partner.”

Mulder looks up quickly. “And you’d … want to work with me?”

“Of course,” she says, giving him an inviting look. “Who else would I want?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Mulder toys with a coaster on the table idly.

“Do you think they’d even listen to you?” he wonders. “They’re really not my biggest fans right now. Kersh in particular.”

She fishes an ice cube out of her drink, sucks on it a little. Then she meets his eyes, and there is a dangerous spark. “I can be very persuasive, Fox.”

Mulder’s fingertip worries the corner of the cardboard coaster back and forth, back and forth. He hasn’t asked the biggest question. “And what about Scully?”

“What about her?”

“I couldn’t … leave Scully behind in the bullpen.”

“Without you,” Diana says, sipping her drink, “she wouldn’t be in the bullpen for very long. They would give her a better placement in no time. She’s only stuck there because of you.”

Mulder’s eyes remain on the scuffed tabletop as he considers the truth of this statement. Scully certainly is only being punished because of her links to the X-files. Were she cut free from him, she probably would be given a fresh start.

“I don’t know,” he says bleakly. “I don’t know if I could even do it without her.”

Diana makes an exasperated hiss. “Fox,” she says. “Of course you could. What is this codependency you’ve developed? You weren’t like this before.”

Mulder rubs the bridge of his nose. “Diana, I–”

“Mozzarella sticks,” announces their server, his voice surreally peppy as he places the basket on the table. Mulder nods and smiles miserably, his eyes down on the fried cheese.

As the server walks away, Diana reaches over and places her hand over his. It’s light and soft as silk. “I could be the partner you need, Fox,” she says softly. “If you give me a chance.”

Her fingers now are caressing his hand lightly. Mulder’s taken aback. “I remember … how to calm you down,” she adds, almost a whisper. “How to reduce your stress.” She runs her fingertip down the back of his hand, a subtle but effective gesture. “And I’m not someone who is easily hurt.”

As opposed to Scully? he wonders. Is that what Scully is? Easily hurt? Is that why I’ve hurt her so much?

Somewhere to Mulder’s left there is a loud discussion at the bar. Despite Diana’s surprising advances, Mulder finds his attention drifting over there. He recognizes Bill’s voice, speaking loudly to the bartender, and looks for him in the crowd.

“I’ll tell you what,” Diana adds, reaching out with her finger to gently direct his chin back towards her. “Come over tonight.” Under the table he feels her foot brush against his calf, ostensibly accidentally, and she’s successfully got his full attention back. “We can discuss your Groom Lake fieldwork more privately. I can … convince you of everything else.”

Mulder closely watches her face, every nuance of her expression. “Oh yeah?” he says guardedly.

“Hey folks, you doing all right here? Need ketchup or anything?” The energetic server is suddenly smiling broadly next to the table, hands on his hips, and Mulder can sense Diana’s annoyance from across the table.

“We’re fine,” Mulder says, still staring at Diana, “but I’m going to need to get these mozzarella sticks to go. And our checks, please.”

“Coming right up.” The server obligingly darts away.

Diana’s foot brushes up his calf again, this time with less pretense of accident. “Is that a yes, then?” she says, the barest hint of a smile.

In the background, Mulder is aware of a flurry of activity at the bar—the bartender’s voice firmly declaring something about someone not being served any more.

He looks back at Diana, who looks very beautiful, curvy and enticing in the dress he now realizes was strategically chosen to showcase her body for him.

Then his eyes fall down to one of the coasters on the table. He reads it, then reaches down and picks it up impulsively, sliding it in his pocket.

“Diana,” he says, suddenly sounding more certain than he expects, “I’m going to have to get back to you.”

***

[freetobeafcknriot]

the more I think about it the more I don't get how the hargreeves siblings were the problem like sure, s2 and s3 were on them but it was cause-effect to the very first apocalypse in 2019 and literally none of that would have happened if reginald had been just a tiny bit less of a shitty father to begin with. i get that the 43 children were anomalies but how was it on them for just existing ?

