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alliedbiscuit · 3 years ago

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msr fic / s7 post-closure but pre-all things / wc: 3398

Scully takes Maggie out for a birthday dinner, and you'll never guess who they run into.

************

“So, how are feeling about dessert?” the waiter asks hopefully.

Maggie Scully scoffs. “Oh, no. I couldn’t eat another bite. Maybe just a cup of coffee? Decaf, please.”

“Mom, are you sure? You should get dessert,” Dana Scully prods, stopping herself short before she could let it slip, “It’s your birthday!” The last gift her mother would appreciate is a gaggle of underpaid waiters singing some public-domain-compliant version of a birthday song while the whole restaurant turns its attention toward her. Like mother, like daughter.

Well, the daughter made an exception and found that kind of thing charming exactly once. But at least she got a nice keychain out of it. All her mother would get was humiliation and a chocolate lava cake.

As soon as the waiter leaves to fetch their after dinner coffees, Maggie reveals her true intentions.

“I was thinking we could go to that ice cream parlor down the street. If I’m going to indulge, I think I want a hot fudge sundae. Or maybe we could split a banana split?”

“Or you could get a hot fudge sundae and I could get a banana split, and we could split both,” Scully suggests.

“See, that’s why you work for the FBI.”

“Dessert Conflict Resolution was part of my training at Quantico.”

Both Scullys giggle.

“Does Fox have the same specialty? Or is that what you bring to the team?”

“Mulder’s dessert strategy is just to eat everything and then swim a mile and run five the next day. No, he’s a Takeout Menu Marksman, though. He knows where to order from and what to order so it travels the best and doesn’t get cold and congealed by the time it arrives. Might sound like a trivial skill, but it’s a lifesaver on movie night.”

Maggie continues smiling but cocks her head slightly. Dana realizes why almost instantly.

“You have movie night?”

“It’s not a set thing or anything. We just…if we’re not busy with a case.”

“You just watch movies? As coworkers?”

“As friends.”

“Just friends?”

Dana lets out a long sigh as she stares her mother down. Her mother, maintaining that gentle yet challenging grin. Dana considers her response carefully. She could offer a simple yes because that is the fact of the matter. They are just friends. She could criticize the wording choice. “Just” friends? Why does it have to be “just” friends? As if friendship isn’t somehow enough or isn’t valuable?

She could realize it’s her mother’s birthday and she’s the only other Scully woman left to confide in about matters of the heart, and although she doesn’t want to bring up the New Year’s kiss because she still doesn’t really know what it meant, maybe they both need this little gift of honesty, filled with tempered excitement and promise.

“For now,” Dana Scully finally admits.

Maggie’s grin grows as Scully just shakes her head and manages to keep her slight eye roll from reaching embarrassed teenager level. The waiter does bail her out a bit by choosing that moment to deliver their coffees.

“How is Fox doing? After his mother…” Maggie trails off, but her daughter knows not to expect any more specifics.

“Better? I mean, as well as can be expected. The thing is, right after that, he found out some more about his sister. About what happened to her. It was just so much all at once. I was really worried…”

Maggie reaches across the table to lay a hand on hers.

“But, it was almost like he was ready for it. He finally had some answers. Like it brought him some peace.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah. He needed that.”

“We all do.”

*************

Maggie is the one to spot him first as they’re heading for the door.

“Is that- is that Fox?” she asks her daughter.

“What? No, he wouldn't…” Dana trails off as she looks straight ahead to where her mother was indicating and confirms that it is indeed Fox Mulder, standing with his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained to the floor as he appears to be waiting near the vestibule for the restrooms.

“Mulder?” Scully questions as she approaches, her voice giving away her confusion and growing concern.

His head darts up in surprise, but a beaming smile of recognition quickly overtakes his face.

“Hey, Scully! Mrs. Scully, it’s so nice to see you!”

“You too, Fox,” Maggie kindly replies, although a quick glance to her daughter confirms her suspicion that Dana is still very confused by his presence.

“Did you…did you need something?” She suddenly feels silly for presuming that he must have come there with urgent news or a case or something, but why else would Fox Mulder be at Petrino’s on a Saturday night? Did his informants trade in clandestine meetings in parking garages for family-style Italian?

