#Candy Hearts Exchange 2024

[myth-blossom]

My Foggy Valentine

I wrote some Diana/47 romantic fluff for Valentine’s Day! You can check that out at the link below :)

This was written for the 2024 Candy Hearts Exchange—please make sure to check out the other awesome Hitman fics from it HERE! <3

Fandom: Hitman (Video Games)

Relationship: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary:

Diana wakes up with a terrible hangover.

[drabbles-mc]

Once in Twenty Lifetimes

Takeshi Kovacs x Kristin Ortega

Written for the 2024 Candy Hearts Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking/alcohol, light angst, slight steam

Summary: She had spent so much of her life making sure that she blended in, and she'd been successful at it the way she'd been taught. Now, though, it was all going to hang in the balance when the one other person left that knew who she really was, was getting spun back up. And of course he was getting spun up into the sleeve of her partner. (Envoy!Kristin AU)

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: i sat down thinking i was just gonna write a little something something for this au idea as a treat for the exchange but then i got super into it and fuckin carried away lmao. oh well! i had a good time! 😂

Altered Carbon Taglist: @garbinge @destinedtobeloved @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

“Takeshi Kovacs. Look me up,” he offered the statement to her with a smirk. It didn’t quite pass for charming, per se, although it probably wasn’t his intention anyway. From what she remembered, which was everything of their stint running parallel to each other thanks to Envoy’s total recall, that hadn’t ever really been his strong suit.

Plus she wasn’t in any mood to be charmed in that moment.

There were a million and one reasons that she shouldn’t have gone to seek him out. There were endless layers to the problems it could potentially cause. Bancroft selling out Ryker’s sleeve like a hand-me-down from an older sibling was bad enough, but putting Takeshi Kovacs into it? It brought the situation out of the realm of infuriating and into one of being unbelievable. Bancroft wheeling and dealing Ryker’s suit was a personal vendetta. Tak’s stack being put into it felt like a cosmic one. He should’ve been dead by now anyway. Same way she should’ve been, but a lot goes on in two hundred and fifty years, and clearly real death didn’t want anything to do with either of them just yet.

He said it, though. He confirmed it. She’d heard the rumors beforehand and there was an intuitive twist in her gut that told her there was some substance to them, but she didn’t want to believe it. He was looking her in the eyes and telling her his name and she still didn’t want to believe it.

“You can’t be who you say you are,” she said, partially to keep playing her assigned role but partially because she simply didn’t want to believe that it was really him. “All the Envoys died.” A lie. One that she would be living proof of even if Tak wasn’t.

“All except one,” he retorted easily.

Asshole. Another thing about him that had apparently stayed consistent across the centuries. What was it that he said to her back then? Every sleeve, every time? He wasn’t wrong about that at least. He was wrong about everything else, though. All except one? He’d been out of storage for five minutes and already felt comfortable making sweeping, definitive statements like that. Sleeve-jumping was a skillset they’d all developed, but still. That was a long time to stay down. And to turn up on a planet you’d never been to before? All that and over two centuries down and maybe she would’ve come off ice making the same grave mistakes. Maybe she could make his work in her favor. She just had to make sure that she could keep Takeshi and Elias separate.

She was so busy thinking about all of that, memories going in a relentless playback against the inside of her skull, that she almost didn’t realize that she was still talking with Miriam Bancroft. That part of her was on auto-pilot, or at least it was until she had to get herself the fuck out of there before she landed herself in even deeper hot water.

“Yeah, there’s your kid, there’s your car, and there’s your…” she thought on it for a moment, trying to pick something that felt honest to her feelings in the moment but would still feel like something Police Officer Kristin Ortega would say, not the woman she was back when Takeshi really knew her, “new pet terrorist. You’re welcome,” she added, mostly for good measure, but it also felt good to say it.

“The terrorist can hear you,” he spoke, just barely turning his head to follow her as she continued to walk, but not committing enough to the act to turn his whole body. “I’m standing right here.”

“Yeah, good,” she stared up at him, waiting for him to meet her eyeline, “’cause we’re not done, you and me.”

There was a moment when he was looking down into her eyes that she thought maybe he saw it. Maybe he saw the flicker of the person that he knew once, the person that she was back then. Dozens of sleeves ago but it was still her in most of the ways that mattered. Most, not all. He looked back and forth between her eyes and she waited to see recognition flicker in them. He’d always had that edge to him, after all. It got drilled into all of them during their training but there was something about the way that Takeshi was wired before he even became part of the Envoy core that made him take to it faster and better than most. She envied him for it back then, but maybe now they were more on the same playing field. Or they would be until he got his full footing.

Everyone thought they knew why it bothered her, but still they asked. They were probably hoping for some other nuggets of information, more vitriol about Bancroft and the rest of the meths maybe since she had such an outspoken issue with the lot of them. The rest of the precinct saw her anger and they assumed that it was all because of Ryker. Like she was a woman so simple as that. Elias was part of her frustration with this scenario of course, but the puzzle was so much more complicated than that. It was difficult in ways that she simply couldn’t risk trying to explain to any of them. All of the reasons that she feared Tak and the potential fall-out of him being taken off-stack, were all the same reasons that the rest of the precinct would no longer trust her if they found out the truth about her past.

She’d been born at just the right time, in her opinion. Born late enough to reap all the benefits of a stack, but early enough so that she could manipulate it easily to her benefit when she had needed to most. Data infiltration and manipulation was still easy when you knew the right people and had the right tools, but back then it had been so much easier. It also didn’t hurt that Envoys learned to be on the cusp of it all anyway. All of that was why she was able to wipe her entire past off the record, rewrite it the way that she had wanted to. She created someone who was just enough of a force that she wouldn’t have to water herself down too much, but it was dialed back enough to not get her put on a fucking watchlist. Or even worse, get her thrown into storage off the principle off it. They were all supposed to be masters of disguise, and it had served her well in the aftermath.

She sat in the precinct trying to play over every possible scenario in her head. She wanted to be able to see every possible outcome. If the two of them spent enough time running circles around each other, he was bound to figure it out, right? Figure her out? Eventually the fog would dissipate and he would see her. He’d see past the sleeve. There was no certainty for her in what she thought his reaction to it was going to be if and when that happened. Maybe she could get him thrown back in storage before she had to worry about it. Get Ryker back in his own sleeve. He was so much less of a problem on that front—all that time spent being partners and he still hadn’t even skated close to the chasm of truths that separated them. She hoped it stayed that way—it kept life simpler for the both of them.

Although if Takeshi got his sleeve torn to shreds in the midst of whatever this new deal with Bancroft was, she supposed that none of it would really matter for Elias anyway. What a mess.

She wasn’t surprised, to say the least, when she found him later, strung out and stumbling through the streets. It seemed pretty on-par for Tak—that specific brand of recklessness. For so many years she watched him equate the word Envoy with invincible even though they all knew that it wasn’t the case. It didn’t help that he wasn’t exactly known for his drive for self-preservation. Regardless, the drugs fell in alignment with the Tak she once knew, and she also knew that Ryker’s sleeve would soak them up like a sponge put into a pot of water. A disaster of a marriage.

“Bancroft spent all that money on a nice sleeve for you, and this is what you’re doing with it?” she asked sarcastically as she walked up behind him.

He turned around to face her, a stumble in his step that he was too far gone to even try and hide. “Didn’t think you’d give a fuck about me wasting Bancroft’s money.” He paused, eyes narrowing as his delayed processing caught up with the situation. “You’re following me.”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “That’s what police do to psycho-terrorists.”

“Come on, you cannot call me that.”

He was stoned out of his mind on, well, it could’ve been just about anything. Or a combination of things. The longer that Kristin looked at him, the more she was certain that she could throw a dart at a board and it would probably land on something that he’d ingested since the last time she saw him. That wasn’t the point. The point was that he was stoned out of his mind and the reason that he was telling her that she couldn’t call him that was because he was being a petulant child, not because by calling him that she would be lumping herself into the exact same group. She knew that it wasn’t nearly that deep and yet she still found herself fighting the urge to flinch at the layers to the comment. Even if she hadn’t caught the physical reaction in time, she wondered if he would’ve even caught it with the state that he was in.

He wasn’t really paying her any mind as he tried to continue on his way. It was hard for him to come off as determined when he couldn’t think straight and he was in a place that he hadn’t ever been before. With each step she took to keep her stride with him, she was trying to separate out all the files in her head. She was trying to keep two neat piles, or even two messy piles if she was being honest with herself: one pile for Elias, and one pile for Takeshi.

She was just as much Envoy as Takeshi was—she could compartmentalize just fine for the most part. But it wasn’t often that she ran into the issue that she was currently facing, one that had so much overlap between sleeve and stack. She’d burned through so many sleeves back then, and continued to go through them albeit at a much slower rate even when she got out of the core. She’d watched others do it too, Envoys and civilians alike. But this wasn’t just putting someone’s stack into a new sleeve and needing to adjust to the new face. This was a face that she knew, the stack that belonged to it still fully intact somewhere in storage, and someone completely different occupying the real estate in the meantime. Someone else that she knew. And it wasn’t as though either of the men who made up the Venn diagram in her head were known for being uncomplicated individuals on their own let alone when they were tethered to each other.

She tried to toe the line with him, anything to get more information out of him. The pendulum swung back and forth between banter and sniping comments. It wasn’t as though either of them had any lasting impact on him. The comments rolled right off—either because of the drugs or the Envoy conditioning, she wasn’t sure.

“What was the other one?” she asked rhetorically as she downed her drink. “Oh, yeah. Icepick. I liked that one.”

“Yeah, that was a good one.” He looked over at her, a hoodedness to his eyes that would’ve almost come off as flirtatious if he’d been sober. “You should call me Icepick.”

She rolled her eyes, using it as a tactic to avert her gaze. “I never called you that,” she muttered, half under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as if to get a better look at her.

She looked him square in the eyes. “I said I’m not fucking calling you that.” She said it with enough conviction to sell it.

Another smirk, paired with hazy, drug-addled eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

The more that they fired back and forth, the more she wondered if it was possible that she had really changed that much. Apparent assimilation was supposed to be one of the key tools in their toolbox as Envoys, sure. But it was also hard to believe that she had done it so effectively that she was flying completely under Takeshi’s radar. It wasn’t humility—that was never her strong suit the way that charm hadn’t ever been Tak’s. It just didn’t seem to fit. There were so many things that seemed off about the entire situation, but she couldn’t quite name them no matter how much information she tried to pull out of Takeshi about Bancroft, about anything he was willing to give her.

Then there was a sharp sting in the back of her mind as the thought reared its ugly head. He should remember me. Her face scrunched, action unmitigated as she tried to beat the impending spiral of thoughts into submission—she couldn’t afford to lose herself to that right now.

He was already up and making his way towards the door. “I’m going back to my hotel.”

His voice snapped her back to attention. Shooting up out of her seat, she followed him. “You can’t really be staying in that fucking AI hotel.” She shook her head. “They’re like crazy ex-girlfriends, you know.”

He looked down at her as he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder. There was a smirk on his face, one that seemed slightly more intentional this time. “You know a lot about crazy ex-girlfriends, Ortega?”

She scoffed. “Probably not as much as you but—”

He cut her off, a shift in his tone, a seriousness that she could pick up on. “Give it a rest.”

She followed him clean out the door onto the sidewalk, trying not to let herself get discouraged by him ignoring her attempts to walk alongside him or, ideally, get in front of him to stop him. “Kovacs!” she called after him.

Without turning around, he waved at her over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Officer Ortega.”

She huffed, allowing herself to stop. She whispered loudly to no one other than herself, “Fuck me.”

Takeshi didn’t hide the surprise on his face when she showed up to the hotel later before anyone else in the police department managed to get there. He didn’t get the feeling that she had just been lurking outside the door. If that had been the case, the scenario wouldn’t have played out the way it did, gotten as out of hand as it did. Or maybe it would have—he had no idea how she operated. But she strode in confidently, despite the worry and frustration on her face. She looked around and took in the state of the mess and Takeshi had no choice but to sit there and watch her do so.

“Couldn’t even make it twenty-four hours out of storage without killing someone?” she asked as she walked over to him, gun still clutched tightly in her hand even though it was pointed at the floor.

Poe tried to intervene on Takeshi’s behalf. “If it weren’t for—”

He didn’t want anyone coming to his defense, even when he could do with a little bit of assistance. “Waiting down the block for this to happen?”

She shook her head at him, finally holstering her gun once she was standing in front of him. “Might as well have been.” She looked around the destroyed lobby once more. “Had a feeling trouble was going to follow you.”

“Any trouble that would be following me,” he paused briefly as the red and blue lights of other responding police vehicles started to filter through the front windows and door of the hotel, “should’ve stopped being trouble a few centuries ago.”

She reached out and turned his face to get a better look at the damage, not hesitating to touch him, fingertips still drawn to his chin and cheek like it was still Ryker knocking around inside that sleeve. The tension that resulted from her touch, the momentary fighting against it, reminded her that it wasn’t, but it was too late to take it back.

“Seems like you might be enough of an asshole for it to follow you around for a couple hundred years, Kovacs.”

He grunted, pulling away from her touch, hating the way his sleeve wanted to lean into it despite how badly he was trying to recoil away. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck this was all about?”

“Thought you just told me,” he said, rising to his feet so he was towering over her once more.

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Can’t help it. Every sleeve, every—”

“Every time, yeah. Your consistency is admirable,” she snapped.

His eyes narrowed, chin dipping down so that he could study her face. “What—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his question. The other police officers came storming into the building, guns at the ready despite the fact that there was no more commotion coming out of the hotel. After all, it wasn’t as though there were other guests that were being disturbed. Once they all started taking stock of the situation, their guns disappeared back into their holsters as well. A few of them started peppering Takeshi with questions, although they didn’t seem as enraged about it all as Kristin had been. They stole his attention just long enough for Kristin to glean what she thought she needed from the scene and slip out without him noticing or being able to stop her.

Not only were Tak’s plans for the night effectively ruined by the men who stormed the hotel with every intention to kill him, now he also had Kristin’s words rattling around the inside of his skull like pinballs. She finished his sentence with no hesitation and what was bothering him the most was that he couldn’t say with absolute certainty if he said something while he was high out of his mind or not. He must’ve. There was no other way she would’ve known, no other reason. Or, at least, there would’ve been no other reason that felt at all feasible. The thought crossed his mind, but, no, there was no way that was possible. He’d had too many things happen to him too quickly after getting spun up again, that was all. Morning would come around and he’d had a perfectly good reason for all of it, one that didn’t make him feel insane.

The next time he saw her, she had the same air of confidence about her that she always did. He kept his expression neutral, not wanting her to know that he’d been turning her words over in his head ever since she’d spoken them. He tried to come off as impassive but he could feel the anticipation tightening in his chest, questions that he couldn’t ask and answers that he was in no position to get. He managed to keep his curiosity tamped down until he was dismissed by Bancroft’s lawyer, another situation that had more questions than answers.

He trailed Kristin out, taking no time at all to catch up to her. He was walking alongside her but he wasn’t looking at her. “Gonna need a couple minutes of your time, Lieutenant.”

She forced herself not to look at him either. “As much as I would love to give you a couple minutes of my time, Kovacs, I need to keep looking into who tried to kill you. You know, the thing that you asked me to do about two fucking minutes ago.”

He grabbed the side of her arm and pushed her into the next alleyway that they came across. She started to protest until she felt her back hit the brick wall behind her. He purposely invaded her space, bodies close but not quite touching. He looked down at her, not letting the anger in her eyes unnerve him.

She glared up at him. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Who are you?” he asked, voice low.

“What?”

“Who—”

“I fucking heard you.” She pushed him away and he gave in, not that she pushed with that much force but he figured maybe it would help get some answers. “You know who I am, Kovacs.”

 “No, I don’t. But you seem to know an awful fucking lot about who I am.”