[edwinas]

what gets me is that amerie and malakai were never given a chance. first malakai is being secretive and amerie spirals so they break up, then malakai immediately dates someone else leaving amerie heartbroken, they either don't talk or fight, then malakai tries to kiss amerie but she stops him, amerie starts getting feelings for someone else, malakai fucking leave for switzerland and writes amerie a love letter that burns in the school fire.

the saddest part is that amerie and malakai love each other but never confessed..... they never stopped being in love.

[bunysliper]

Castle Ficlet: Off the Highest Shelf 1/1

Off the Highest Shelf A Deep Cover (6x12) Post-Ep

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He hesitates at the threshold to his bedroom - their bedroom - watching her. Although she'd left her coat and the impossibly tall boots she'd worn all day in the closet by the front door when they got home, she hasn't yet shed the rest of her armor, instead floating through the main areas of the loft in her jeans and her cream turtleneck for the evening. She hasn't been in their room at all as far as he can tell.

Until now.

And now Kate stands in her socked feet, staring at their bed with her lip pulled between her teeth. There's a tightness around her eyes that makes him wince, an exhaustion he hates seeing from his partner. After a moment, she sighs, runs a hand through her hair, and steps over to her side of the bed and starts tugging at the covers. Not with the intention of sliding into bed, but to strip the linens from the mattress.

A glimpse of red, already dark and browning with oxidation, reminds him why she can't just climb into bed and surrender to a restful night's sleep. He slips forward at that, joining her at the head of the bed on his side.

"Are you mad?" he asks as they work in an almost choreographed tandem, stripping the pillows and the duvet while she untucks the sheets and bundles them, carefully avoiding the blood - his father's blood - on her side.

"Well, I did like these sheets," she says, dry and contained. It's exactly the response that tells him she is angry, even if she doesn't quite realize it yet.

"That's… that's not what I mean. Are you angry about… my dad?"

Her face twitches just a bit and she sighs. "I'm frustrated that you kept it from me," she admits after a beat. "You had this entire experience in Paris last year and not only did you shut me out then, you continued to do it until now, until this case - until you had absolutely no choice but to bring me in on the family secret. Would you have even told me about him had I not stumbled upon him bleeding on my side of the bed with your mother tending to him?"

He opens his mouth to reply, to defend his decision not to tell her a year ago when Alexis was kidnapped and then to continue to hold that secret until just a few days ago, but sound doesn't make its way past his lips. Her fingers clench against the bundle of sheets and he moves to take them from her; though he's not sure if they are salvageable, he'll send them to the cleaners to have professionals try.

At first it doesn't seem like she's going to give up the linens, but when she does, she speaks again as well, "For years, you made it your mission to turn my life into an open book for you, whether I wanted it to be or not, but you're happy to stay locked up tight, to be a volume that's just high enough on a shelf to be considered off-limits, so nobody will try to read it."

"That's not-" Is it? He's not locked up tight; he shares plenty - doesn't he?

She licks her lips, running a hand through her hair before adding, "I'm trying. I'm trying to read it- you. I want to read you, as strange as it sounds to say out loud like that. You told me earlier tonight that you realized he's not family; that I am. So, start acting like it, Rick. Talk to me - tell me things."

"You don't need to be off-limits anymore," she adds, lifting a shoulder quickly as if it will distract from how deeply she feels about this subject.

Taking a deep breath, he leans over to drop the sheets on the floor near their bedroom door. It's not a perfect solution (and a little bit gross if he thinks too hard about it - he'll make sure to clean the hardwood, too), but he needs his hands free to reach for her and draw her into his chest.

Beckett sighs, relaxing into his embrace and slipping her arms around his waist. Her breath skims across his neck and he feels her sink deeper against him.

"I think… more than anything, I think it hurt my feelings," she admits into his skin. "Being left out like that."

His hands flex against her back, his eyes squeezing shut. "I'm sorry. That was… it was never… I'm sorry."

