#my fics: season 6

[potatobugz]

i'm ill ugghh i'm so ill

[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.

[silver-stake-through-the-heart]

Fanon should play more with the season 6 dynamics instead of their annoying version of Dean with internalized homophobia who needs everyone else to hold his hand to realize and accept his feelings about Cas:

Dean clings to Cas despite Bobby's and Sam's warnings, and all the while Sam and Bobby are trying to manipulate him into settling down with Lisa, raising Ben and having a white-picked-fence fantasy.

Bonus point if Cas is some kind of scam artist in the fic.

[miriadalia]

How it feels to ship an unpopular or non-canon couple in Tumblr vs other media:

Please, Tumblr users don't make me regret posting this :')

[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?

[championofmyheart]

Hii!! So it's very close to christmas and i saw in your profile that you are a swiftie, so why not do a Jack Champion 'tis the damn season inspired fanfic (idk if it's called like this) and you can do it pure angst, but that ends in fluff (or no, that's on u) anyways have a great day and i think ur profile is gorgeous!

'Tis the damn season

Pairing: Jack Champion x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Jack goes back to his hometown for the holidays and reconnects with an old flame. (angst ++ slight fluff but not really...)

Wc: 1.5k

Author's note: Thank you so much for the request🫶🫶 I love this song so much, seeing this in my inbox made jump in glee. I was a bit confuzzled by how to start this in the beginning but I ended up working it out anyway. I hope it meets your expectations!!! ++ THANK YOU! I worked very hard on it hehe.

Remember to reblog in order to support small creators !!

The flickering light of the fireplace dances while casting shadows on the walls of your living room. Its soothing warmth snuck in through the cracks of the window you were sitting by and was a welcome contrast to the crisp air of winter's night. 

It served as a reminder of what was coming–or who was coming. The Christmas season meant two things for you, one less expected than the other: It meant exchanging gifts with family and enjoying their presence and it was also marked as the time Jack Champion would return. As if you weren't dreading this day enough, the doorbell rang. You didn't have to check if it was him. You knew how this went. 

Growing up, your family and his own spent every holiday together, starting from when you were both little. There was a feeling that came into flower as you grew up, one that pulled your gaze towards him, a warmth spread across your cheeks whenever you spoke to him. It wasn’t something he could ignore either and so, after one fateful dinner a realisation struck both of you. 

There wasn’t any way you could forget that night. He was curled up in your arms, his back facing you. You played with the curls of his hair, attempting to get rid of the tremble of your hands. It felt right, this felt right. 

The silence in the air hung heavy as the two of you processed the moment of tender surrender you had just shared. You broke the stillness with your words, “What does this mean for us…?” Jack turns to you his features are soft under the red glow of the Christmas lights peeking through the window of the room. Your breath catches in your throat–scared to hear his response, scared that he can hear your beating heart that chased after his own. 

“I don’t know” His voice is quiet, a murmur you can barely hear. 

He felt the way your body moved away from his own and missed its’ warmth, “You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know?” You furrowed your brows in disbelief at his words. Jack calls out your name gently, his hand reaching out. 

A scoff left your lips as you sat upright, “You can’t not know, are you serious?” He followed in suite. “It’s complicated–” 

“It really isn’t” A deep sigh left his lips as you interrupted him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you like me?” You ask, your voice coming out as a desperate plea instead of a question. 

Jack stays quiet, the words are lodged in his throat. He couldn’t say anything. As he responded with nothing but silence, you buried your face in your hands. “You can’t do this to me” you breathe out, your hands moving down your face to hold yourself. His arm draped over your shoulder, pulling you into a warm embrace, “I won’t, I’m sorry… I won’t” 

But he did. Every single Christmas since that night. He did. 

It was partially your fault, there was no denying that. It was impossible to refuse his advances, especially when he looked up at you with his big brown eyes, silently begging for your touch. His pleading look was irresistible, it left no room for rejection. This night was gonna be different though, you’re making sure of that. 

His parents welcomed him inside the home while you stared out through the foggy window. Your mind was cursed with the thought of him, it was as if he was engraved into the inside of your brain. It didn’t take long before you spared him a glance, only to be met with him already looking your way. 

The heat crept up your cheeks as he studied you, a faint grin on his lips. You return the smile even though you were betraying your inner turmoil as you looked at his pretty face. His eyes left yours, moving on to speak to your mother who was welcoming him with open arms. You felt a tinge of annoyance rise within you at this well-natured gesture from her, god, you were so salty.

Not a word would be exchanged over dinner. You had maintained a facade of normalcy the entire time, suppressing the heartache. 

You noticed there was something off despite everything going as usual. He was off. No longing glances, no shared smiles, and for once you thought that maybe this was it. Maybe he’d regretted everything you two had. A part of you would find comfort in letting go of this hometown fling you’ve turned into but the rest would be devastated, after all, you have spent years pining on him. Hoping one day he would run to you and finally accept the truth he has always denied: that he loved you. 

After dinner, you took refuge in your room upstairs. It was something you and Jack always did to pry off the aunts who would swarm you both with invasive questions about your lives. 