She could see it in his eyes that he was skirting dangerously close to the truth. He would’ve already gotten there if he hadn’t allowed himself to put up a barrier of thinking that there was such a thing as an impossible outcome. Apparently being on ice for a couple centuries dulled the don’t expect anything so that you’re prepared for everything part of their training. Too bad Quell wasn’t around to chastise him for it—he’d undoubtedly enjoy it a lot more coming from her.

“That’s because it’s my fucking job.” She side-stepped, glad that he didn’t make any move to stop her. “Which, I’m trying to go do so that maybe you won’t have another group of mercenaries coming after you.”

“Not gonna keep following me around just in case?” He followed her. “What if—”

“Just call the precinct like everyone else in Bay City,” she told him dismissively.

“Right,” he replied with a chuckle.

Even though he couldn’t see the annoyed look on her face, Kristin was certain that he knew it’s how she looked anyway. “You work your case, if that’s what you want to call it. And I’ll work mine.”

She felt the distance between them growing as he stopped but she kept walking on. He called after her, a smart remark about seeing her soon. He was right, of course. Until they put Takeshi back in storage there was no way that she was going to be able to just keep avoiding him, not with Ryker’s sleeve on the line.

While she knew that there was no getting out of seeing him again, she certainly didn’t expect to see him before the day was out. She definitely didn’t expect him to show up at her apartment door, banging on the dense metal of it like he was a cop with a warrant.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kovacs?” she asked, too tired to even sound properly annoyed.

“Found out some interesting news today,” he said, brushing past her and into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. He strode down the stairs, taking stock of the place as he went. “Some things that made the picture a whole lot fucking clearer on who you are and what the fuck you’ve been doing.”

Her blood ran cold for a moment. She went down the stairs slower than necessary, thinking maybe it was going to buy her some time. Tak was standing in the middle of the kitchen, palms flat against the top of the island as he leaned against it. His eyes kept darting around the room, taking as much of it in as possible, but they always came back to Kristin.

“I knew it,” he said with a shake of his head once she finally crossed the threshold into the kitchen. “I knew there had to be a reason you were so interested in all of this. And I was right.”

“Were you?” she asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could.

“Yeah.” He let himself return to a fully upright position, taking the few small steps to collapse the distance between them. He stared down at her. “When were you gonna tell me that they spun me up into your boyfriend?”

“Ryker is not my boyf—”

“What the fuck, Ortega?”

“What would it have mattered, hm? What would it have changed?”

“Well it would sure fuckin’ explain why so many extra people have it out for me. Can’t imagine cops with records like Ryker’s are exactly known for having a lot of friends.”

“Like I said,” she grit out, “it didn’t matter—wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have cared about an Envoy running loose in your city if he wasn’t running around wearing your partner.”

He still hadn’t put those pieces of the puzzle together. Maybe finding out who his sleeve was, the relationship to her, maybe all of that was enough to sate his curiosity about why she was so invested in him. And sure, that was definitely a large part of it. The other part of it was going to make itself reckoned with sooner rather than later—Kristin could feel it deep in her gut. She could chalk it up to Envoy intuition but really at that point it was just common sense.

She paused those thoughts when remembered that she was in the middle of an argument. “That’s not true.”

“Wouldn’t be a priority of yours, though.”

“You don’t know that.”

He retreated farther back into the kitchen, rooting around to get his hands on something, anything that had alcohol in it. “So, what’s Ryker’s deal?” he asked, his head practically shoved into her fridge. “What makes him so special that you’ll run around the city to—”

“He’s my partner,” she said sharply. “It’s what you do for your partner.” She stepped so that she could lean back against the island. “Not that I’d expect you to understand that.”

“Why’s that?” he asked when he found a bottle of clear liquor on the counter. He opened it while he waited for her to answer, pulling a face when he wafted the scent of the alcohol. It’d still do the trick.

She couldn’t give her honest answer, one born from information about the people they were before. She watched him helplessly look through cupboards in an attempt to find a glass. She could’ve made it easier but she was getting a mildly twisted joy out of watching him go through the small struggle. “Being worried for someone else doesn’t seem like it’s your strong suit. Envoy compartmentalization, right?”

He finally found a glass, setting it down on the countertop with a surprising amount of care considering how tired and annoyed he was. He didn’t say anything as he proceeded to pour a hefty serving into it. Bringing the glass to his lips, he downed almost all of it in one go before setting the glass back down with a clatter, a scant amount of liquor still swirling at the bottom.

He let out a sharp exhale as the lingering burn from the alcohol in his throat subsided. “You don’t know anything.”

She wished she knew how to tell him just how wrong he was. Since she didn’t know just how to do that, she settled for, “You’re not as special as you think.”

He finished off what little was left in his glass, leaving it empty on the counter beside the bottle as he went back so that he was standing next to her. She was leaning with her back pressed against the island but he came and stood so that he was facing it again. Instead of placing his hands on top of it, he leaned so that his forearms rested there instead. He clasped his hands, staring at them instead of the countertop as he felt Kristin’s eyes studying him.

“Bet you didn’t talk like that to Ryker.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not him, so I guess it doesn’t matter, right?”

He turned and looked at her. “Make it sound like it’s so easy to separate it out.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Right.”

Despite the instinctive urge to make another snarky comment, he stayed silent. He unclasped his hands, letting his fingertips drum against the smooth surface of the island. It wasn’t a habit that was his own, just the sleeve’s reaction to nicotine withdrawal. He never personally cared for smoking, and if he thought that his stint in this sleeve was going to be a long-term one he would’ve thought about putting in the effort to quit. That just seemed like too much work for too little payoff at the moment.

Kristin heard the familiar tapping of his fingers before she turned to see it. She hated that Elias smoked, always chided him about it. And she knew that Tak’s draw to the nicotine was because of the sleeve, not because of any intrinsic desire. Because of that she was perfectly aware of the fact that she shouldn’t encourage him, but it almost felt like a freebie given the circumstances. She wouldn’t have to tell Elias—he’d never know if she didn’t say anything.

Without a word, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from the back of the top drawer of the island. Elias didn’t think she knew about it, not that it was any great hiding spot.

Takeshi looked quizzically back and forth between her and the pack of smokes. From the second he got spun up all she and everyone else had been doing was chastising him for smoking. It felt like a trick.

She gave the pack a slight shake. “If it’s offered, take it,” she said passively.

His eyes narrowed instantly, his entire body tensing. “What?”

“Take it,” she repeated, “before I change my mind.”

She watched the conflict on his face and chose not to say anything. If he had a question he could ask it, if he had a thought he could share it. But she was done trying to pull information out of him—Tak and Ryker. He was the one who showed up on her doorstep, after all.

“So when you said that I knew you,” he said as he reached and took the pack from her, fingers curling around it and the lighter pinned to the back of it, “you meant that the guy riding my sleeve before me knew you. That any reaction, pull or push, I felt about you had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Ryker.”

She watched him put a cigarette between his lips and spark it to life. She raised her eyebrows, partially because she was surprised by how much she enjoyed watching him do it, but also because she was surprised at how much work he was putting into finding the wrong answer.

Finally, she shrugged when his gaze landed back on her. She watched the smoke curl out from between his lips. “Something like that.”

“What was he like?”

Kristin ignored how he referred to Ryker in the past tense as she chuckled, wondering if he really had any interest in Elias at all or if he just wanted to try and glean something more about her by watching how she spoke about him. Regardless, she decided that she would indulge him in the smallest way possible. “You two would hate each other.” She knew what the follow-up question was going to be so she answered it before he could really ask. “You have the wrong things in common.”

He had an urge to try and get her to elaborate, but he stopped himself. Tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette, he tried to figure out what it was exactly that he really wanted to say to her. He could feel the energy rolling off her in waves. It wasn’t tension, not in the traditional sense. He could feel that there were layers of depth that he hadn’t worked his way into. She was keeping him out. He was stopping himself. He wondered how much of the blame could be put on her, how much of it on him, and how much of it was simply old sleeve memory complicating things for him.

“You must’ve really pissed off Bancroft to get him to do this,” he finally said, gesturing to himself with the hand that was holding the cigarette.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Suddenly the empty glass and nearly full bottle of liquor were looking much more inviting than they had been. “You don’t have a monopoly on pissing people off, Kovacs.”

“Stiff competition,” the rebuttal rolled off his tongue easily before he pulled another drag off his smoke.

“Enough years doing anything and you become a professional, right?”

“How many years is that?” he asked outright, forgoing subtlety because there didn’t seem to be much point to it anymore.

She looked over at him. “Enough.”

“Ortega…” he started and then trailed off. He was scratching at the walls of the truth, could hear it rattling around on the other side. He ground out the butt of his cigarette, funneling his frustration into the action before letting it drop from his fingertips.

“Takeshi.” It was only when she said his full name that she realized how long it’d been since she called him that. Using it to talk about him when he wasn’t around was much different than using it while talking to him. Centuries had passed since the last time she used it so casually with him.

He read it all over her face, too. He could see the way that it felt foreign and familiar all at once. It sounded familiar, too. There was something in the tones of the word, undercurrents in his own name that he recognized even if the voice was different. He stared at her intently, head tilting slightly in thought as he tried to look past what he could physically see. He heard her voice from the alley. “You know who I am.”

His eyes widened just slightly as the realization finally began to crash over him. When he spoke again, there was a certainty to his tone that hadn’t been there before. “Kristin.”

She’d been doing nothing but agonizing over what would happen when he realized who she really was, but now that she could see that he had, all she felt was relief. Her shoulders dropped with the lessening of the weight on them.

“That took you a little too long.” She peeled herself away from him, crossing to the counter where Takeshi had left his glass. She refilled it and drank from it herself. “Still got tunnel vision.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice was tight, but there was still a lingering sense of bewilderment to it.

“Well for one thing I didn’t think it was going to take you so fucking long to figure it out.” She poured more liquor into the glass. She let out a quick, quiet wince as the liquor burned down her throat again. “They don’t know.”

He didn’t need to ask her who they were, or what exactly it was they didn’t know. His time off-stack might have been limited this time around but he knew the danger that being known as an Envoy would put her in. “None of them?”

She shook her head, contemplating a third pour. “None of them.”

“Not even—”

“I said none of them.” The relief was starting to disappear, dread slowly starting to take its place, and she poured herself a third helping to cope.

“You think I’ll say something.” It wasn’t a question.

“I think that there are very few things that you have ever cared about, Tak. I know that Bancroft definitely isn’t on that fucking shortlist.” She paused. “I know that I’m not either—never was.”

She looked over at him and she saw the way that there was a flicker of hope in his eyes when she said that last part. He knew she was right, that even back then she was never someone he paid much mind to. His concern had always been Reileen, and then Quell. Apparently a couple hundred years on ice hadn’t dulled his devotion to the latter. Kristin had a feeling that she knew what he wanted to ask, but she was content to make him actually say it.

To her surprise, he didn’t ask anything. “You haven’t heard anything,” he stated.

She shook her head. “No. But I’ve never gone looking.” She could feel the tension in the room thicken at that. “It was a miracle that I made it out. I wasn’t going to waste that by—”

“It wouldn’t have been a waste.”

“Not to you,” she snapped. “You were Quell’s favorite—of fucking course you would’ve gone looking for her. I was just another Envoy. Dispensable. Part of what was offered.” She sighed, forcing herself not to pour another drink. “I managed to survive so I did what we do best. I blended in.”

“Kristin Ortega,” he said her name in its totality, exploring each letter of it with fresh eyes and ears now that he knew who she was.

“Not a far cry from before, no?”

He shook his head. “No.” There were so many things that he could have, and probably should have, asked her, but in that moment he didn’t care about any of it. He easily collapsed the distance so that he was beside her again. He looked at the way her hands were wrapped tightly around the edge of the counter. He copied her position, only his grip wasn’t vice-like the way that hers was. Their pinkies nearly touched. “If we’d been better friends back then, would you have said something?”

That got a scoff out of her that dissolved into a laugh. “There’s no lifetime where the two of us are friends, Kovacs.”

“Not even in this sleeve?” It was teasing, but not cruel.

She turned her head, still having to look up slightly to meet his eyes even though he was leaning onto the counter. “The sleeve was never the problem.”

“This is probably my best shot though, right?”

She smiled and it was genuine even through the exhaustion. Maybe all the liquor was catching up to her. “Probably.”

Neither of them moved. In the thick silence of the apartment, they could each hear the other breathing. They knew enough to know where it could so easily go. It wouldn’t be anywhere good, at least not long-term. But what did long-term even mean for them anymore? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. There was that unspoken mutual understanding, after all, that they were each looking for someone in the other that they weren’t ever going to find. He might’ve been wearing his sleeve but Takeshi was never going to be Elias. And Kristin might’ve lived through the same hardships and lived to tell the tale, she might’ve known the history and the fight, but she wasn’t ever going to be Quell. They looked at each other and saw the truth, but they were both still pining after delusions.

Tak’s hand moved a fraction of an inch, the movement smooth as it caused his hand to brush against hers. She let out a short breath and he could smell the alcohol on it. Her lips parted slightly, like she was going to say something. Maybe she was going to say it was a bad idea, maybe she was going to send him home. Whatever she had been planning to say, he saw it in real time as it fell by the wayside.

She pulled her hand away from his only to reach and place it on the back of his head instead, pulling him closer. His body moved of its own accord. Some of it was just the natural motions of things, but there was also the familiarity of his sleeve and hers, chemical reactions that were innate that he had no control over. For a moment he fought it on the principle of it all, but then he felt the hunger in her, every movement of her lips and tongue against his a taunt to get him to reciprocate in kind.

So he did, grabbing her and placing her up on the counter with ease. She looped her legs around his waist as his grip tightened on her sides. He leaned into her, bodies pressed as tightly together as they could be with the barrier of their clothes still between them. If he wanted to, he could chalk his eagerness up to too many years on ice, an abundance of hormones in a sleeve that had been in the tank, body mechanics operating outside of his control. He could’ve said any and all of those things and none of them would’ve been a lie, per se. But as his hand slid towards the button of her jeans, he knew that the full truth was much, much simpler than that—they were both just taking what was offered.

[privateeye-cj]

Nominated Die Wilden Hühner for the Candy Hearts Exchange on AO3:

Signups start in January

Apart from the usual I also nominated Sprotte/Sabrina (I think it was @all-chickens-are-trans who brought up the idea that it would be fun if Sabrina just had flirtet with Fred to get to know Sprotte?)

Deutsch

Habe die Wilden Hühner für den AO3 Candy Hearths Exchange nominiert.

Inklusive Sprotte/Sabrina (ich glaube, all-chickens-are-trans hatte die Idee mal aufgebracht).

Signups sind Anfang Januar

[diana-fortyseven]

Candy Hearts Bingo 2024

The Candy Hearts 2024 collection is finally revealed, and many of us love to read more than just our own gifts and treats. If gamification is your thing, why not enhance your Candy Hearts reading experience with a fun challenge?

Candy Hearts Bingo

With this bingo card generator, you can generate your own Candy Hearts Reading Bingo Card and try to finish it over a timespan of your choice. If you like, you can challenge yourself to not only reading the fics, but also commenting on them.

There are no fanfic/fandom/exchange-negative or bashing items in the lists. This bingo card is meant to be a positive experience and celebrate fanfiction and fanworks in general, and Valentine's Day and Candy Hearts in specific.

Screenshot of the mobile version and instructions and such under the cut! :D

How to Play

Generate a new bingo card until you're (mostly) happy with the results. If some fields are duplicates or contain items you don't want to have in your card, you can then re-roll every single bingo field separately by clicking/tapping on it. If you have JavaScript enabled, you can also switch between the bingo fields with [Tab] and re-roll them with [Enter]. Once you have a card that fits your reading habits (or that takes you out of your comfort zone, if you want to challenge yourself), take a screenshot of the card to keep it.

Closing the page and reloading it will reset the card.

Cross off the bingo fields on your screenshot as you read (or read and comment on) fics that you think count for a field.