She nods after a moment, accepting his fumbled apology. "I know. And I know that was how you felt with the AG job and the interview."

Castle brushes his fingers through the ends of her hair, contemplating her words. They'd done the same thing to each other - unknowingly and unwittingly, but they had.

"Kate-"

Her lips brush his jaw, cutting off whatever it is he'd been about to say (though he's not entirely sure what it had been, beyond another apology, maybe even an assurance that he hadn't been trying to even the score or something like that).

"I know, Rick. I know it's not some kind of tit for tat. But…tell me now?" she asks, lifting a hand to cup the back of his neck. "While we make the bed?"

He nods, resting his cheek against her forehead. "Okay. But I warn you, it might give you more information about my mother's sex life than you ever want to know."

Kate laughs, giving his neck a squeeze. "I think I can handle it. I do sort of live with her now, you know."

Castle touches his lips to her hairline. "And you know what she's like."

"Oh hush, she's not that bad." Kate steps back, reaching for a bottle of disinfectant that he takes and sprays for her.

"Now. Imagine back then."

Kate hands him a rag to swipe over the mattress as well. There aren't any visible stains, thankfully, but he's not going to argue with her directions.

"I don't need to imagine," she says, rubbing a hand down his back. "Because you can tell me."

Her lips dust the back of his neck, the gesture soft and relaxing; it's not an interrogation, she just wants to know, wants to listen. So, he talks, telling her his mother's side of the story from when he was growing up, weaving it into the tale of the harrowing days when Alexis was missing and his father's daring rescue in Paris.

When that story concludes, all it takes is a soft look from her and a squeeze of her hand on his forearm for him to offer up everything else that's been on his mind since they caught their most recent case.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ Long time, no see! It's been a time recently, and putting words to paper has been difficult, but I was able to finish this yesterday so I figured I would offer it to the world today. Thanks for reading.

[sorinethemastermind]

The Final Rite

In which Soren grapples with his father's sacrifice.

 

Soren hadn’t told anyone where he was going. It had felt selfish, somehow. Or like something to be ashamed of. But now, standing outside the ruins of the castle. Of his home. He suddenly wished he had brought company.

 But who would have wanted to accompany him on this task, anyway?

 And was it really a task, when no one had asked it of him?

 He took a deep breath, feeling it catch in his throat, and not from the smoke this time. Somewhere in the rubble before him lay Vir- his father's body. Broken and charred, pierced through the heart just like when he'd-

 Soren stepped into the courtyard and began combing through the rubble. He was exhausted, and with each stone he turned over his arms shook. What were all those workouts for if he couldn't even lift a rock?

 But it wasn't just the physical strain, he knew. With every overturned stone there was a greater chance that he would actually find him. Crumpled beneath a piece of fallen masonry, charred beyond recognition. Or, possibly worse, protected from the fire and undeniably recognizable as the man who had raised him.

 Discarded him.

 Hurt him.

 Been proud of him.

 Died for him.

 Soren didn’t know how to reconcile all the men his father had been inside his head. Didn't know how the same man who had played with him as a child could have become the one who marched into Xadia with an army. Or how that man could possibly be the same one who had looked at him in the dungeon and said that he had already taken enough. That it was his turn to offer Soren his heart.

 He didn't want to reconcile it. He didn't want to think about it or feel any of this. It was easier to hate him than... than whatever this was. Not love, surely?

 He didn't deserve it. Not after everything he had done. And yet...

 The moon was high overhead when Soren finally reached the area under the tower where Viren had cast the spell. Some part of him had been avoiding it, knowing that it was most likely where he would be. But this was why he'd come here, wasn't it? Snuck away from the camp in the middle of the night. Stowed away like this wasn't the home he had almost died to protect. Had offered to die for, and been denied that right.

 Maybe he should be grateful, but he wasn't. Or he was, but that gratefulness hurt so much he wished he wasn't.