It was also the same place the two of you shared your firsts. A soft chuckle leaves your lips at the not-so-innocent memories. Suddenly, a few taps on the door pulled you out of your reverie, you looked up to see the devil himself, Jack, in the flesh. 

“Hey…” He was leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed a playful grin on his face. 

Maybe leaving the door wide open wasn’t a good idea. If you were the same girl from last season, you would have been beaming but you’ve had some time to think over the span of the year. 

Jack wasn’t stupid. He could tell something was amiss. You had been distant ever since he got there, he could see through your front. He calls out your name–the sound of your name rolling off his tongue causing butterflies to erupt–and steps inside, shutting the door behind him to offer a tiny bit of privacy in this full house. “What’s going on? Is everything alright���

‘No, nothing was right’ The words echoed in your mind yet you shook your head in dismissal. “Yeah, just feeling a bit sick, I guess?”

He raises a brow, not believing a word that comes out of your mouth. A weary sigh left his lips as sauntered towards you and settled to sit beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. You stayed quiet, wishing this conversation would end. He says your name once more. “I’m fine, I swear” 

“No, you aren’t” His tone was firm as he spoke, leaving no room for debate. “Just be honest with me” 

“What do you think is wrong?” His eyebrows knit together, mouth slightly agape. “I.. How could I- I’m not a mind reader” He lets out a scoff, the sound escaping his lips in disapproval. 

“Can you just talk to me?” Jack pleads as you stand up to pace around the room. You wrap your arms around yourself, pulling at your clothes in frustration. With a deep sigh, you decide to be honest with him. 

You took a deep breath, “Do you really wanna know what’s been bothering me?” You began, finally fully facing him for the first time since his arrival. “It’s you, Jack” Your voice is heavy with the weight of your admission. His puppy dog eyes meet yours and for a fleeting moment you want to take back your words, take him into your arms and erase the pain you see in his gaze but you stand your ground allowing the words to spill from your mouth.

“This so-called relationship we have is wearing me out. It’s just fucking convenient for you, isn’t it? To have a girl waiting for you back at home while you run around doing whatever you want at your fucking job. You stick with me ‘cause I am that one constant in your life, the one the ‘road always leads back to’” You take a moment to catch your breath. “And you know I won’t leave because I am so in love with you. This isn’t a relationship, Jack. It’s a one-sided thing and that fucking sucks, man” Your voice trembles with tears threatening to spill as you confess the truth, laced with the poison of bitterness. 

There was tension in the air so thick that you could slice through it. Jack was left speechless. Your forehead creased, a desperate sigh leaving your throat. “I just… do you like me?” The question was so simple, so innocent and it was the same one he couldn’t bring himself to answer years ago however, this time he finally had a response. Jack gets up, approaching you, “I do… I swear to god I do, I’m sorry” He closes the space between the two of you, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and guilt. 

He tenderly cradles your face in his hands, and you instinctively lean into his touch. “I’m sorry” He whispers, his thumb brushing away the tears that streamed down your cheeks. “I won’t leave this time” He promises, but the flicker of hope that burned in your chest quickly dissipated in the harsh light of reality; Jack Champion couldn’t afford to stay.

You found yourself giving in, pulling him even closer and inhaling his familiar scent. All the barriers it took a lot of effort to build seemed to crumble from the warmth of his touch. Maybe he couldn’t be yours forever, but for this moment, he was. This time, every Christmas, he belonged to you. 

And how could you ever refuse him? ‘Tis the damn season after all.

written by @championofmyheart ( @casimirsstache ) please do not copy, modify, or repost my work onto other platforms !! 2024

End notes: I hope you guys enjoy this one X3 I worked very hard on it. Thank you so much reading!!! Also ... This wasn't exactly proofread so apologies for any mistakes!!!

[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

[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.

[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

[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.

[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 ?

[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.

[shoopsthereitis]

artemisdragcn brought my ‘tis the damn season babies to life and i don’t think i’ll ever recover

Read on AO3

[miss-sturn]

★彡[ʙᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ - ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ]彡★

(p1)

Summary: Ben is in love with his best friend's sister. But he can't be with her like that. Word count: Just under 1.3k !! Warnings: Mentions of smoking, Light cursing! Just pure fluff :) A/n: Been wanting to write for Ben for a while! There are barely any Ben of the week fics!!

As she stumbled out of the bar, her laughter flickered like a neon sign.

Her flushed cheeks and lopsided smile lit up when her eyes met mine, as if she’d found what she’d been searching for.

“C’mon, let’s get you home,” I sighed, stepping closer and offering her my arm.

“No, I can’t drive!” she protested, throwing her hands up, only to lose her balance and fall right into my open arms.

I looked down at her, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. Then, with an unimpressed raise of my eyebrow, I said, “I wasn’t asking you to.”

She squinted at me with mock seriousness, her head tilting slightly. “I’m not really drunk. I never get that… fucked up!” Her words tumbled over each other, betraying her claim.

“Uh-huh." I shrugged off my coat and gently draped it over her shoulders, the weight of it drawing a soft hum from her.