Items like "Fandom with over 500 works" mean works in the fandom tag, not in the collection. There are specific versions for the number of works in the collection. Items like "Fandom with over 1,000 works" doesn't mean qualifying works. There are specific versions for the number of qualifying works. Items like "Highest number of hits in fandom" or similar however mean in this collection, not in the fandom tag.

If a work you read has a tag that's similar but not identical to a tag on your card, let it count. There were some almost-duplicates that I trimmed.

The Lists

Canon (options like canon released this year, book fandom, etc)

Category (the AO3 categories and their platonic versions: F/F, F & F, Gen, etc)

Creator (only if you checked the "After Reveals" box; options like favourite author, mutuals, etc)

Discovery (various ways you could've found a fic)

Fandom (options like tiny fandom, uncategorised fandom)

Length (wordcounts from drabble to 30k)

Meta (a fic's front-end and stats, also "citrus scale for rating" xD)

Reader (your relationship with the fic; is it your comfort fic, or your first fic in a fandom?)

Style (chatfic, iambic pentameter, custom workskin, stuff like that)

Tag Roughly 1,500 tags from the 2024 main collection)

Trope (roughly 100 tropes)

What do the Checkboxes Mean?

NSFW is basically what it says on the tin. If you tick this box, the NSFW tropes will be added to the mix. If you also ticked the Tags box, NSFW tags will be added.

Tags is also what it says on the tin. It's a list with currently roughly 1,500 tags from the Candy Hearts 2024 main collection. Around 200 of them are currently marked NSFW and can only be generated if you ticked both the NSFW box and the Tags box.

After Reveals includes items that only make sense after creator reveals, such as "work by last year's recipient" or "creator is your Tumblr mutual".

Leaving the NSFW checkbox unchecked should remove all NSFW tags and tropes, but you could still come across content you find objectionable. Leaving the Tags checkbox unchecked removes all tags, but you could still come across tropes you find objectionable.

This bingo generator can be used to generate totally safe-for-work or family-friendly bingo cards, but it was created by an adult with an adult audience in mind.

If you run into any issues or come across any bugs, please let me know. If you find something that should be in the NSFW category, but isn't, please also let me know. It's possible that I missed a few tags when I worked through the list of over 1,600 tags in the collection. Please don't ask me to remove content you find objectionable. If there's anything unclear, feel free to ask! I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible, but please understand if it takes a while; it's a busy time for all of us. :D

Just FYI, the platform I'm using, Perchance, recently added AI options for their generators. This is a regrettable decision that I don't condone, and I'd like to emphasise that this generator is 100% handcrafted chaos. It's possible that the site asks you to disable your adblocker to be able to load properly. There are exactly zero ads on any of my generators and it's safe for you to allowlist Perchance.org for using this bingo generator.

This generator is based on my Fanfiction Reading Bingo and my Yuletide Bingo; which I made as little practice pieces for funsies. It's responsive, which means it should work on desktop and mobile. The mobile layout isn't ideal yet; I'm trying my best to make it better (but I'd also still consider myself a newbie and I'm learning by doing).

The background image is an edited version of this photo by Laura Ockel on Unsplash.

I hope you'll find as much fun in using this generator as I found in making it! <3

[casualoddities]

Is there a way to change or edit a offer on Archive of our own? I accidentally put an offer in for a Fandom I'm not familiar with at all. Also if I receive more than one prompt do I need to fill them all or choose which ones I want to do?

[tabbyclaw]

A look forward

Another trip around the sun, another flip of the calendar. Another year gone by, and it's time to take a look back at it and see what you did. Last year around this time (well, all right, technically earlier this year, but shhh), I posted a recap of all the fic I posted in 2021, with a little bit of commentary on each one. I'm not gonna do that this year, because, well, you can take a look at my posting history and guess why. I participated in Mayura May and ran it into June, and... that's it. And I'm pleased with most of the stories I wrote for that (especially Blackened Lips, which was my favorite of the ideas that I had and it came out on the page pretty much exactly how I wanted it to go in my head), but they seem to have completely sucked up this year's supply of whatever magic it is that lets me grab hold of an idea and actually write and post it quickly. I've still been writing this whole time, I just haven't finished anything yet. It's all been long stories coming out of my head, or ones that are fighting me at every turn, or ones that get halfway written before I realize they need to simmer a little while longer. All of which I hope, with varying degrees of confidence, to actually finish and get into a presentable state eventually. And so, instead of looking back on this year and feeling like I should have accomplished more, it's time to look forward and talk about what I hope to accomplish in 2023. This isn't a road map, or a promise, or even a plan; this is me taking some of the ideas out of my head and putting them down on paper in a form where I can hype myself up for them and hopefully give the rest of you a teaser for what might be upcoming. I hope you're looking forward to seeing how it goes as much as I am.

First off, despite the fact that I just said nothing is set in stone I can tell you what the first thing you're going to be getting out of me is, because I'm going to be signing up for the Candy Hearts Exchange. It's this year's replacement for Chocolate Box, a short, low-minimum exchange focusing on relationships between characters, romantic or platonic, with a culture that encourages writing treats for multiple people, which I hope to be able to do. (And, yes, I will be posting a letter once I finalize my signups.) It's the first multifandom exchange I've done since 2009, and if it goes well maybe it won't be the last one I do this year, either.

That's the only thing with any kind of timeline attached to it, so my other thoughts are going to come in a scramble that's mostly organized by fandom and also by when I thought of it as I was writing this.

First off, the one that's been hanging over me: Yes, I am still working on editing the Gin and Bear It sequel. I don't know why it's fighting me this hard, but it turned out that a large chunk of the middle had to be rewritten from the ground up and now parts of it are back at square one. It will be finished, because I'm not going to go this far and stop just before the finish line, but it may still be a while. There is also the third fic in this series that I've hinted at, and that is also still happening. It's going to be a much smaller one, probably even shorter than the first one, and I've already been working on it between other projects. Those are the only two Oxventure thoughts that are really on my plate right now, but I can't promise I won't think of more down the line, and even though Oxventure in the Dark is a closed canon now that doesn't mean I might not still have some thoughts about that, too. So much worldbuilding in so little space, and so much still to be done with it both before and after the end.

Next up, and occupying a pretty large fraction of my writing brain at the moment, are some of my oldest friends. Yes, as I alluded to a couple months ago, that dormant but ever-present bit of me that's always ready to write Drakken/Shego has woken up in a big way lately. I've already got something relatively short mostly finished, a quiet little post-finale piece full of feelings and awkward moments, not to mention a few plants. That one's mostly done; it's one of the ones I mentioned earlier that just needs to simmer for a bit before the ending really comes together, and then I hope I'll have it polished and ready to share soon. But there's also at least one longer fic on the far horizon; I've already got an outline and the first few thousand words of setup (yeah, this is why editing takes me a while) down on the page. I don't want to say too much about that one, though, because it's a long way off and there are large parts of it that will benefit from being kept secret. Aside from those two, which are more concrete, there is a constant swirling in my head of other possible ideas that I've fleshed out far less and which are just waiting for their time. Maybe this will finally be the year of the competitive fake dating duology, because these two need to be tormented by both their families as well as each other, or maybe it will be time for something else entirely. (I saw the idea @souljellied mentioned about a body swap for these two, and while I'm not going to step on your toes it definitely gave me some thoughts!)

On the topic of other evil power couples, I have no particular thoughts at the moment about Miraculous Ladybug, at least none that are solid enough to make any commentary about at the moment. The ongoing shakeups of season 5 (I still haven't seen it but this is the internet and spoilers are inevitable) have a lot of potential, though, and there have been a lot of rumblings in my head of "You could do something with that, for sure." It's just a matter of seeing which ones, if any, come to fruition. Watch this space, as always, and ideally there will be something in it later.

But those are just the sandboxes I've been playing in the most frequently as of late, and the ones I figure people will expect me to have something to say about (and the ones I expect myself to have something to say about, come to that.) It's by no means an exhaustive list of the things I might end up chewing on, whether new or old. Willow and Steel still lives in that strange netherworld in my head of 'things I don't know if I'm done with yet,' and there's the start of a 'Roxanne gets Metro Man's superpowers instead' AU that's been on the back burner for a good long while now that I've been wanting to get back to. To say nothing of the various original fiction ideas that are always lurking, and which might or might not see the light of day here even if they do start to come to life, because if I come up with something that feels like it could be marketable I will absolutely try to sell it just to have had the experience of doing so. And of course this is just what I'm thinking about right now, before the year has even started, and who knows what other ideas are going to catch my eye, and what other fandoms will creep up on me from out of the woodwork. It's always an adventure trying to figure out where the hell I'm going, especially for me.

It's a new year, or it will be soon enough. Let's see where it's gonna take me.

[wongyuseokie]

Sweetest Kiss | x.m.h

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, and you and your boyfriend are determined to make it the best one ever, and a little edible lingerie never hurt anyone in the process. ☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ��� smut | ♥ completed works

Word Count: 1632 words

Pairings: Xu Minghao x Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AUs: Established Relationship. Boyfriend! Minghao. FLUFFY FLUFF, and smut, plot with smut. Content Warnings: Mentions of food, smut, tooth-rotting fluff. Smut Warnings: Food Play (it's mild, she wears edible lingerie), kissing, breast play, unprotected sex (even if it's Valentine's Day, don't behave like this). Vanilla sex. Oral sex (f receiving), squirting, use of the pet name baby. Overstimulation, fingering. Authors Note: This is written for the Cupid For You Fic Exchange hosted by @svthub. Happy Valentine's my lovely @sluttyminghao / @myungho I hope you enjoy this! It's been a pleasure being your Valentine 💘 Authors Note 2: Thank you to my lovely @wooahaeproductions for beta'ing this for me so quickly! I love you sm 💘💘 Permanent Taglist: @aaniag Cross Posted to AO3 © wongyuseokie 2024. All rights reserved.

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Minghao holding a tray filled with a delicious breakfast. Heart-shaped pancakes, fresh strawberries, and a steaming cup of your favourite coffee were on the tray.

“For my favourite person,” he said, placing the tray on your lap.

You looked at him, feeling a rush of warmth in your heart. “Minghao, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I wanted to,” he replied, sitting beside you on the bed. “It’s Valentine’s Day, and I wanted to start your day with a little extra love.”

You couldn’t help but be touched by his sweet gesture as you enjoyed the delicious breakfast he had prepared. 

The air was filled with a hint of excitement as you planned a surprise for Minghao. With a mischievous smile, you turned to him and said. “Hey Hao, could you momentarily wait for me in the living room? I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

Minghao raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “A surprise? What is it?”

You chuckled, resisting the urge to spill the secret. “Patience, my love. Just wait in the living room, and I’ll be there in a minute.”

He nodded, a playful grin on his face. “Alright, but you better not keep me waiting too long.”

Minghao kissed your forehead and slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and you took the opportunity to make your way to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom. 

You took a deep breath and disrobed yourself, revealing a lingerie set made entirely from candy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement and nervousness all at once. Today is a special day, and you want everything to be perfect.

You glanced down at the outfit you carefully chose for this occasion. You stepped closer to the mirror, ensuring every strand of your hair was in place. 

With a final glance in the mirror, you grabbed your phone and left your bedroom. You go to the living room, where your boyfriend awaits you. You can hear music from the living room and know he is listening to your favourite playlist.

With the surprise set, you went to the living room, your heart fluttering with anticipation. As you entered, Minghao looked up from the couch, his eyes widening with curiosity.

Minghao’s eyes grew even bigger as he saw you enter the living room, wearing only edible lingerie made from candy. You could see the desire in his eyes as he took in your appearance. You couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious, but Minghao’s admiring gaze made you feel confident.

“Valentine’s chocolate is so overpriced, I got us edible lingerie instead,” you said with a mischievous smile, walking towards him slowly.

Minghao couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you got closer. He ran his hands over your body, feeling the smooth texture of the candy lingerie against your skin. He couldn’t resist the temptation and leaned in to taste a piece of the candy on your shoulder. The sweet taste of the candy mixed with your skin was a sensation he couldn’t get enough of.

You let out a soft moan as Minghao’s lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you. The candy lingerie made it even more exciting as he nibbled on the pieces, leaving marks on your skin.

You could feel yourself getting more and more turned on as Minghao’s hands travelled down to your waist, pulling you closer to him. His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands continued to roam over your body.

The candy lingerie melted against your skin, sticking to your body. But you didn’t care. The sensation of Minghao’s hands and lips on your skin was too intoxicating. You could feel yourself getting wetter with each passing moment.

Minghao’s hands made their way down to your thighs, pulling you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. He carried you to the bed, laying you down gently. He continued to kiss and nibble on your skin, making you moan in pleasure.

Minghao hovered above you and captured your lips in a sweet kiss and then slowly moved them down your body as he placed his plush lips on your breast; as he reached your breasts, he took a piece of the candy lingerie in his mouth, sucking on it gently. His warm mouth and the sweet taste of the candy drove you wild. As you arched your back, pressing your body closer to his, he sucked and nibbled at your hardened nipples while his other hand massaged your other breast. 

Minghao then pushed your thighs apart and laid down between them, his lips kissing your inner thighs until his mouth finally landed on your cunt. Minghao groaned softly when he tasted you. He moaned at how wet you were. Minghao threw your legs over his shoulders and secured his plump lips to your clit.

“Oh my god,” you gasped at the pleasure. He was incredible, but everything felt so unbelievable. You failed to hold your moans as he sucked on your clit. His hands moved to interlock at your waist as he kept sucking your clit.

You felt your eyes roll back as your orgasm approached you, “Hao,” you gasped, and Minghao could tell you were close, and he simply continued to suck your clit until you started to shake in his grip. Minghao’s mouth never left your clit as you came.

You whimpered as his touch pushed you to the brink of overstimulation, but you didn’t care. It felt too good. Minghao slowly moved his mouth away from your clit, smiling when he saw how swollen and wet your cunt was. He could see it throbbing and pulsating with aftershocks of pleasure.

“Hao, fuck,” you whispered as he pushed two fingers into you. Minghao stood up slightly as he pushed his middle and ring finger into your cunt and hooked them there.

“Scream for me,” Minghao said as he started to vigorously pump his fingers in and out of your cunt. He used his other hand to press down your pubic bone, holding you still as you began to thrash about.

“Do you hear how wet you are?” Minghao asked as he kept fingering you. You nodded, whimpering, fisting the sheets between your hands and letting out a scream as you came hard.

“Hao, I can’t,” You whimpered when you noticed that he hadn’t stopped his movements, “yes, you can. I know you can,” Minghao said as he repeated his actions, this time making you squirt all over his hands.

“I love it when you squirt, baby,” Minghao praised, making your eyes widen.

“Hao, I,” you babbled, and Minghao smiled as he pulled you into his arms.

“Please fuck me,” you begged, and Minghao smiled at you as he got onto his knees and positioned himself between you.

“Fucking hell, you’re so big,” you mewled as you took in his impressive length. Minghao leaned forward to kiss your forehead; he then spread your legs and wrapped them around his waist, and then ran his cock against your folds, choosing to run it over your clit several times.

Minghao took a deep breath as he placed the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Are you ready, baby?” Minghao asked.

“Yes,” you breathed out, and Minghao slowly pushed his length inside you, making you whimper as he stretched you out. 

Minghao inched himself inside you until he was fully sheathed inside your tight cunt.

“Fuck Y/N, baby, you’re so fucking tight, so fucking good,” Minghao praised.

Minghao started to thrust into you with just the right amount of pressure and force. He trailed his fingers to your clit and rubbed. Your legs shook as your second orgasm washed over you, this time more intense. Minghao came seconds after as your cunt clenched around him.

He gently pulled out of you, leaned down and gently placed his lips at your entrance, lapping at your combined arousal, licking you clean, making you cum for the third time. Minghao moved up your body, kissed you softly and laid down next to you.