 Some of the rocks had already fallen away and it didn't take much to find the body, just where he'd imagined it would be. And... just how he'd imagined it would look.

 It had been all he'd been able to picture all day. Setting up the tents, gathering supplies, carrying wounded to the hospital. In the back of his mind, no matter what he'd been doing, there had been the image. The image of Vir- his father standing there on the balcony, facing the dragon. Of the fire filling the courtyard until he couldn't see anything more. Of his skin turning to charcoal and his veins glowing like magma under the surface.

 For just a moment there, standing before the dragon with his staff raised high above his head, Viren had looked like the man Soren once believed him to be. And while at first he had been horrified as the spell washed over him, brought back to another mountaintop from two years ago, the warmth seeming to radiate out from his chest had meant something else, too. It had meant that what his father had said in the dungeon was true. Something, Soren didn't know what, but something had changed.

 He hadn't been lying. He had been proud.

 And what had he done? He’d yelled at him, run away from his father then. And now? Soren pushed the last bits of rubble away and pulled his father's body from the wreckage of their home.

 Now he would bury him.

 The trek to the Valley of Graves was a long one, winding through the entirety of the city of Katolis. Fires still smoldered on some of the houses lining the road, flickering like candlelight. Soren made the solemn walk alone, cradling Viren's limp body in his arms. His father was light and frail, two words he never would have associated with the man in life.

 The first tinges of sunlight were visible as he finally reached the end of the road and walked between the cliffs and their statues of kings and queens, great and gone. But there was another, newer grave alongside them.

 Soren stopped and stared up at the great bones of the dragon. They had felled it after all. Not that it mattered. He didn't want to look at it.

 Turning his back to the great beast, he crossed to the other side of the valley and laid his father on a patch of empty soil. Some might call it sacrilege to bury Viren here, among the great warriors of the kingdom of Katolis. But Soren didn't know where else to go. He didn't want him to rot away, forgotten and reviled, in the woods. Or to remain trapped in the still smoldering ruins of their home.

 Even villains deserved peace. If that was what he was.

 Soren drew his blade and set to work. His sword didn't make a very good shovel, but he persevered, hacking away at dirt and stone until his arms shook from overexertion and his breath came in ragged pants. He stuck it into the ground and leaned against it, struggling for air.

 In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

 His father’s words echoed through his mind as he finally managed to fill his lungs with enough air to straighten up and look over what he’d done. The sun up. People would be noticing he was missing soon. But he had a job to do. He would not leave his father here, abandoned. Whether he deserved to rest alongside these heroes of the realm or not, he would.

 Soren raised the blade above his head and brought it down again.

 He was in the courtyard, hiding behind the great oak tree that had lived there for centuries. His father shielded his eyes from the sun. "Now where could my little golden boy have gone?"

 Dirt and rocks were chipped away. He raised it again.

He was sitting on the floor before the hearth, his mother's hand resting on his head and Claudia nestled on her lap as his father read to them.

 He brought the sword down. Steadily, the hole began to grow.

 He was lying in his bed, chest aching with every wheezing breath, his father's hand clasping his own. They were both exhausted from a long night, eyes drifting shut.

 He was in the courtyard with his first training sword, practicing his footwork, glancing up at the window in hopes of catching his father watching.

 It was his knighting ceremony, all the young guards standing proudly before the king as he welcomed them as protectors of the kingdom. Viren stood behind him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as Soren's name was called out.

 He was standing in the dungeon, leaning on a crutch, cruel words still ringing in the cold, stone hall. Staring into the frenzied eyes of someone who was supposed to love him.

 He was standing in the dungeon, offering his father his heart one final time.

 Soren's sword struck hard stone and, with a reverberating clang, twisted in his hand. It flew aside, falling to the ground with a long crack running up it. He fell to his knees beside the hole and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

 "No. I- I've taken enough from you, son.”

 There hadn't been time to argue. Soren had tried, but in the end…

 "I'm so proud of you."