“Hmm?” Mulder asks.

“You didn’t come here to find me? I told you I was bringing my mom here for her birthday, didn’t I?” He didn’t look like he had rushed to the restaurant from the office or his apartment as she had originally assumed. He had clearly shaved and combed his hair nicely. He wore an olive green sweater with dark blue jeans and a black wool pea coat rather than his leather jacket. He had definitely made an effort.

“You did, but I thought you were going out tomorrow night on her actual birthday. Happy birthday, by the way, Mrs. Scully.”

“Thank you, Fox. I’m going to have lunch with some ladies from church after mass tomorrow, so I asked Dana if we could do Saturday night instead.”

“Ah. What a weird coincidence then. I can’t believe we didn’t see you at all during dinner.”

We.

Oh God.

Mulder was on a date.

Mulder was on a date in this restaurant on the night he thought Scully wasn’t going to be there. Mulder was on a date right after Scully had confessed to her mother (and herself) that their “just friends” status was in the process of changing. Mulder was on a date right after he’d been through so much pain but seemed to come out lighter and more open and he wanted to share it with someone…who wasn’t Dana Scully.

“So, you’ve already eaten then?” Maggie asks since her daughter appears unable to form a coherent statement at the moment.

“Yeah, we just finished. I’m just waiting for her…” he seems to trail off just to motion towards the restroom rather than say anything indelicate, but then he notices Maggie’s poorly masked look of concern toward Dana, and then he notices Dana’s completely unmasked look of shock.

And then he gets it.

“Oh, no! It’s not…I want you to meet her,” Mulder insists as he grabs a hold of both of Scully’s elbows and then glances anxiously toward the restroom door.

Dana Scully looks like she might be ill.

Thankfully Mulder only stammers a moment longer until the restroom door opens and he finds reprieve when a tall, thin woman appearing to be in her mid-60s walks through the door.

“Aunt Helen,” Mulder calls.

Somehow Scully’s eyes manage to get even wider as some of the color returns to her face.

“Aunt Helen, there are a few people I’d really like you to meet. This is my partner, Dana Scully, and this is her mother, Margaret Scully.”

Aunt Helen smiles widely in recognition, first shaking Maggie’s hand and then Dana’s. “It is such a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard such wonderful things.”

She lingers with her hand holding Dana’s while she says this, and the younger Scully is left blushing. She hazards a look at Mulder, but he doesn’t look embarrassed by this revelation. He holds her gaze with nothing but pride.

“This is my aunt, Helen Briggs. She’s my mom’s sister. She’s visiting for the weekend from Charlotte.”

They all kind of marvel over the fact that they were in the same restaurant and what a coincidence and oh, we were seated near the back bar, that must be why we didn’t see you and Scully is just starting to feel her pulse return to normal as Aunt Helen laments not having a chance to talk with the Scullys.

“Well, Dana and I skipped dessert so we could go to The Big Dipper for some ice cream. Would you two like to join us?”

“Oh, that would be lovely. As long as we’re not intruding,” says Aunt Helen.

“Not at all,” Scully assures her. “There is one catch, though.”

“It’s not real ice cream. It’s that Tofutti nonsense, isn’t it?” Mulder groans.

“It better not be,” Maggie insists. “I don’t know how she eats that stuff.”

Scully ignores her mother and her partner’s bad mouthing of her frozen treats as she returns her attention to Aunt Helen.

“I’m afraid if you want to come along, you will have to reveal a few good Young Mulder stories. And by ‘a few,’ I mean as many as you’ve got. And by ‘good,’ I mean the more embarrassing the better.”

“I’ll start thinking now,” Aunt Helen laughs.

“I knew I should’ve picked a different restaurant,” Mulder says regretfully.

***********

They’ve just sat down to a small, round table for four with their ice cream when Mulder stands up to get them all more napkins, and Aunt Helen retrieves a small, rectangular piece of paper from her purse that she then deftly slides to Dana.

“Oh my god!” Scully exclaims with joy.