As you both lay there, catching your breath, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for this unique and unforgettable Valentine’s Day. The edible lingerie may have been a fun and playful idea, but the love and passion between you and Minghao made it truly special. You couldn’t wait to see what other surprises he had for you.

“Hao, today was perfect,” you whispered, looking up at him.

He smiled, his eyes filled with love. “You deserve nothing but the best, my love.”

As the evening settled in, you and Minghao found yourselves cosied up on the couch, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights. The room was filled with a warm ambience, creating the perfect atmosphere for a heartfelt moment.

Minghao looked at you, his eyes filled with playfulness and sincerity. With a gentle smile, he took a deep breath, his cheeks tinged with a subtle blush.

“This might sound cheesy,” he began, his gaze never leaving yours, “but will you be my Valentine?”

A soft gasp escaped your lips, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the adorable expression on his face. Minghao’s earnestness melted your heart, and you felt warmth wash over you.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice filled with affection. “I’d love to be your Valentine.”

Minghao’s face lit up joyfully, and he kissed your forehead sweetly. As you snuggled closer, you couldn’t help but savour the moment’s sweetness, appreciating the simplicity and genuine connection that made your relationship with Minghao special.

[spacebabesuki]

Haunted - Hellcheer

Eddie Munson|Chrissy Cunningham|Hellcheer Week 2024|Creature Feature & Run - Day 5 @hellcheerweek

oneshot, word count 7.5K

Summary: At the autumn fun fair, Chrissy Cunningham is pulled into the haunted house by her boyfriend, Jason Carver, and his stupid friends. Abandoned and terrified, she faces a chilling twist when a masked creature suddenly appears.

The crisp autumn air carried the scent of sweet cotton candy and popcorn as the lights of the Hawkins fun fair flickered between the trees.

Laughter echoed from all directions, kids running through the crowds with balloons in hand. Yet, a knot tightened in Chrissy's chest as she stood beside Jason and his friends, staring uneasily at the entrance to the haunted house in the park. The sign overhead was faded and rusted, with a menacing clown grinning down at them, the peeling letters spelling out "Haunted House."

Jason, dressed in his signature basketball jacket like his friends, had a smirk plastered on his face as he exchanged glances with the group, all of them too cocky for their own good.

“Come on, Chris. It’s just a haunted house. Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Jason teased, his laugh sharp and mocking.

His tone dripped with condescension, sparking laughter from his friends as they joined in, their eyes fixed on Chrissy. She stood there, feeling small under their judgmental stares.

She looked at the clown on the sign, and it made her want to cry. She had always been terrified of clowns; they were her biggest fear. Just seeing the sign at the entrance to the haunted house sent her into a panic. Ever since she was a child, clowns had traumatized her. Jason knew this; he was well aware of how deeply her fear affected her.

“Are you seriously scared of a stupid haunted house? Even kids go in there. C’mon!” he added, the pressure mounting as his friends snickered beside him.

Yes. Chrissy was scared. She had never been the type to enjoy horror or anything that came with it. Sweet and soft-hearted, the only thing she liked about Halloween was the cozy feeling of autumn and the candy that came with it.

She was just a child when John Wayne Gacy, the serial killer who dressed as a clown, kidnapped and killed children. Chrissy vividly remembers the news reports blaring from the television at home, instilling a terror that lingered for years in Chicago, so close to her. She recalls the panic that gripped the city, mothers fearing he would come for their children. Fun fairs were banned for a year due to the overwhelming fear of clowns. That was in 1978, when she was only ten, and she remembers every detail.

Chrissy didn’t just have fear; she experienced panic and dread—the kind that paralyzes you and triggers a full-blown crisis

The thought of entering the haunted house made her stomach twist, but Jason never truly cared to understand that. He never respected her feelings, always pushing her into situations that made her uncomfortable, just for his own amusement. As he laughed with his friends, Chrissy felt even more isolated, wishing for once he’d see her for who she really was instead of trying to fit her into his world.

As Jason and his friends laughed even louder at her expense, Chrissy wished he would stop using her just to entertain his stupid friends. It stung to realize that he never seemed to care about how she truly felt, only about how he appeared in front of the guys. Every joke, every mocking glance in her direction, was just another reminder that her feelings were never his priority.

She shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the edge of her soft sweater as the cool air ruffled her strawberry blonde hair, which fell in soft waves over her shoulders instead of the usual ponytail.

She had dressed simply tonight—a cozy pink sweater, a short denim skirt, and white sneakers—but somehow, she still looked effortlessly perfect. Her floral, sweet perfume lingered between them, subtle but unmistakable. She wore her favorite blue eyeshadow, the same soft shade she always loved, though Jason never seemed to notice. He never cared whether she was dressed up or dressed down, or if she changed her hairstyle. None of it mattered to him, even when she tried to look her best.

To Jason, she was just part of his image—another piece of the picture-perfect life he presented to everyone. It was like she was invisible unless he could use her for a joke, impress his parents, or keep up the illusion of being the most popular couple at school, the one everyone envied. But only Chrissy knew the truth. Behind the smiles and the glances, she was just another accessory in his life, never truly seen for who she was.

She looked around at the Ferris wheel glowing in the early evening sky, where the orange was fading and the deep blue was starting to take over. She took a deep breath, trying to distract herself, hoping Jason would forget, but she knew he would push her to the limit, just like he had before—forcing her to do things she didn’t want to, like jumping off high bridges into the lake just so his friends wouldn’t laugh at her. She focused on the smell of popcorn, children running and the pleasant fun fair atmosphere at the start of autumn, as orange leaves fell from the trees.

Jason and his friends still laughed as they pushed Chrissy forward toward the dark entrance of the haunted house. "You'll be fine, babe. It's just a little fun," Jason said, completely unaware of the unease in her eyes.

She knew the haunted house was just a park attraction and that everything inside was fake, but she was truly scared. The fear gripped her because, deep down, she didn’t know what—or who—she might find inside one of those haunted houses. In that moment, all the scary movies she'd been forced to watch, each with cruel and unsettling endings, seemed to flash through her frightened mind.

She could even hear the metallic creaking noise coming from the giant, dust-covered clown, making her shiver even more.

And she couldn’t even cry, because every time she cried in front of Jason, he just laughed at her and called her a crybaby.

But she knew she couldn’t run or say no, because Jason and his friends would make her do it anyway—or worse, they’d tease her, saying that any other cool girl from school would’ve done it without a second thought. And that she was just a boring Christian girl, just like her mom.

Chrissy took a deep breath, her heart racing as Jason’s hands tightened around her arm, pulling her through the entrance of the haunted house until they passed through the clown's mouth. The world around her grew darker with every step.

Her heart started to beat even faster when she fully entered, and darkness enveloped her.

The haunted house creaked with every sound, and fake fog swirled along the ground as she ventured further inside. It was completely empty; the only sound was an old carousel song playing in the distance, and many old mirrors, all cracked and broken.

She swallowed dryly, feeling her legs tremble with each step she took, distancing herself from the entrance until the soft light of the park faded from view. The fog rose, bringing with it a strange smell.

And then she noticed how eerily calm it was. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling scared. Jason and his friends, who had promised to stay with her, had suddenly dashed off, leaving her alone in the winding, shadowy corridors. She knew they had done this on purpose, and they were all waiting for her on the outside.

“Jason?” Her voice trembled, barely audible over the eerie sound effects echoing through the halls. “Hello?” she called again, her small voice wavering as she strained to listen for a response. But all she heard in return was the mocking laughter of Jason and his friends, echoing from somewhere outside, their voices dripping with malice as they taunted her.

“Chrissy! Are you scared?” one of them jeered, and the others joined in with their cruel laughter, making her stomach churn. Tears pricked her eyes, the sting of fear mixing with the humiliation of being left alone. Why did they have to do this? Why did she let them?

She held her fingers together and read a sign that said once you were in, you could not go out. The sound of a door locking and the clown's laughter made her want to cry; the only way to get out was to pass through the entire attraction.

She tried to calm herself, closing her eyes and feeling the panic rise with her racing heart. Her chin trembled as she reminded herself that it was all fake; it was just a park, and nothing was real. The faster she got through it, the quicker the nightmare would end.

Jason was her boyfriend; he was supposed to protect her, love her, and care for her—not subject her to this kind of treatment.

She pressed her back against the cold, damp wall, willing herself to be brave, but the darkness felt suffocating. The air was thick with the smell of decay, and the distant sounds of creaking wood and ghostly whispers made her skin crawl.

She could almost feel the presence of something lurking just out of sight, watching her.

Just then, a flicker of movement caught her eye. She turned, her heart racing, but it was only the shadows shifting, teasing her. A low, distorted laugh echoed from deeper within the haunted house, and she flinched, gripping her arms tightly around herself as if that could ward off the fear.

“This isn’t funny, Jason!” she shouted, her voice breaking as panic surged within her. “I want to go home!”

But the silence that followed felt deafening. The eerie ambiance wrapped around her, thick and oppressive, making her feel utterly isolated. She could hear her own heartbeat, rapid and loud in her ears, drowning out the mocking voices of her so-called friends.

"Please, let this be over," she whispered to herself, tears spilling down her cheeks as she wiped them away with trembling fingers. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but all she could think about was how far she was from the exit—and how Jason had left her to face this nightmare alone, on purpose.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from somewhere behind her. She spun around, her heart racing, only to see a figure emerging from the shadows—a bloodied creature with a grotesque grin stretching across its face. It pointed at her, laughter bubbling from its lips, and in that moment, all thoughts of bravery vanished.

Chrissy screamed, a sound filled with raw terror, as she turned and ran, her legs carrying her through the winding corridors while the creature’s laughter echoed behind her.

Chrissy trembled as she navigated the winding corridors, her heart racing wildly in her chest. She could feel the panic rising in her throat, and small whimpers escaped her lips as she tried to stifle her fear. Every echoing sound made her jump, her breaths coming in shaky gasps.

As she rounded a corner, she froze in horror. A bloodied doll hung limply from the wall, its sinister grin twisted in mockery. She let out a high-pitched squeak of terror, her eyes darting around the dimly lit space. Just then, the ghost train hologram whizzed by, emitting a chilling wail that made her scream.

“Just keep moving, it’s not real,” she whispered to herself, trying to quell the rising tide of fear.

She tried to calm herself, reminding herself that none of this was real. They weren’t real monsters—just park employees dressed up and made up for the attraction.

Then, from the shadows, a bloodied woman appeared, her expression twisted in agony as if she were reaching out for Chrissy. A chilling whisper escaped her lips, sending shivers down Chrissy's spine.

“It’s all fake,” she muttered desperately, but her voice trembled with doubt.

As she pressed forward, she pushed through the red plastic curtains that hung like veils of dread. They brushed against her skin, making her scream in fright. Just as she did, something suddenly leaped out at her—another killer doll dropping from the ceiling. She barely had time to react as darkness enveloped her, lit only by flickering red lights that made the shadows dance like phantoms.

“This is too much!” she thought, panic tightening its grip around her. In a moment of sheer desperation, she squeezed her eyes shut and bolted forward, not caring where she was going. She stumbled through the thick fog, her heart pounding, breath hitching as she ran blindly toward an unknown escape, praying to break free from the nightmare that surrounded her.

Then, out of the gloom, she caught a glimpse of something that made her blood freeze—Freddy Krueger. She hated these movies hated Jason, Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers, and all the horror figures that terrified her. He loomed over everything, his terrifying form lurking in the shadows. His face was a living nightmare, horribly burned and disfigured, and his eyes—those wicked, gleaming eyes—seemed to pierce right through her. His skin was charred and leathery, the iconic fedora casting a dark shadow over his grotesque grin. The razors on his glove glinted faintly in the dim light as he moved with slow, deliberate menace, his presence a chilling reminder that he thrived on fear, as if he were breathing right down her neck.

She gasped, spinning on her white sneakers and sprinting in the opposite direction, her feet pounding against the ground as she ran. There was no way all that was just park employees, she thought, her terror rising with each passing second. The corridors twisted and turned, disorienting her even more, and she felt hopelessly lost—like a mouse trapped in a maze. Her mind raced with fear and confusion, every turn seeming to pull her deeper into the nightmare, with no escape in sight.

But as long as she didn’t see a clown, she believed she would survive. It wasn’t just about facing the dolls and other horrors that had appeared; her greatest fear wasn’t those things. It was that sign of the clown at the entrance, which meant that at some point, she would find herself alone in the dark, trapped with a clown. And that was why she wanted to get out of there before that happened.

It was hard to see, the darkness swallowing everything around her, making every shadow more terrifying. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she could hear her own heart pounding in her chest, a frantic rhythm that only heightened her fear. Every creak, every distant sound felt like it was creeping closer, and her pulse quickened, each beat louder in her ears than the last.

“It’s all a lie, it’s all a lie, they’re just park employees, no one can hurt me,” she whispered, but even she didn’t believe it anymore. It felt too real. The fear clawed at her insides, amplifying every sound and shadow in the darkened corridors.

She pressed her palms against her cheeks, trying to ground herself, but the chilling atmosphere only deepened her terror. Each flickering light cast eerie shadows that danced along the walls, making her question her own sanity.

“They can’t touch me, they can’t touch me,” she repeated like a mantra, her voice shaky but determined. Each step felt heavier as she navigated the dark maze, her heart pounding in her chest.

But the shadows seemed to creep closer, and a chilling laughter echoed all around her. It sounded like... oh no, a clown’s laugh. Despair surged within her, merging with the unsettling sounds of creaking wood and distant screams. A panic attack began to take hold; she couldn’t breathe, and it felt as if the walls were closing in around her.

“Just keep moving,” she urged herself, forcing her legs to move forward even as her instincts screamed for her to turn back. “They can’t hurt me. It’s all fake.” But with every step deeper into the haunted house, the grip of fear tightened around her, making her question whether she would ever see the light of day again.

The sound of the clown's laughter was the only thing in her mind, and she couldn’t tell if it was still real or just an echo haunting her thoughts, pushing her closer to a panic attack.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, praying that when she opened them again, she would find herself back in the safety of the park, surrounded by laughter and light.

“If this were a roller coaster, I’d just ask an employee for help,” she thought frantically. “It’s the same thing, just a toy in a park,” she tried to calm herself. But there was no one here—just her and the darkness that loomed like a predator ready to pounce. The only sounds were her ragged breaths and the relentless echo of her pounding heart, reminding her just how alone she truly was.

She was pacing down the darkened corridor, desperately trying to find the exit, her heart pounding in her chest, when suddenly she froze. The air grew thick with dread as she caught a glimpse of a shadow looming ahead. Her heart sank in despair. As the shadow drew closer, her eyes widened in terror; it was him—the clown. He stopped, his white clothes stained with blood, his makeup a grotesque smear, and his hands dripping with crimson. Everything about him was bloody, even the balloon he held.

She felt the first tear fall down her face, paralyzed by panic. She couldn't even feel her own legs or command her brain to run. He looked at her, his sinister grin stretched impossibly wide—a grotesque twist of malice that sent icy fingers of terror crawling up her spine. She had always harbored an irrational fear of clowns, their painted faces and exaggerated features lurking in the back of her mind like a nightmare waiting to pounce.

She looked at him, and then he started to run after her—so fast, laughing in that freakish way.

She let out the loudest scream she had ever uttered—a raw, piercing sound that echoed through the corridor.

In that moment, she no longer believed they were just park employees in costumes; to her, they had transformed into real monsters.

She began to run, small groans of desperation escaping her lips as tears streamed down her face. Behind her, the clown started to sprint after her—faster. Panic surged through her, igniting every nerve ending as the chilling melody of his laughter echoed off the walls, clawing at her sanity. Desperation consumed her, and she turned on her heels, sprinting in the opposite direction. Oh poor girl, so lost.

“No, no, no!” she screamed, the words tumbling out like a desperate plea for help, her voice tinged with a raw terror that made her chest ache.