 He'd turned back, opened his mouth to say something, but no words had come. His father smiled at him. A sad smile, the knife clutched in one hand, staff in the other. 

 "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."

 "I love you." the words came now, kneeling over his father's grave. They came too fast, too much. Like they were being torn right from his chest. "I love you. I always did, I- I don't know why you did everything you did. I don’t understand. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I wish I could forgive you. I wish I didn't want to forgive you. I-"

 Soren forced in a shaky breath and rose to his feet, leaving his sword where it had fallen. Maybe, if all these versions of his father could be true at once, then he could hold love and hate in his heart at the same time, too.

 And that would have to be enough. 

 He lifted his father and carried him to the side of the grave, wrapping him in the tattered remains of one of Katolis's banners before lowering him inside. This was the same man who had played with him in the courtyard and read him to sleep at night when he was sick. But it was also the one who’d cast him aside, shouted that his life didn’t matter. 

 Soren leaned down and lifted the fabric up to cover his father's face. What were the words to the rite Opeli had used? He had heard her say them enough that day. Something about justice, he thought. 

 "May Lady Justice be merciful." he whispered, voice cracking. “May she feel both love and hatred, and make the right choice.”

It took him nearly as long to fill the hole as it had to dig it, and the sun was high in the sky by the time he had finished; legs weary and arms aching. Finally, he went to retrieve his sword. The crack ran from the tip to the pommel, jagged edges glistening in the midday light. Soren went to sheathe it, but hesitated.

Crossing back to his father's grave, he struck it into the ground that had broken it, letting it stand as a marker. And then he turned one final time, and without looking back, walked out of the valley.

[tornoleander]

I know it’s been said, but Jay’s ‘bullied for growing up in a Junkyard’ Vibes are off the charts.

Parents saying how he hates talking about being born in a junkyard.

insecurity had to of come from somewhere.

In Skybound, Nadakhan overhears Jay mentions this insecurity and uses it against him several times.

(very good villain writing I would praise if they didn’t make him the creepiest creep to ever ninjago.)

[twogravesinsomecemetery]

thinking about how insane it would've been if Pendrell had still been alive during the Diana era 🙃 Scully would have seen Mulder and Diana holding hands and fled straight back to him and Mulder would have been jealous as hell but not as angry as Scully already was and it would probably all have culminated in one of the weirdest and most awkward double dates in Bureau history ??? the angst, the pining, the JEALOUSY ?? Delicious

[nenyabusiness]

oblivia

Pairing: Saurondriel/Haladriel Rating: E Words: 6k Summary: Once, she promises herself. Just once. Or, Galadriel has a visitor in her dream. Read on AO3

Excerpt: “It’s tearing you apart, isn’t it?” he says. “Fearing me. Wanting me. Hating me. Lo—”

“Don’t,” she warns, she pleads, her voice cracking.

“I know your mind. I feel your pain.” He strokes her cheek with his thumb. “I could help you, if you’d let me.”

She lets out a strangled noise; not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “Help me? Was ruining me once not enough for you?”

“Ruining you?” He gives her an incredulous look. “You are not ruined, Galadriel. You still shine just as brightly as the first moment I laid eyes on you. I’m talking about this.” His knuckles trace her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, continuing past the neckline of her dress. His palm comes to a rest at the center of her aching chest. “This, I can help you with.”

The warmth of his hand seeps through the thin fabric. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, but she knows her body is betraying anyway. She can’t stop the violent beating of her heart.

“No one would have to know,” he says, a perfect echo of the whispers in her mind. “This place is ours. The past, the future—none of it matters here. Just the present, and what we choose to do with it. Your mind brought you here for a reason. Why do you think that is?”

Galadriel looks up at the tree crowns above her. The forest is not a forest. He created a convincing façade for her, but that’s all it is—a façade, hiding something too abstract and too complex for her to comprehend. It didn’t summon her. He didn’t summon her. She came here willingly, her subconsciousness seeking out what her waking mind could not.

A break.