“I’m serious! I’m so sober!” she giggled, leaning into me with all the grace of a baby deer. Her head rested on my shoulder for a moment, and I felt her breath hitch before she exhaled softly, content.

Her fingers clutched at the edges of the coat, pulling it tighter around herself. “You’re warm,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, her defenses melting in the cool night air.

♪ I love to see you shine in the night

Like the diamond you are ♪

I subtly glanced down at her, trying to ignore the way her face glowed under the streetlight, soft and perfect, like it was carved just to make me lose my mind.

There she was, wrapped in my coat, her head resting lightly on my shoulder as we walked. Her warmth seeped through the fabric, and I was doing everything I could to ignore the way it made me feel.

Out of nowhere, she stopped and turned toward me. Before I could say anything, her arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a warm, unexpected hug.

I froze, my arms hovering awkwardly at my sides. What was she doing? Did she even know what she was doing?

“Thank you,” she mumbled against my chest, her voice muffled but sincere.

♪ Just hold me in the dark ♪

Slowly, cautiously, I let my arms fold around her, holding her close. It felt right—too right—and that’s what made it so wrong. She wasn’t just anyone; she was his sister. My best friend’s sister.

The unspoken rule had always been clear: stay away from her. She was off-limits, untouchable, someone I wasn’t even supposed to think about like this. But as I held her now, her warmth seeping into me, all I could think was how impossible it was to let go.

♪ No one’s gotta know what we doHit me up when you’re bored ♪

What if we didn’t tell anyone?

What if we didn’t have to?

The thought hit me like a whisper in the back of my mind, quiet but insistent. Memories stirred—ones I’d tried to forget but couldn’t.

The way she’d leaned in close during movie nights, her laughter brushing against my ear, making my pulse race. The late-night talks when everyone else was asleep, her voice soft, her eyes holding something unspoken.

And that time she’d reached out to fix my hair, her fingers grazing my forehead, lingering just a second too long.

I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want her. She was drunk. But with her in my arms now, it felt like the only thing I’d ever wanted.

Her breath was slow, steady, like she was just as caught in the moment as I was. Then, she pulled away slightly, her eyes wide and innocent, like she had no idea how much she was driving me crazy. 

Her lashes fluttered as she looked up at me, her face glowing softly in the streetlight. She was so damn pretty, the kind of pretty that made my heart pound in my chest and my hands feel shaky.

Her eyes drifted from mine, down to my lips, and I felt the pull of temptation shoot through me. God, I could kiss her right now.

"Ben?" she whispered, her voice soft and almost fragile, as if she knew what was on my mind.

She tilted her head slightly, her lips parting just enough for me to see the faintest hint of a smile.

The moment felt like it was stretching on forever, and I could already feel myself leaning in, my breath hitching. But before I could make the move, a voice broke through the thick air between us.

“Need a ride back, Ben?”

I flinched, my heart pounding even harder. Curtis. My best friend. My fucking roommate.

Her brother.

He stood there, eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at his lips. His gaze flicked between us, suspicion clear in his eyes. Shit.

That look should have been enough to stop me, to remind me why I couldn’t do this—why he would kill me if he ever found out. But in that moment, it didn’t matter.

I quickly looked back at her, just as she pulled away, her expression unreadable but soft. She didn’t say anything, but I could see the question in her eyes—What now?

Curtis broke the tension with a laugh. “What, you two gonna stand out here all night or are you gonna get in?”

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. Saying yes would be awkward—he’d definitely notice. But if I said no, I’d be stuck walking back in the freezing cold, alone. I glanced at her one last time, guilt flooding my chest.

She smiled softly, like she understood. It was too dangerous. But damn, I wanted to give in.

I let go of her, the coldness settling in as I turned to Curtis. “Nah, I’m good,” I shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I need to be somewhere.”

Curtis raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it. I turned back to her, giving her a tight smile. “Bye,” I said too quietly, watching her slide into the car. My stomach twisted.

As the car pulled away, I shoved my hands into my pockets and sighed, the cold air stinging my skin. My mind was racing. What just happened?

I couldn’t stop thinking about her—how she felt in my arms, the way she looked at me. Her smile made me feel like I could do anything, even though I knew it was wrong.

Then it started to rain. Hard. Of course, it did. The universe had perfect timing when it came to ruining my mood.

I kicked at the ground, irritated, my feet splashing through puddles as I walked. I couldn’t stop replaying the look she gave me. I should’ve kissed her.

I wanted to kiss her. I couldn’t keep pretending like I didn’t feel this pull towards her, no matter how wrong it felt.

I pulled out a blunt from my jacket, lighting it up without even thinking. Maybe it was a stupid move, but I didn’t care. I needed something to numb the frustration, the confusion. 

The smoke filled my lungs, and for a moment, everything felt hazy. The rain poured harder, but I didn’t care. I kept walking, letting the buzz take over, the cold now just a distant thing.

taglist: @lolastrniolo @sturniololuv08 @chrislilcumslvt @lonleyheartsclub @shadowthesim

(lmk if you wanna be added!)

sneaky part 2 coming up...

[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.)