He wasn’t supposed to run like this if he was just an employee; something felt profoundly wrong. She could feel it in her bones: this clown was real, and she was going to die.

Cold sweat drenched her skin, terror consuming her as she ran blindly. “Please, someone!” she screamed in despair, wishing he were just a park employee who would stop this madness. But he didn’t. Her heart ached with hopelessness. “Get me out of here!” It felt as if the haunted house had swallowed her whole; she was completely alone, utterly isolated, as though no one else dared to enter this nightmarish place.

She wanted to lie down right there and hope that someone would come to save her from this nightmare. But deep down, she knew there was no one coming, no hero to pull her from the grips of fear.

“I just want to leave!” she screamed, her voice breaking as she turned to run again, the sound of her frantic footsteps mingling with the ghostly wails that filled the air. Panic surged through her, making it hard to breathe. She felt as if she might collapse from the weight of her fear. If the clown didn’t kill her, the panic attack would.

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision as she ran. The laughter behind her was a cruel taunt, urging her to run faster. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the clown still chasing her—an unrelenting specter of her worst fears. Desperation propelled her to run even faster, but her chest ached, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The weight of the clown’s presence bore down on her, each step echoing in her mind, the very air thick with his malicious intent. It felt as if the walls themselves were closing in, wrapping around her in a suffocating embrace.

She didn’t even know where she was running to; she couldn’t see the light, the exit. The darkness felt alive, pressing in on her, and every turn in the corridor twisted her further into a labyrinth designed to confuse and trap her. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else as the clown’s laughter grew louder, more maniacal.

In a moment of pure desperation, she closed her eyes again, wishing to block out the horror as if that would make him disappear. She didn’t want to see what was behind her; she just wanted to run, hands outstretched in front of her, desperately trying to feel her way toward an exit—any exit. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for air.

Then she dared to look back. The clown was still pursuing her, even closer now, his presence suffocating and menacing. His laughter echoed in her ears. He shouldn’t be moving like this, trying to touch her, scaring her in such a way—not if he were just a park employee. Panic surged through her, drowning out all rational thought. It was as if he truly wanted to touch, kill her, hurt her. Her heart raced as she realized the horrifying truth: this was no mere performance; it was a nightmare come to life.

She could feel his breath on her neck, a terrifying reminder of just how close he was.

The panic paralyzed her; she couldn’t feel her legs and could no longer run. Trembling, she sensed his presence reaching out—the clown touched her shoulder. A scream of pure terror escaped her lips, her body shaking as fear seized her.

Chrissy squeezed her eyes shut. The darkness pressing in around her felt suffocating, more oppressive than before. “No! No!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face in pure panic. She trembled uncontrollably, her heart racing as if it might explode.

Suddenly, she tripped over something, fear gripping her as she braced for the fall. She was certain she would hit the ground and that the clown would kill her. With her eyes tightly closed, she waited for the impact.

But to her surprise, she felt her legs lifted off the ground. Strong arms supported her gently, and a muffled voice broke through the chaos.

“Too far, damn it, Brian! What’s your fucking problem, you piece of shit? You know you can’t touch the visitors! We can’t play these pranks anymore, or Mr. Fitch will fucking kill us! Get back to your damn place now, go, get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit! Look at what you did to her, you scared the girl!"

"Go fuck yourself, Munson! It’s boring as hell sitting around all night without scaring these little brats!" The clown’s voice—she recognized it from the laughter—grew fainter as he walked away, leaving Chrissy trembling in fear.

Her mind raced. Was it just a prank from some employee? She was still shaking, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Her body was paralyzed with lingering terror, unsure if she could trust that the nightmare was truly over.

Chrissy opened her eyes slowly, still disoriented, and realized that her legs weren't on the ground—they were in the air. Her short denim skirt left her legs exposed, and she could feel strong arms gently holding her, supporting her with surprising care. She was in someone's arms, cradled against a warm body that had saved her, catching her just before she could fall.

Blinking through the remnants of her panic, the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the clown’s back, walking away—no longer running or chasing her, just casually moving off as if none of it had ever happened. He looked almost ridiculous now, like a foolish teenager, retreating into the distance.

Now she focused on who was holding her, who had saved her, gently holding her up, stopping her from falling, and sending the clown away, protecting her. The body was tall, firm, and warm, and she felt a strange sense of safety for the first time in what felt like hours.

With a slow, cautious turn of her head, Chrissy looked up to see who was holding her. The first thing she saw was a bloodied gray jumpsuit, a white mask covering his face, and a knife hanging from one of the pockets of the jumpsuit, close to her because she was in his arms, with his chest right next to her face. She screamed again, her voice raw with fright.

But then, in a surprisingly soft voice from beneath the mask, he said, “Hey, hey, sorry.” His words were muffled by the mask, but the tone was gentle. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I—oops, shit, yeah, I did mean to scare you ’cause, you know, it’s my job, but—"

His voice was so familiar and had such a soft, silly tone that it calmed her almost instantly, allowing her breath to return to normal.

He made sure to look as harmless as possible until he noticed her starting to relax. He wanted to ease her panic, to somehow show her that she was safe with him, even if he was wearing a monster’s mask.

She began to calm down, her eyes softening as she looked at him in the dim red light, the panic melting away. It was as if the fear had never been there at all. His voice had a strange, soothing power over her—something she had never experienced before. Her brows furrowed slightly, confused by how safe and relaxed she suddenly felt, as if being held by him had erased all the terror from moments before. She almost wanted to smile in relief, her heartbeat slowing to a calm, steady rhythm.

Looking up at him, still cradled in his arms, she noted his tall, strong stature—around 5'11"—while she stood at just 5'2", forcing her to crane her neck to see his face. As her gaze traveled upward, the realization hit her: she had seen this mask before. The horrifying white mask, the blank, emotionless face—it was Michael Myers, the monster from Halloween.

Her breath caught for a moment, but then something strange happened. The heat radiating from his body was… kind of comforting, and the way he held her, his large hands secure on the back of her thighs, felt really nice. She felt safe in his arms.

Wait—Michael Myers had saved her?

Chrissy's heart raced, but not with fear anymore—something else entirely. She stared at the mask, her mind scrambling. That voice… it was muffled, but there was something unmistakable about it. She could swear she'd heard it before. It was familiar, like a comforting presence.

Who was behind the mask?

Her mind flashed through possibilities, trying to place where she’d heard that soft, almost silly tone before. Could it be someone she knew? An employee at the park? Or maybe... someone closer? She needed to know.

She could feel the warmth of his chest and abdomen pressing against her, hear his heavy breathing beneath the mask, sending chills racing down her spine. The weight of his gaze felt unsettling, as if he truly knew her; it was confusing how much he seemed to enjoy looking at her.

But Michael Myers was still in shock after her scream. She had screamed at the top of her lungs just seconds ago when she looked at him, the sound piercing through the darkness of the haunted house, so loud and filled with pure terror that it startled even poor Michael Myers for a split second.

Poor boy, so confused, he hesitated, puzzled by her reaction; no one had ever reacted like this to an attraction at a funfair. He noticed that she screamed when she saw the knife, so he dropped it to the ground; it was a fake knife, plastic, just to comfort her. The truth was that, just like the clown was a stupid teenager working here, Michael Myers was an employee at the park too, just a nerd trying to earn some extra cash after school to pay for his guitars, metal LPs, and magazines.

So that's why he had agreed to take a side gig at the haunted house—just for fun. But no one had ever screamed and reacted quite like that before. She was so scared, crying when that idiot Brian, dressed as a clown, was chasing her. It actually made him a bit worried. And he knew why. Through the eye holes of the mask, he could see exactly who he was looking at.

Oh, oh, Chrissy Cunningham, the queen of Hawkins High, also known as the girl of his dreams—the girl he had been madly in love with since the middle school talent show, nearly five years ago. He still remembered it like it was yesterday. She sat down beside him, just for a moment, after his band lost, offering him sweet, gentle words of comfort. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for him in that miserable moment, and he had never forgotten. She was sunshine, and he was... well, just a guy in the shadows, too much of a loser to ever think she could see him the same way.

He had been in love with her even back then, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have the courage. Maybe now, standing in this haunted house, he was getting a second chance to talk to the girl of his dreams. But who was he kidding? He was going to mess this up, just like last time. He’d probably just scare her away.

He knew he could only look from afar; in his mind, she would never even notice someone like him, a total loser

He looked at her through the eye holes of the Michael Myers mask he was using, and to his surprise, she wasn’t crying or scared anymore. Instead, she looked calm, beautiful, and serene, with a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

The sight of her like this soothed him, easing the tight knot of anxiety in his chest.

Her expression was almost peaceful, and for a moment, he forgot about the chaos of the haunted house and the ridiculousness of his costume. Instead, all he could focus on was her—her eyes sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place.

His heart raced, not with fear but with a warmth that spread through him as he realized she was no longer terrified. He noticed that he—yes, he, a loser—was holding Chrissy Cunningham in his arms, and until now, she hadn’t run away from him like she had from Brian.

But then a wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. She looked at him, trying to see the face behind the eye holes. That voice… that voice beneath the mask—she recognized it from somewhere. And then it clicked; she finally realized where she knew him from.

She had been so scared that she hadn't noticed the conversation he had with the clown when the clown had called him Eddie. Now, the memory came rushing back.

“Eddie?” Her voice was a breathless whisper, a mix of surprise and relief flooding her face.

First, he was in complete shock that the perfect girl knew his voice, that she recognized him. His mind went blank, and for a solid ten seconds, he just stared at her, trying to remember how to breathe. She knew him. Chrissy Cunningham knew his voice. He felt like he was floating, completely disarmed by the realization.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he finally managed, a sheepish smile spreading across his face, his heart pounding. A look of pure happiness lit up his features, still hidden by the Michael Myers mask, as he struggled to believe that the girl he had admired from afar actually recognized him.

He took off the mask, revealing his messy, long hair, and gave her the boyish grin she had always thought was kind of cute.

It wasn't Michael Myers who saved her; now she had a name—Eddie Munson—in a Michael Myers mask.

She blinked, her cheeks turning pink, her heart still racing but for a different reason now. She had never noticed how tall and strong he was, how his hands felt so secure, or how his body heat was actually comforting. The fact that he was now her hero, the only one who had saved her from the clown, added to the fluttering sensation in her chest.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, blinking rapidly as she felt something in her stomach—cold and warm at the same time. She was now looking at his face, so close to hers because she was still in his arms. She breathed in deeply; he smelled so good, like masculine deodorant right after a shower, the scent wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

“Moonlighting, apparently.” He chuckled softly, obviously nervous, slipping back into his usual playful tone. “Someone’s gotta pay the bills.”

He looked at her, his heart swelling with a mix of awe and disbelief. Chrissy was even more stunning up close, and he found himself taking in every tiny detail of her perfect face. Everything about her was so unfairly pretty—her perfectly pointed nose, her sweet pink lips, her lovely teeth, the pearl rings adorning her ears, and the small necklace she wore around her neck — that must feel so soft — against her skin, with its delicate chain and tiny charms.

The sweet scent of her floral perfume lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a potent drug. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink, and he couldn’t help but notice how her eyes sparkled, the blue eyeshadow accentuating the brightness of her gaze.

It should be a crime for someone to be this pretty; it was unfair to the rest of the world. He didn't believe in God, but looking at her made it easy to believe that this perfect girl hadn't come from clay—maybe she was made of stardust, and that made sense. If God really did exist, he must have used all his precious time crafting her face.

He couldn’t believe she was here, in his arms, looking at him like that. He’d dreamed of this, but never in a million years did he think it would actually happen.

She looked radiant, like an angel, especially without her cheerleading uniform. Her hair fell softly around her shoulders, framing her face perfectly, and her smile made his heart race even faster. In that moment, she seemed almost unreal, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

And fuck, why did she always have to wear the shortest skirts in the whole damn world? That's not a skirt girl, that's a sawn off shotgun.

Ah if only he could have her, if only he could love her…

Eddie felt like a total idiot standing there, utterly captivated by her beauty. He fumbled for words, feeling awkward in a way that was both adorable and endearing. He stumbled over his own thoughts, trying to control his excitement and keep his cool, but it was no use. Just being near her sent his brain into a chaotic spiral, and all he wanted was to make her smile.

His heart burned every time he saw her face—whether in the hallways of the school, here, or anywhere else. She was so pretty that it felt surreal.

He got lost for a moment, staring at her and feeling her soft legs in his hands. Shit, she was just too pretty. She looked like an angel, a dream come to life. However, he hesitated to say so, as he had always dreamt of her.

Only now did he realize that he was still holding her in his arms, and she didn't seem bothered at all.

Eddie’s hands were strong and firm steady under her thighs, directly on her skin because of the short skirt, she could even feel the watch os his wrist on the back of her tights and her heart raced, her body heating in a way she hadn’t expected. She looked up at him, gripping his neck tightly, feeling the softness of his hair.

“Oh shit, sorry, I, well, um, yes, there you go, ma’am.” He gently set her on the ground as softly and delicately as if she were made of porcelain.

No one had ever treated her like this or looked at her like this. As she hit the ground, she held onto his arm for a moment, just to make sure her legs were working again. They both looked down, and he noticed the pink nails on his bloody jumpsuit from the costume.

“You good?” he asked with such a pretty smile, so close to her, making sure she wouldn’t fall again.

His hair fell into his face in a chaotic yet beautiful way. She almost forgot her words; her cheeks flushed, and she felt a tingling sensation across her skin. She gave a small, lost smile and nodded.

“Yes, thank you,” she responded, her cheeks flushed. She put her arms behind her back and swayed shyly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She knew she should ask him where the exit was and get the hell out of there, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was as if she wanted more time with him, even in this crazy haunted house.

She didn’t know how to explain it, but being near Eddie felt different—like a secret thrill that made her heart race in a way she never expected.

They looked at each other three times—glance, look away, glance again, look away—smiling awkwardly at one another. She bit her lip, swaying a bit shyly, while he scratched the back of his head, both of them unsure of what to say. He smiled at her, feeling totally awkward, and as he tried to lean against the wall, he lost his focus while looking at her, stumbling and almost falling. He cursed himself for being such an idiot, but then she gave him a sweet little smile.

Chrissy couldn’t help but smile back at him, her eyes softening as she took him in. Her hair looked golden even in the dim lighting, and the way she nervously bit her lip made his stomach flip. He had always admired her from afar, but here, in this moment, she felt impossibly close, as if the world around them had melted away, leaving just the two of them in their own little universe.

The chaotic sounds of the haunted house faded into the background, and all he could focus on was her—the way her cheeks flushed, the gentle curve of her smile, and the sparkle in her eyes that seemed to light up the darkness.

“Uh, so, um…” he stammered, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes never leaving hers as he searched for the right words. “I’m sorry for Brian and the whole clown thing. He’s a stupid asshole. I confess that when we’re bored and some jerk shows up, we do that kind of stuff, but as soon as I saw it was you… fuck, I wanted to kill him when I saw that he made you cry. I’m so fucking sorry, Chrissy.”

She opened and closed her mouth, looking at him without even blinking, her eyes shining. No one had ever talked to her like this before; her boyfriend had never said anything like I wanted to kill him when I saw that he made you cry.

Her stupid boyfriend had actually made her cry.

“You… you wanted to kill him when you saw that he made me cry?” she stammered, not used to someone caring for her like this.

“Well, hell yeah,” he said, a foolish grin spreading across his face.

“W-why?” Her eyes widened in pure shock.

“Because people are supposed to want to kill anyone who makes sweet angels cry.”

She froze, never thinking she would hear something like that in her whole life.

Poor boy saw her so paralyzed that he thought he’d said something stupid, unaware that it was quite the opposite.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I said some shit, didn’t I?” he chuckled nervously, his cheeks warming as he realized how ridiculous he must look.