“I know what you want, and so do you.” He leans closer, going in for the kill. “Indulge yourself.”

[theminecraftbee]

hermit horror week day 6: season 6 or flesh

Cleo hums as she looks over her pirate crew. Her ship is coming more and more to life every day with the help of the new armor stand book. Bringing real pirates to life to live in her crew--it's been a dream so far. She has a real knack for it, to. Everyone keeps commenting on it.

It's funny, thinking she of all people would be good at bringing life to things. There's a joke about that, she's sure.

She flips through the book, tilts her head and frowns as the crew prepares her ship for the day. Hm, no. She needs to make some more edits, though, before she declares it done. Her crew is a little bit too all the same color, at the moment, and there aren't enough that are the right height, and...

She walks up to the nearest crew member. He looks up at her and waves methodically before going back to his programmed actions. She flips the pages in the book, finds the correct pages to nudge, and starts messing with his height to make the crew more varied.

There is a horrible snapping and popping sound as the crew member freezes in place, and his torso and limbs begin to stretch to match the new parameters. The skin twists around the bone. Bones break and regrow. She waits patiently for the changes to be done. Finally, the twisted cracking stops, and the crew member stands at his new height.

Cleo makes a face.

"Yeah, I'm not sure that's right either," she says, even as the crew member stands up to start going back to his tasks. He's sweating and shaking, which makes it a bit hard to judge, so she re-locks the armor stand in place, freezing him.

She thinks she got his limbs wrong the first time, actually; that's why the new height didn't work well. It'll be individual reposing, then.

She starts making adjustments in her book when she looks over her shoulder and sees her crew staring at her. She shudders. It's unnerving when that happens. It always makes her feel like--she brings life to her builds like this, but it's not like the things are alive.

But sometimes, when she's adjusting the scene...

"Well? You lot get back to work!" she says, and she goes back to adjusting the first crew member she has to make changes for. She'll start with the arms, since those are proportioned worst. She needs to make them a little shorter.

The terrible tearing and popping sounds continue as things break and relocate. Cleo sighs.

One day, maybe this will be less trial and error, and she'll have to hear less horrible bone breaking? Today, though, she'll be fine with it. She's a zombie, she's probably heard worse.

As she finishes setting the arm in place, there's a low, strange sound, like an aborted scream.

She's really got to ask the datapack author one day about that, she thinks, and she moves to the next arm.

[emloafs]

oh no my hand slipped

.......s6e9 hawkmetri locker room fix-it fic

[arcadianmoonshadowjedi]

What did I do to Deserve you?

Rayllum Season 6 spoilery fanfic

Finally finished & posting this fanfic! It’s a fluffy hurt/comfort missing scene fic set between Episodes 6-7 (you know what I mean 😏) I would not recommend reading this unless you’ve watched up to the beginning of Episode 7. If you’re all caught up, I hope you enjoy! 😁🙌🏽

Chapter Summary: Rayla and Callum have finally kissed again for the first time in two years and have reaffirmed their love for one another. But there is still something Rayla wanted to talk to Callum about, the one moment in her life she wished she could change.

A few minutes later, Callum still held Rayla in his arms kissing her. Rayla’s hands were now around the back of his head with her fingers interlaced through his hair. Callum finally pulled away and sighed happily as he took his breath. Their faces were still pretty close though.

“We’ve been at this for so long,” Callum giggled. “Shouldn’t we get some sleep tonight before we head over to the Moon Nexus?”

Rayla jokingly groaned but still answered him. “We haven’t had a moment like this in two years, shouldn’t we be making up for all that lost time?”

Callum chuckled as she reached for a few more pecks. He then turned and guided her towards his hammock. He hopped onto it and patted right next to him gesturing for Rayla to join him.

“We should get some rest,” He told her softly and smiled. Rayla finally joined him and leaned into his embrace. They could hear Stella and Sneezles squeaking cheerfully from the hammock above sending the two lovers into complete laughter.

Read More on AO3!