“Oh no, no… it’s… and...I mean thank you for… for you know…” she smiled, her cheeks turning red as she looked down at her own feet. “Saving me… from the clown. Thank you,” she whispered again in a soft voice, not knowing what else to say but not wanting to go. Just moments ago, she wanted to run out of this haunted house, but now she wanted to stay here forever. “I confess I’m feeling a bit stupid for being scared. I hope you don’t think badly of me,” she said, making a little face.

“I would never think anything bad about you,” he replied. She could feel his dark eyes looking at her in a way no one had ever looked at her before. “I’m scared as fuck of clowns too; they’re, you know, weird as fuck.” He said this to make her smile, and she did, grinning in that cute, foolish way that he loved.

She looked at him in disbelief, her heart racing in her chest again at the way he looked at her and talked to her. All she could think about was how she wanted him to keep looking at her like that. No one had ever protected her like this. She knew it wasn’t much, but she was used to so little.

Eddie felt a pang of sadness, like a bullet in his chest, when he realized he would have to let her go soon to return to work. He heard the sound of the door opening; someone was entering. But his gaze lingered on her, enchanted and obsessed. Just then, he noticed another guy in the background, a fellow employee, looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to get back to work. It was against the rules of the boss to not wear the mask inside the haunted house.

Eddie didn’t want to leave; if he could, he would look at Chrissy for eternity. Reluctantly, he put the mask back on.

“Uh, right, I should probably get back to…” he started, glancing back at the other guy, but then he looked back at her, momentarily lost in her beauty. “But it’s hard to focus on anything else when you’re here.”

Shit, he wasn't supposed to say that. Fuck, now she’s going to hate him. He wanted to kill himself. He smiled awkwardly, feeling like a total dork, but the warmth in his chest kept him grounded. He wanted to savor this moment just a little longer. He regretted saying that because he probably hadn't spoken to her in five years, and he was afraid of her reaction.

"I'm sorry," he said, afraid she might think he was hitting on her—flirting with her, which he definitely was—and hate him for it.

But Chrissy gave him such a sweet smile, one that made it seem like she liked what he said, and he realized he had never seen her laugh so heartily before.

Suddenly, the lights went out, oh no, he wanted to looked at her a little more, but the sound of the clown's laughter echoed, indicating that someone had entered the haunted house and the attraction should start again.

Eddie quickly lowered his mask and looked at her again through the eye holes of the Michael Myers mask. She returned his gaze, feeling a heavy sigh escape her chest. His height and the jumpsuit that had once seemed intimidating now only made her heart flutter, filling her with a sensation she couldn't quite place.

“Was...was really good to...to see you,” she stammered shyly, unable to explain the way she felt around him but wanting to feel it again. Her heart raced like a foolish, lovesick girl as she said what she was about to say. “See you around? I mean the fair...I...I’m planning on coming back in the next few days till the end...I can visit you if you promise to protect me from Brian,” she asked, trying to smile softly and casual but feeling nervous, afraid that a guy like Eddie Munson would hate someone like her.

Ah, if she only knew...

He froze, momentarily unable to believe he was hearing that.

“Yeah, uh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, uhum, uh, uhum, ok, yeah” he stuttered, his voice muffled by his mask. He felt like a total idiot because he couldn’t believe what he just heard. He wanted to pinch himself just to make sure this wasn’t a dream; he wanted to put the plastic knife on his chest just to be sure he was alive.

He stumbled again, making her laugh, and he pointed toward the exit.

She smiles softly "Bye, Eddie,” she smiled at him, but the truth was she didn’t want to say goodbye.

“The way out is, um, through… there, you know, al—”

She nodded, walking on with a smile, feeling something strange on her cheeks—a heat she had never felt before. As she turned away, she felt a tug in her chest, as if she didn’t want to leave.

Glancing back, she saw him looking at her. She smiled, ducking her head, and caught him pretending to whistle, trying to act casual. She smiled again; she had always watched him at school, but had never had the courage to approach him, even though she remembered that talent show. She always thought he hated her.

But before she could walk to the exit, something held her back. Her heart raced wildly in her chest, and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered uncontrollably. The thought of leaving felt unbearable. Without thinking, she turned back and walked toward Eddie again. He remained in his pose as Michael Myers, his back turned, clearly distracted and believing she had already left.

The dim lighting of the haunted house cast shadows around them, creating an almost magical atmosphere. Just then, he caught a whiff of her sweet scent lingering in the air, and it pulled him from his thoughts. As if plucked from one of his dreams, the sight of her standing there nearly gave him a heart attack. She was on her tiptoes, just inches away from him.

Chrissy bit her lip, her gaze flickering nervously back to Eddie's eyes through the mask.

Gathering her courage, she lifted herself onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his mask, her lips brushing against the plastic fabric right where his mouth was hidden.

"My hero," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. The warmth of her breath danced against the mask, leaving a sweet, lingering sensation that sent shivers down his spine.

Eddie’s instinct was to hold her waist gently, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst. The warmth radiating from her body was intoxicating, and he felt an overwhelming urge to pull her closer.

As if reading his thoughts, she leaned her hand against his chest, her palm pressing lightly against the fabric of his jumpsuit. The contact sent a jolt through him, electrifying the air between them.

He froze, caught off guard by the unexpected intimacy of the moment. It was as if time itself had paused, leaving only the two of them in their private world within the haunted house.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat. Even though he couldn’t feel her lips through the mask, he imagined they must feel like heaven—so soft, like heaven. Yet, he felt the kiss echo in his heart—an overwhelming sensation that made him think it might explode or leap out of his body. He wanted to keep this mask locked away as the greatest treasure in the whole world.

His hands twitched, betraying his desire to pull her closer. As she leaned back, he stared at her with wide eyes, a mix of disbelief and joy flooding his chest. A slow, incredulous smile began to spread across his face, unable to comprehend what had just happened. But she couldn’t see it; the Michael Myers mask concealed all his emotions.

Chrissy pulled back, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, her lips curved into a shy, radiant smile. "Thank you... for, you know, everything." The sincerity in her voice made his heart swell.

He saw his reflection—the mask’s reflection—in her blue eyes.

Eddie wanted to say something—anything—to express how long he had waited for a moment like this, how he had fantasized about it in every corner of his mind and every dream he had ever had. But he couldn’t find the words; he felt as if he might die from the intensity of it all, his heart threatening to explode.

His mind raced with thoughts, words tumbling over each other as he struggled to find the right ones. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, overwhelmed by the weight of her gaze and the thrill of the moment.

Instead, he simply stood there, drinking in the sight of her—the way the dim light caught her features, the way her eyes sparkled with something he dared to hope was affection.

He knew that this was a moment he would cherish forever—a moment where everything felt right in the world, even amid the chaos of the haunted house. All he could think was how he never wanted this to end.

Until...

"Chrissy! Where the hell are you?" Jason Carver's voice suddenly echoed through the haunted house. Chrissy startled and stepped back from Eddie, her cheeks burning red as her hands dropped from his chest.

Jason Carver emerged from the darkness, searching for her.

Eddie cursed under his breath, quickly pulling away, his face flushing. This was definitely not a dream; if it were, Jason Carver wouldn’t have shown up.

Jason barged in, his face twisted in confusion.

Eddie never understood how someone like Jason Carver could deserve a girl like Chrissy. Every time he saw her, he felt a strange mix of awe and frustration. Her smile lit up the darkest corners of his mind, yet she was stuck with Jason, a guy who didn’t appreciate her the way Eddie secretly did.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jason glared at Chrissy, his expression darkening as he noticed her standing next to a monster—a freak in a Halloween costume lurking in the shadows.

Eddie forced a smile behind his mask, but Carver didn’t realize it was him.

“Just doing my job, Carver,” Eddie said, pressing the plastic knife against the mask in a mocking gesture. “And you should probably do yours, or you might lose her to someone else.”

The tone of his voice suggested a defiant grin hidden beneath the mask.

What made this the best night of Eddie’s life? In that moment, as he spoke those words, Chrissy Cunningham turned to him with a shy smile, her cheeks flushed with a warmth that illuminated the dimly lit space.

Jason scowled, his expression hardening as he instinctively wanted to confront the masked figure, oblivious to the fact that it was Eddie Munson hiding behind the disguise.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Jason called, and Chrissy walked alongside him toward the exit. “How does that jerk know my name?” Jason asked, glancing back, anger simmering in his eyes as they left the haunted house.

“I don’t know,” Chrissy replied softly, a faint smile lingering on her lips as she remained lost in the memory of what had just happened inside the haunted house.

“Who the hell was that?” Jason shot another glance back, trying to catch a glimpse of Eddie.

All Chrissy said was,

“— Michael Myers.”

[thereinafter-art]

Nellie taking care of Ah Toy (from Warrior [2019], drawn for @thewindysideofcare for Candy Hearts Exchange 2024)

[midwinterspringwrites]

for some kind of contact (nobody has to know)

Rated E | Darklina

Now he expects her to argue, like she did in the dreams. So she won't.

"Touch me," she says.

(A Season 2 enemies(?) tether smut fic.)

Written for firecat for the 2024 Candy Hearts Exchange

Moodboard by me.

Read on AO3.

[myth-blossom]

Hurray for wonderful Valentine’s Day fics for the Hitman fandom! 💕

I received two amazing gifts today from my awesome exchange valentines:

There are *eight* new Hitman fics to enjoy from the exchanges linked below. Please go show them all some love!! ❤️❤️❤️

Hitman Valentine’s Date Exchange 2024

Candy Hearts Exchange 2024

[drabbles-mc]

Behind

Carmen Berzatto & Pete

Written for @ashlingnarcos for Candy Hearts Exchange 2024 💝

Warnings: 18+, language, canon-typical chaos and angst, injury

Word Count: 6.7k

A/N: i'm so normal about them i promise me when i lie

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @hausofmamadas @narcolini @darqchilddaydreamz @justreblogginfics @fromirkwood (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

ONE.) With each minute that ticked by and he still found himself sitting in the row alone, Pete found the weight of disappointment lingering on his chest getting heavier and heavier. He wasn’t surprised, per se, but that didn’t wipe away the disappointment that he felt on Natalie’s behalf. While there were still some things about her family that he was figuring out, he assumed that they would at least show up for this. She didn’t ask them to show up for much, after all.

He looked around, wondering just how long he would be able to hold the three seats next to him for. He had his jacket draped over one, and was just politely telling people that the seats were reserved. It was looking more and more like a lie the longer that none of them showed up, though, and the room was quickly filling.

Just as he was about to reach across and grab his jacket, Carmy came flying in. Pete could feel the breeze come off of him from how quickly he’d been walking. He stood there at the end of the row of chairs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. He looked back and forth between Pete and the empty seats beside him. Internally, Carmy groaned, but luckily, he managed to keep the sound contained to his head.

Shrugging, he asked in a hushed tone, “Where the fu—is it just you?”

Pete smiled, knowing that there was nothing else that he could really do to respond. “Uh, yeah, right now. But you’re here!” he added on cheerfully.

“Fuck me,” Carmy muttered under his breath.

“You heard, you know, from Mikey or your mom at all?”

Carmy shook his head, and while Pete didn’t hear the exact words that he said in the wake of that, he had a decent idea. He moved to slide into the row, so Pete pulled his legs in, trying to make himself as small as possible as Carmy slipped by him so that he could sit in one of the chairs that Pete had reserved for them all.

First, he looked at the jacket draped over one of the chairs, and then he looked back over at Pete. “Yours?”

“Yeah, just thought it’d be easier to save all the seats. If you want—”

He stopped himself when Carmy picked up the jacket and handed it back to him, sitting in the chair that it had just been covering. While it felt grossly apparent that they were going to be the only two in attendance, Carmy still left the two seats between them. To an outsider it looked like he was just holding the line, helping keep the seats empty. But he knew better. So did Pete, even though he didn’t say anything about it.

Pete saw the way that Carmy was fidgeting, fingers twitching and drumming against his leg. Trying to be helpful, Pete handed over the piece of cardstock that he had been holding onto. “Look,” he let Carmy take it from him, “they got Nat’s name on there and everything.”

Carmy’s brows met, equal parts focus and confusion. “What…what’s this all—” He stopped when he answered his own question, reading the printed words in front of him. Order of events, awards and recipients. And, just like Pete said, there was Natalie’s name spelled out in black and white. He didn’t think that they really did awards in Natalie’s line of work. But I guess even when it’s interest loans, dollars and cents, someone always has to be the best at it or close to it. Maybe he should’ve asked her more about it when she mentioned it the first time.

“Big week for you guys, huh?” Pete said, excitement in his tone.

Carmy’s eyes snapped up to him. “What?”

“Oh, you know,” Pete gestured to the slip of paper in Carmy’s hand as he leaned in an attempt to close the distance Carmy had left between them, “Nat and her award. You and culinary school.” He paused, waiting to see if Carmy was going to say anything. When he braced one hand on the seat of the chair beside him. “That’s pretty dope, dude. Nat was telling me about it and she’s—we’re both really stoked for you. Congrats.”

His face pinched, unsure of how he wanted to respond to that. “Yeah, yeah. Um. Thanks.”

“Where you going for that, anyway? Here or—”

Carmy made a dismissive motion, shushing him as the lighting in the room shifted, signaling the start of the ceremony. He was looking up at the front of the room, fingers twiddling still with the paper in his hands. He had been perfectly ready to not pay Pete any mind for the next, well, however long it was going to take to get through all of this. But then Pete was shuffling over and sitting in the chair right beside Carmy, no barrier or gap between them. Carmy felt his jaw clench involuntarily, but there was nothing to do about it now as Pete was balling up his jacket in his lap.

“She’s gonna be so happy you’re here,” Pete said, voice somewhere between a whisper and his regular talking voice. “She wanted to congratulate you in-person anyway.” He saw the confusion on Carmy’s face and Pete still smiled but there was a little bit of sadness in it. “Culinary school.”

Carmy’s voice came out soft, and not because he was trying to be courteous of what was going on around them. “Oh.”

“Hope you don’t mind I said it first,” he tried to joke, knowing as the words were coming out of his mouth that it was going to fall flat.

Shockingly enough, it got a flicker of a smile out of Carmy. “It’s fine.”

TWO.) There was so much noise in the house that he hardly heard any of it. It was deafening and yet none of it was really reaching his eardrums. Voices and music and times and dishes being thrown about. So many layers that it was impossible to piece through them all.  Carmy was fairly certain that he had gotten good at tuning it all out. Or maybe he’d finally just cracked under the weight of it all, knocked just enough screws loose to end up like the rest of his family.

It was impossible not to hear Donna. Laughing. Crying. Screaming. No matter what mood she was currently fluctuating through, she made sure that anyone and everyone around her heard her. No matter how many years went by or how hard he tried, Carmy wasn’t ever able to deafen himself to that. He listened to her fire off directions at him, ones that didn’t make any sort of sense but he’d still have to follow them exactly as she said them because it just wasn’t worth it to try and not to.

Carmy grit his teeth and got through it as best he could, the same way he did every year. Mikey was nowhere to be found, of course—probably deep in the house somewhere getting into an argument with Lee or getting dragged across the neighborhood by Richie. He and Natalie orbited around each other, occasionally crossing paths but never really letting one hand wash the other. The best they could do was suffer through it near each other.

He was elbow deep in the oven, switching around pans in the precise way that Donna had instructed him a few minutes before. He was staring directly into the oven, wishing for a brief moment that it would turn into a window that he could crawl out of so that he could get out of this fucking house.

The shrill sound of yet another timer going off snapped him out of his wishful thinking and he stood back upright, letting the oven door snap shut as he did.

He was grabbing a towel to wipe his hands with when he heard someone else besides his own mother. It was different. He wasn’t noticing it because the person was yelling, per se, which had him wondering how he heard anyone in that house on Christmas if they weren’t screaming at the top of their lungs. His brows drew together, ears burning when he realized that he heard it because someone was talking about him.

And of fucking course it was Pete.

Carmy didn’t have it in him to go and throw himself into the middle of whatever it was. He didn’t give enough of a damn about what Pete thought of him to really make that much of a fight about it. If Pete wanted to finally join in on the fun everyone else had at Carmy’s expense, then he could go and do just fucking that.

“No, you guys, seriously,” Pete said in a voice that was loud for him, but barely registered above a whisper on the Berzatto scale, “Food and Wine named him best new—”

“Fuck Food and Wine,” Richie interrupted with a laugh. “What, they say that Mr. New York Bigshot was the best new jagoff? Hate to break it to you, but,” he clapped Pete on the shoulder, “that ain’t new.”

Pete forged onward, not letting himself get derailed by Richie even though the man was a master of the art. “They named him Best New Chef,” he said earnestly.

Richie rolled his eyes. “Best new chef but he still can’t make the fuckin’ spaghetti.”

Pete ignored the laughs that Richie got with his comment. His voice was a little quieter now, but he still didn’t stop. “It’s a big deal.”

Carmy felt bad for his initial assumption. He should’ve known that Pete wouldn’t do that—he wasn’t wired like the rest of them. Pete probably wasn’t even the first one to bring Carmy up. It was probably Richie or Cicero. Pete was probably just coming to Carmy’s defense the only way he could think of, not that it did either of them any good. Carmy knew that he should say something to Pete. Maybe thank you? But that wasn’t how they were, wasn’t how Carmy was.

He looked out the kitchen doorway to find Pete already looking at him. He didn’t look defeated, really. No matter what anyone ever said to Pete it never seemed to deflate him or keep him down for long. Carmy lifted his eyebrows slightly, the only acknowledgment he could think up in the moment as another timer went off.

THREE.) Pete was sitting at the table, laptop open with countless emails left to open and respond to, and yet he wasn’t paying any of them any mind. They were left ignored in another tab, number ticking upwards slowly the longer he avoided it. Instead, he found himself reading, and then rereading, the latest article that had been published about the restaurant that Carmy was currently working at. He’d been corrected before, ruthlessly, by Mikey and Richie whenever he referred to it as Carmy’s Restaurant, but like many things it never really was enough to deter him.

It felt like there was always another article or another announcement coming out about Carmy, about his restaurant. And, sure, maybe he wasn’t completely tapped into the restaurant scene like Carmy was, maybe he wasn’t up to that caliber. But he still tried to keep an eye out, and it seemed like every time he went looking there was always something to find.

He was in the house alone, but it didn’t stop him from letting out an impressed chuckle as he read through yet another article on how one of the youngest new chefs on the scene managed to raise the caliber of an already-stellar restaurant in New York City. Praise like that would mean a lot no matter where Carmy was working, but being able to stand out against all of the static and noise, the sheer number of restaurants that were in the city, it just drove the point home even further of how great of a chef Carmy really was. All the sacrifice seemed to be paying itself off, at least from what Pete could see.

Scrolling back up to the top of the page, Pete left it so that the article headline was in the center of his laptop screen. Picking his phone up off the table, he swiped and opened the camera. Paying no mind to the fact that it was nearly impossible to get a good and clear picture of a computer screen with a phone camera, Pete snapped a picture of the article open on his laptop screen. The smile stayed on his face the entire time as he opened up the text conversation that he had with Carmy. He didn’t pay any mind to how long it’d been since the last time one of them texted the other, or that all of their previous conversations were never initiated by Carmy.

He sent the picture attached to a message of, “Feel like I should set a Google alert for you or something man. Congratulations! Proud of you”. There was a faint whoosh sound of it being sent, and Pete gave a satisfied nod before setting his phone back down on the table again. He looked at the headline taking up his web browser one more time, smiling before clicking out of the tab. He left it lingering there while he went and finally started to pluck away at the emails waiting his attention.

It was about an hour later when Pete’s phone chimed. He angled it off the table just enough to see what the notification was, excited when he saw Carmy’s name on the screen. Expanding the notification, his smile dimmed but only slightly when he read the message in full, “Carmy liked “Feel like I should set a…””

Unlocking his phone, Pete brought himself right to the text message thread. He looked at the little thumbs-up that now appeared in the corner of the message he’d sent. Tapping on the message bar, he went to start typing again only to be met with the three little grey bubbles. He stopped, backspacing what little he’d just typed out, only for the bubbles to go away again. He waited, contemplating starting up another message. They did the same dance one more time before Pete locked and set his phone down, giving Carmy the opportunity to type out whatever it was that he wanted to say, even if he wasn’t ever going to hit send.

FOUR.) “I’m just sayin’,” Mikey started, trying to make it all sound like a joke even though there were layers of real frustration underneath, “of fuckin’ course Pete is the one who gets to see you at your big fancy fuckin’ restaurant.”

Carmy stopped what he was doing, confusion flooding over his face. Looking up from the braciole he was trying to help Mikey prep, he tried to figure out what the fuck his brother was talking about. “Wh-what the fuck are you talking about?”

Mikey laughed, snatching the meat that was laid out in front of Carmy so he could finish prepping it himself. He was willing to compromise and get together at Natalie’s place, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice all of his prep, too. “Fuck you, what am I talkin’ about. Talking about fuckin’ New York!”

Carmy didn’t know if he was more confused or angry at this point. Angry because he was confused. “Pete was never in fucking New—”

“Yeah,” Natalie finally spoke up, her tone showing just how much she hadn’t wanted this to come up, “he was.”

Carmy threw out a vague gesture with his hand. “When the fuck was he in New York?”

Natalie was taking a deep breath, getting ready to try and get a word in edge-wise about any of it. Carmy was going to have all these questions and he wasn’t going to wait for the answers to any of them. She hated it despite knowing it was something that they all had in common. She was leaning back against the kitchen counter, just about to spit out the first word of it, when the front door opened and a new voice came onto the scene.

“Happy Sunday, everybody!” Pete called out cheerfully as he made his way through the house.

He arrived at the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the look on Carmy’s face. He would get around to paying Carmy and Mikey some attention in a moment, but his first-stop-shop was always Natalie. A hug and a kiss. She didn’t say anything because she knew that she didn’t have to. Her brother would take care of that for her.

Pete finally turned to Carmy and Mikey. “Hey, guys, what’s—”

“When the fuck were you in New York?” Carmy jumped right down his throat.

Pete’s eyes popped open wider. “What?”

Carmy nodded towards his sister. “Sugar said you were in New York? Came, came to my fuckin’ restaurant? What the fuck?”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t, um, hm.” Pete knew that he hadn’t really done anything wrong, but he also knew that it wasn’t a simple situation. It was why he hadn’t said anything to Carmy about it before or after the fact.

Mikey was getting a kick out of all of it. “C’mon, Petey, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“It just—”

Carmy didn’t let the third word make it out. “I don’t get—you didn’t say anything? How, how long ago was that? How many times have I seen you since then?”

Pete blew out a puff of air, still trying to formulate his answer to one question at a time. “I was in New York for work,” he said, a little surprised he was able to get a whole sentence out without an interruption. “They wanted to do dinner after a meeting so—”

Two sentences in a row would’ve been too much, apparently. Carmy was a reactive dog pulling angrily at the end of his leash. “When the fuck was that?”

The gears in Pete’s brain jammed up for a moment, unable to recall the answer to such a straight-forward question. “Um, I—”

Natalie was the one interrupting this time, coming to Pete’s defense. “Maybe if you called and asked what any of us were up to, Bear, you’d fucking know when he was there.”

Carmy’s face scrunched as he flinched, like Natalie had tried to swat at him. “What? What the—” He motioned aggressively at Pete. “He comes to my fuckin’ restaurant and he couldn’t call? Or you?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t say that like you would’ve picked up.”

Pete’s eyes were darting back and forth, watching each verbal volley as it flew back and forth across the court between his wife and his brother-in-law. This time it felt like a bit more of an even match, maybe that was just because Pete was the guaranteed underdog. He couldn’t help but to look over at Mikey, who was apparently perfectly content to split his attention between prep and listening to his siblings bicker back and forth. He was shaking his head at the both of them, chuckling quietly as it went in one ear and out the other.

Pete’s eyes snapped back to Carmy at the harsh sound of his voice. “Well?”

He figured there was no use trying to repeat himself. If he was only going to get one sentence out at a time, he figured he should try to make it count rather than retracing what he’d already said. He tried not to think too much about the pinch of Carmy’s brows, a harshness that didn’t quite line up with the confusion that was all over the rest of his face.

“They were looking for a place to eat—we’d just closed a big deal. I knew your place would be good so…” he trailed off, not expecting to be able to actually finish his next sentence. “I just suggested it. I said that the chef was Food and Wine’s—”

Carmy’s head dropped back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. “God fucking dammit.”

“I didn’t say I knew you,” Pete offered up, wondering if that would do anything to come to his own defense. “They didn’t ask so I didn’t…If they knew they would’ve made you come out. So I didn’t.”

The anger on his face lessened but only slightly. His confusion was winning out for the moment. “Wh-why?”

The quiet laugh that slipped out of him was completely involuntary. The question itself wasn’t funny, necessarily, but he found himself letting out the laugh at how obvious the answer was. Carmy was so smart, Pete just thought they’d all instantly be on the same page about it despite the fact that he and Carmy hadn’t been on the same page about anything in the entire time they’d known each other.

He made a small gesture to all three siblings. “You guys hate it when people interrupt you in the kitchen. You get, you know,” he a narrowing motion with his hands, “in the zone.”

Carmy didn’t have an instant rebuttal for that. He stood there, annoyance on his face even though Pete had extended a kindness to him back then, and in a lot of ways continued to extend it every time that he didn’t bring it up. It wasn’t as though he was the one that Carmy wanted to talk to about those kinds of things. He wasn’t the one that Carmy wanted there, not really, but he was the one who had made it regardless.

There was a soft, knowing smile on Natalie’s face as she looked at Pete. The two of them had talked about it beforehand, they’d talked about it after. She knew exactly why Pete did what he’d done. Even if Carmy never wanted to take the time to be grateful for any of it, she was grateful on his behalf.

After a few tense seconds of silence, Pete spoke up again, speaking honestly because that was the only way he knew how. “It was really good, Carm. Like,” he chuckled softly, “really, really good.”

Carmy was stunned but was still trying to figure out a way to respond to what Pete had just said. He opened his mouth, unsure about whatever was going to come out when he finally got himself to make a sound. Everything in his internal hardwiring had him gearing up for a snippy comeback, something sarcastic and largely undeserved. For the first time in a long time, possibly ever, he found himself fighting against the instinct. He was trying to conjure up something that was positive, but he’d settle for something neutral.

He was taking a breath in, about to just force something out and hope for the best, when Mikey decided it was time for him to chime in again. “You’re right, Pete,” he started, pausing longer than needed knowing exactly what it was going to cause to race through Carmy’s mind, pausing just long enough for him to get his hopes up before continuing on with, “we all fuckin’ hate it when people interrupt us in the kitchen.” He looked over at Pete, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reflect in his eyes. “So let us get back to work here, will ya?”

“Yeah, yeah sure.” He made sure to give Natalie a kiss before making his way back out of the kitchen. “Do your thing,” he said, not a drop of malice in his voice as he went off to keep himself busy elsewhere.

FIVE.) It was just supposed to be dinner. Carmy was back in Chicago and in the midst of everything else, they were just going to try and have dinner. In the back of her head, Natalie knew that it probably wasn’t going to just be dinner. There was no just anything in their family. But she had to try—who would she be if she didn’t? It was nothing short of a miracle that Carmy agreed to show up in the first place, so there was no backing out of it at that point even if the endeavor was ill-fated from the start.

Someone should’ve had a stopwatch on-hand to see just how little time elapsed before things descended into arguing. Pete watched from the outskirts, not offering up his two cents since no one had asked for it. Natalie and Carmy were going at it as they both took care of things on the stove, which was stressful in and of itself. Sharp remarks and sharper knives.

“You all wanted me to fuckin’ come home,” Carmy said, exasperated. “And, and here I am. Still not fuckin’ good enough.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to! You didn’t have to fuckin’ say it. You’re pissed about the funeral, pissed about the restaurant,” he gestured to the pan that was sitting on top of the stove, “pissed I’m trying to help you fuckin—”

She held up her hand. “You’re not trying to help, okay? You’re just doing the same thing the two of you always do. You’re—”

“Who?”

“You and Mikey!”

Once she put the words out there, the air in the kitchen became twenty times heavier. Carmy stood there, stunned into silence. For a moment he couldn’t even try to stammer out a reply, too thrown by the reference to Mikey in the present, like he was there and about to walk into the kitchen to hijack her cooking plans. Like he was there, and that Carmy was like him.

Sugar raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to speak up, to fire back and keep it all going. When he didn’t utilize the couple extra seconds that she gave him, she scoffed. She tossed the fork in her hand onto the counter, the clatter of it the only other sound aside from the sizzling pan on the stove.

“You know what? Fine. You can cook it. You can cook it and you can go fuck yourself, Carm.” She shook her head and turned on her heel to exit the kitchen. She saw Pete in her peripheral as she made her way out. She wouldn’t have had to see him at all to know that he was going to try and say something to make things better, smooth them over like there was any possibility of that at this point. She waved him off before he could even think of the right words to say. “And fuck you too.”

He watched after her as she walked away, but he didn’t follow. He knew that she needed some time and space to be pissed off. Then, once she spit bullets for a little while, they would come back together and they would talk about it. At least, that’s how it worked when it was just the two of them. Carmy being there changed the playing field and Pete wasn’t sure how just yet.

Pete went from watching Natalie to watching Carmy, who at first was also staring at the space where Natalie had just been. He only lingered on it for a moment before the increasing volume from the stovetop rediverted his attention. He turned back, grabbing the fork that Natalie had discarded just moments before. He shook his head as he went back to cooking. He was in no mood to let the evening and the food both go to shit.

There was about twenty seconds between Carmy turning back to the stove and Pete walking over so that he was beside Carmy, leaning against the counter that was kitty corner to it. Twenty seconds didn’t sound like a long time until it was spent in silence staring at the back of Carmy’s head as he continued to cook. It almost would’ve seemed like he was trying to get things back to normal if he hadn’t been shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. Pete couldn’t quite make out what he was saying as he walked over, not that it would’ve really made much of a difference either way.

Pete let his fingers curl around the edge of the counter as he leaned back against it. He saw it when Carmy caught him out of the corner of his eye and made a point not to say anything. Instead, he stayed busy keeping his eyes locked on the pan in front of him, keeping the sauteed garlic and onions inside it moving just enough so that they wouldn’t burn.

Knowing that Carmy could stand there in silence much longer than he could, Pete decided to break the stalemate. “It’s just been—”

“Don’t,” Carmy tried to stop him before he really got started. “You, you don’t gotta try and fuckin’, explain or apologize for her or whatever. Sugar…she can do it herself.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Pete said simply, not aggressive or defensive. Even if he wanted to be, he knew that it wasn’t going to get him anywhere with the man standing in front of him. He saw the disbelieving look on Carmy’s face even with the honesty. “I’m not. I’m just saying…it’s been a lot. And she’s been alone. Like, she has me but—”

“Yeah, she has you. She’s not fuckin’ alone.”

Pete didn’t let the bite in Carmy’s tone break the skin. “She’s felt really alone because of all of it. But I’m sure, you know, I’m sure you’ve felt alone too.”

Carmy clenched his jaw, anger dangerously close to boiling over. “Pete, I’m telling you, just, just shut the fuck up. I’m not talking about this with you.”

“I’m just saying,” Pete repeated, eyes fixed on Carmy’s profile. “You both lost him. And it wasn’t easy, and I know that’s probably why you didn’t come to—”

“Stop!” Carmy snapped, throwing the fork not unlike Natalie had a couple minutes before. “It’s, it’s not your fuckin’ problem, Pete, alright? You, you don’t know fuckin’ shit about—”

“I’m not saying I do, but Carm—”

There was something about the heartfelt nature behind Pete’s words that felt almost saccharine, like they left a sugary residue across Carmy’s teeth. Genuine concern was so rare to come by in their family, expressed so blatantly at least, that it felt like just a different type of trap. It didn’t matter that Pete had no history of laying traps, of pulling the rug out from underneath anyone. The warmth in the way Pete said his name felt scalding.

Carmy was white-knuckling the handle of the frying pan in his hand. “I’m not doing this with you right now, with, with either of you.” He saw the way Pete drew in a breath, prepping to try and say something else understanding and comforting and he didn’t want that, didn’t know how to handle that. All the feelings and thoughts finally bubbled over. “He wasn’t your fuckin’ brother, so it’s not your fuckin’ problem!”

Without thinking, Carmy thrust the pan out of his hand, sending it clattering against the stove and slightly onto the counter from the force. The contents and oil splattered everywhere—around the burners, across the countertops, and, unfortunately, onto Pete’s arm. He hissed, cursing under his breath from the pain, but all Carmy could do was stand there and watch, frozen all over again as Pete threw the faucet on and ran cold water over his arm.

The loud clatter was what drew Natalie back to the kitchen, anger still clear on her face. “What the fuck—oh my god!” It took her no time at all to put together what had happened in her absence. She looked at her husband, taking a brief look at his arm, “Pete, I—” Her anger won out over her worry as she whipped back around to Carmy. “Get the fuck out.” She didn’t yell, but her voice was harsh, filled to the brim with anger like she was a pressure cooker on the brink of exploding. “Now. Get the fuck out of my house right now.”

Carmy was in no mood or headspace to argue. He also didn’t realize that he was even making his way towards the door, his body moving independently from his mind. Mentally he was still staring at the mess across Natalie’s counter and stove, mentally he was still back in New York getting a phone call saying that his brother died, mentally he was trapped in Donna’s house on Christmas with a dozen relatives breathing down his neck about why he didn’t come home more often. Then suddenly he was standing outside on Natalie’s doorstep getting slammed by a cold gust of wind.

Inside, Natalie pulled Pete’s arm out from underneath the stream of water so that she could get a better look at it. “That little fucking…” she trailed off, shaking her head like she couldn’t decide just what name she felt like calling him in that moment when so many applied.

“It’s fine,” Pete said, the wince in his expression instantly negating the statement.

“It’s not fine.”

“It was just a lot for everyone, that’s all. I’ll just,” he shrugged as Natalie pushed his arm back under the water, “go to Urgentcare. They’ll take care of it for me and it’ll be alright. They’ll probably just give me—”

“This wasn’t okay,” she said, eyes glued to Pete’s arm. “None…none of this is okay.”

Pete frowned as Natalie leaned against him. Letting out a breath, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his arm, he let his head drop so that he could place a kiss against the top of her head.

ONE.) Pete stood outside the door to The Bear, manilla folders gripped tightly in his hand. It was the one thing that Natalie said he could actually do for her in that moment to make her life easier. He’d do anything if she asked, and this seemed on the surface to be a simple errand. And yet he was still hesitating out on the sidewalk.

Tucking the folders under his arm, he reached and pulled the restaurant door open. The eating area was empty so early in the day, and Pete knew that it would be but it still felt strange to see it that way. He couldn’t remember if he had ever been inside there outside business hours. They never really needed him to be.

He could see through the thin strip of window that there were people already prepping in the kitchen. He didn’t see Carmy among them, and he knew that he was most likely going to have to walk through the kitchen to get to him at the office. He’d never set foot in the back of the house, not when it was The Beef, and not since it had become The Bear either. It seemed silly to harp on but it mattered. He knew it mattered.

Nervous or not he had to go in and drop off paperwork for Natalie. She’d taken care of everything, and all Carmy had to do was put a signature on them and hand them off to the guy when he showed up. And all Pete had to do was hand them off to Carmy since Natalie was too pregnant and too exhausted to think about getting out of bed and putting real shoes on her very achy and swollen feet. After another round of trying to keep her breakfast down and not being able to, Pete asked what he could do, and she said that if he could play mailman for the day that would be super fucking helpful, actually. So, there he was.

He let himself into the kitchen, almost tip-toeing even though that didn’t really make much of a difference about anything. He didn’t recognize some of the chefs that were there. If they said their names, he would probably know them based off stories that Natalie told him, but other than that they were just strangers to him.

He couldn’t hide the relief when he saw Tina. He walked over closer to her, stopping so that he wasn’t so close that he would throw her off what she was doing. “T—hey, Tina.”

Turning, her confusion morphed into a smile when she looked at him. “Hey, Pete. What are you doing here? Natalie okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah she’s good. Just,” he chuckled with a smile, “pregnant. Like, super pregnant.”

Tina laughed. “I remember that.”

Clearing his throat, Pete asked, “Is, uh, is Carmy around? I got,” he held up the folders, “these for him.”

She nodded in the direction of the office. “He’s back there.”

“Thank you. Keep, uh, keep up the good work,” he offered with a smile.

Tina chuckled, shaking her head affectionately at him as he walked away. “We will.”

The door to the office was open, but Pete still knocked against it anyway. Carmy looked up from the papers that he was staring at, already saying, “Yeah?” before he saw who it was in the doorway. When he saw it was Pete, his exhaustion shifted, turning to equal parts tiredness and confusion. “Pete?”

“Hey,” he said, almost stepping into the office before he stopped himself. “Can I?”

Carmy nodded, motioning for him to come in as he turned in the chair so that he was facing Pete head-on. “What’s up?”

“Nat said that you needed these?” He held the folders out for him to take, only continuing once he did so. “Said that the guy was supposed to be coming by today.”

Carmy flipped them open, nodding in recognition as he read the forms. “Right, right. Fuck. Thank, thank you.” He looked back up at Pete. “Sugar alright?”

Pete shrugged with a nod that was as noncommittal as he could manage. “Yeah, I mean, you know, she’s—”

“Super pregnant and fuckin’ hormonal and angry?”

Pete smiled and shook his head. “Very pregnant. Very uncomfortable.”

“Kicked you out of the house for the day?”

“I offered.”

“To leave?” Carmy asked in jest.

Pete cracked a small grin but he still corrected Carmy. “To help.”

Carmy drummed his fingers on the folders. “Very helpful, yes. Thank you.”

Pete motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “First time seeing the kitchen. You guys are, like, the real deal back here.”

Carmy chuckled, a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue that he managed to bite back. “Working on it.” He paused, staring at the black and white print of the forms but not really reading any of it. “How’s it compare to New York?” he asked.

“What?”

“You’re the only one who’s been to both of my restaurants, so,” he looked up at Pete, “how’s it compare to New York?”

It was the first time that Carmy ever brought up the fact that Pete went to his spot in the city. Pete didn’t think that he was ever going to bring it up again, let alone bring it up so casually. It caught him off-guard and it almost felt like a trick. This was a question that definitely had a wrong and a right answer.

Pete chose his words carefully. “You worked at your spot in New York and it was great. But this,” he gestured to the office and the space beyond it, “this is yours, you know? It’s your spot. And you can…you can tell.”

Carmy allowed himself to smile, allowed himself to take the compliment. He forced himself not to twist Pete’s words in his head. “Glad you can tell.”

A beat passed before Pete spoke up again. “Need me to tell Natalie anything or…?”

Carmy shook his head. “No, no. No, I think we’re, uh, I think we’re all good. Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Pete nodded as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his vest. “I’ll just, uh, let myself—”

He spoke up when he saw Pete take a step backwards towards the doorway. “Hey, Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks…thanks for this. For this and um, you know, always, always taking care of Sugar.” He paused as he nodded, like he was trying to come up with kind words to say to him, a foreign act. “We’re all, uh, she’s really lucky to have you, you know?”

Pete heard it all, what he did and didn’t say. His smile stretched wider. “Thanks, Carm.”

[fanwork-exchange-promos]

Candy Hearts Exchange

Candy Hearts is a multifandom gift exchange with a low minimum and a focus on relationships, both platonic and romantic/sexual. It is inspired by Chocolate Box and will not run if Chocolate Box is running.

The schedule for 2023/2024:

Nominations Open: December 20, 12:01 AM Nominations Close: December 27, 11:59 PM Signups Open: January 1, 12:01 AM Signups Close: January 7, 11:59 PM Assignments Out By: January 9, 11:59 PM Works Due: February 7, 11:59 PM Works Revealed: February 14, 7:00 PM Creators Revealed: February 21, 7:00 PM

All times are in Eastern Standard Time (EST).

Schedule, Rules + Updates

Tagset nominations

Exchange Collection

[undercat-overdog]

Thinking of a wrap-up for 2023, and it is only right and proper to do a rec list! I've read very little this year, but I do have some fantastic fics to rec: the wonderful gifts that I've received! All by wonderful authors, with a blanket rec for their works, but my heart is of course especially given to these.

You should read them.

In reverse chronological order:

Untitled, by @aipilosse, a wonderful fill to a prompt ask: some Aredhel/Turgon forbidden love, and ah poor Aredhel! Delicious sibcest! [aredhel/turgon, not on ao3 but maybe teen and no archive warnings apply]

tree-tangled, by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor Tentacles! Entacles! Celebrimbor being boytoyed by an entwife! I never dreamed of this, but I should have because it's everything I ever wanted - trees deserve to get laid too! [celeborn/celebrimbor/entwife, explicit, no archive warnings apply, 2.2k]

In Forsaken Lands, by @jouissants Written for the Silmarillion Remix Exchange. Idril, her uncle, and partings, on the Helcaraxe and beyond, which such a lovely portrayal of all characters! [idril, turgon, finrod, general, no archive warnings apply, 1.8k]

mock your own grinning, by @jouissants Written for the Candy Hearts exchange, and it was exactly what I wanted! Sauron and his unique relationship with Celebrimbor's corpse and (very attractive) skull, with wonderful dark humor! [silvergifting, mature, major character death, 3.5k]

The Precious Baby Phenomenon Unpacked: A Treatise on Obstetric Care in The Returned by I.L. Finwiel and the Istar Institute, by @herenortherenearnorfar Specifically the third chapter (though I linked to the entire fic). Accidental baby-gollum acquisition: hilarious and amazing and touching! [silvergifting & gollum, general, no archive warnings apply, 6k]

The Gold Are Venomous' by @aipilosse. This is technically cheating since it was published on 12/29/2022, but that's less than a year ago and I can't not rec it! In which dreams of snekron and also fucking in a coat closet were achieved 🐍 [silvergifting, explicit, no archive warnings apply, 3.2k]

For one self-rec, I need to go with Shall These Bones Live, which remains my baby. Post-canon silvergifting, and I'm fairly certain it's the only one with Original Proto-Ent Character(s). Idk, I think it's good and worth a rec! (especially once you get past the first chapter). [silvergifting, mature, choose not to warn, 105k]

May everyone have a joyful 2024, with lots of good things to read 💙

[diana-fortyseven]

Sign-ups for the Candy Hearts Exchange are now open!

One fandom minimum offer/request. You can find the full rules here in this post.

If you're interested in offering/requesting Hitman, I've nominated Agent 47/Diana Burnwood, Agent 47/Lucas Grey, Diana Burnwood/Lucas Grey, and while I was at it also Agent 47/Diana Burnwood/Lucas Grey (because why not, it stays in the family).

I'll probably sign up if at least one more Hitman person joins. :D

(If you're more interested in a Hitman-only Valentine's event: Hitman Valentine's Date is running again this year! Tagset nominations will open this week, stay tuned and follow @hitmanexchange so you don't miss it!)

[kirstinmdarling]

in the nest of eclipses

What determination can be found between Pisces and Libra? If it seems dreamy, it's because it is—on the surface..

Libra floats upon the surface of Pisces. We may consider Libra the force that moves cotton-candy clouds along the skyline.

Eclipses exchange events for time to move forward. Change in life often requires a leap—or sometimes a push—like the Fool stepping off the ledge.

Astrologers can predict the event, the area of life it affects, how it unfolds for you, and the emotions it may evoke. Knowing of the fall doesn’t mean that we don’t have to

Libra in definition

Libra, a sign of daylight's positive charge, is both hot and moist. It ushers in the autumnal change in the Northern Hemisphere, while in the South, it marks the time of bursting spring. Fluidity and dynamic expression embody Venusian softness, artistry, and touches of beauty. Chatty and distinguished in eire. Libra exists in the realm of the tightrope walker—a delicate balancing act of fortune.

Pisces in definition

Pisces, a sign of the night's negative exchange, it’s both cold and moist. A chilling fog with technicolor specters, it molds the winter's melt of longer days into mossy beds and algea groves. The combination of sensitivity and variability creates a spectrum of expressive sentiments that are receptive and in the moment. Jupiter's gifts of boundlessness encourage the idealism needed to manipulate dreams themselves.

New Cycles Start With An End

Lunar eclipses traditionally mark the culmination of an ending, as they occur during the full moon. On September 17th, we experienced the first Pisces eclipse of the next ecliptic exchange, setting our path for North Node amplification in 2025. The North Node is traditionally ruled by our benefices—Venus and Jupiter. The energy of this mathematical point attracts and pulls in, symbolized as the head of the dragon that radically consumes. There is intellect here, but it’s a heartless intellect.

In the house of life that Pisces occupies, this marker revisits the same two-year theme that triggered changes in your life from 2006 to 2008. This eclipse brought you back to the chapter of 2008, but for who you are today. If you're too young to remember that dreamy peak, look to see which house Pisces governs in your chart.

Mercury Cazimi

Revealing secrets and spilling the tea is Mercury's specialty. On September 30th, we'll gain insight through revelations from our chatty celestial traveler as it descends into the heart of the Sun. This Mercury Cazimi brings bursts of insight and balance, occurring at 8 degrees in a tight conjunction with the South Node. Days later, the eclipse follows at 10 degrees. As the messenger of the heavens, Mercury will share the crux of the matter for this Solar eclipse, purifying our channels of communication for the new beginnings taking shape.

Solar Eclipse and Nodal Exchange

October 2nd will mark a total solar eclipse in Libra at 10 degrees, falling in the second decan ruled by Saturn in Pisces. I adore the layering of this eclipse—if one can, in fact, love an eclipse.

On eclipse days, it's always best to take it easy. Don't do anything if you don't have to. Amplify your self-care and take time to check in with yourself.

This eclipse ushers in elements of a spooky atmosphere. While we may enjoy this aesthetically, experiencing it as a lived reality is an entirely different matter. Generally speaking, this is not what we typically associate with Libra. However, let's examine why I'm making this assertion.

You already know what the North Node in Libra has been adjusting in your life to bring forth into life. And solar eclipses are here for the radical starts. Your time line of reference points is around Oct 24, 2023 & Mar 25, 2024.

The energy is swift and precise, aiming for longevity, though you may not fully grasp its effects until later. Venus, isolated, functions like a sticky-sweet goo adorned in Scorpio's black lace—spiky and damp. Mars, its ruler, is also actively in fall, creating a truly unsettling night of dysregulation. For some, this energy is easier to navigate because their natal chart contains placements and aspects that make them familiar with such intensity.

The eclipse occurs in the 2nd Decan of Libra, influenced by Saturn's presence in Pisces. This combination of energies evokes imagery reminiscent of atmospheric horror films like "Dark City," but viewed through a softer lens. The enjoyment we can derive from this stems from understanding the terrain we've been navigating. We're now receiving a kickstart, while the South Node channels away the excess energy.

Area of Life based on Rising Sign

Libra - self, mind, appearance, character

Virgo - resources, labor and self worth, material possessions

Leo - communication, daily life, siblings, dreams

Cancer - private life, home, parents

Gemini - pleasures, creativity, children

Taurus - work and employees, health, pets,

Aries - partnerships

Pisces - inheritance, occult

Aquarius - higher education and schools of thought, travel and cultural emersion

Capricorn - public life and legacy

Sagittarius - community

Scorpio - hidden parts of life