Staring back at her from the paper is a very young Fox Mulder. She guesses he must be around 8 or 9 in the school photo. His long, sandy brown hair falls just above his eyebrows. He doesn’t have his distinctive nose yet, but his bottom lip is already a little pouty. The real give away is the eyes. He’s grinning for the camera, but his eyes still have that soulfulness, that slight sadness.

She’s surprised. She knows she shouldn’t be. His eyes didn’t suddenly change when Samantha was taken. His eyes were probably always like that.

But she had always assumed that the great tragedy had flipped a switch for Young Fox Mulder. That before that single event, he had certainly been a perfectly happy child. Funny and athletic, popular for sure. But the humor developed as a defense mechanism later in life. And the sports were a great physical release as well as an excuse to be out of the house as much as possible. She didn’t actually know what he was like before, but now that she thought about it, home life was probably never all that great if it eventually led to a father sacrificing one child and leaving the other to always live with the guilt and loss.

It was very possible that Fox Mulder had always been a little boy with a lot on his mind.

In contrast, present day, adult Fox Mulder looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world as he returns with extra napkins, ready to tuck into his chocolate peanut butter ice cream in a waffle cone – that is until he realizes what his friend and partner Dana Scully is looking at.

“Oh come on. I was gone for thirty seconds, and you have the visual aids out.”

Scully continues to beam as Maggie finally gets a glimpse of the photo in her hand.

“Oh, Fox!”

“Okay,” Mulder said exasperatedly. “Does this meet your embarrassment quota?” he asks, looking pointedly at Scully.

“Not even close! This isn’t embarrassing. It’s adorable!”

Mulder rolls his eyes but can’t hide his bashful grin at her comment.

“It’s only fair, Fox. I know you’ve seen family photos of Dana at my house,” Mrs. Scully says, sounding like a mother well practiced in settling disputes between children.

“Just a couple. I do like that high school graduation picture, though. I still don’t know how you kept your cap on with all that hair.”

“That was the style back then. Everybody teased their hair and used a ton of hairspray.”

“I thought it might be a religious thing at Catholic school. The higher the hair, the closer to God,” Mulder teases.

Maggie and Aunt Helen chuckle, though the latter gives him a good-natured swat on the arm in admonishment.

“See, this is what I need, though. I need something from the teen years. That’s peak embarrassment fodder,” Scully says.

“If you ask our colleagues, I think my peak embarrassment fodder would come from about 1991 to present,” Mulder points out.

Aunt Helen just looks slightly regretful. “I’m afraid I don’t have many stories from those years, Dana.”

Mulder makes eye contact with Aunt Helen. “You didn’t miss much,” he insists. She looks like she wants to debate him, but he just places a hand on hers reassuringly, and they seem to make a silent agreement to not argue the point any further.

Mulder had never really mentioned any other family before. She knew his grandparents had all passed before she met him, but she had assumed, just like with everything else, that any other extended family connections had disappeared along with Samantha. That no one would know how to comfort and console The Mulders in a situation like that, with no explanation.

His aunts and uncles must have had questions, probably even had their own theories. Did his mother’s side suspect his father’s involvement, or did his father’s side blame his mother somehow? Did any of them blame…no, she couldn’t go down that route. Besides, did anyone ever suspect horrific things like that before the days of cable news and supermarket tabloids?

The point is, it was a tense situation, so Scully assumed they had all done what wealthy white people in places like Martha’s Vineyard and Boston and Raleigh did with any uncomfortable subject – they avoided it completely.

And that meant avoiding the little boy with a lot on his mind as he became a teenager with even more on his mind.

Scully had accompanied Mulder to a small burial service for his mother in Raleigh a few months ago. It was just the service. No gathering or dinner after, or at least not one that Mulder told her about. The attendees at the service were all pretty spread out, not much mingling. Again, it was another sudden loss shrouded in mystery. They all avoided particulars as much as they could.

Scully didn’t remember seeing Aunt Helen that day, but maybe she was there and just couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Maybe she wasn’t there because she couldn’t bring herself to go and then regretted it. Dana Scully didn’t know, and it didn’t actually matter. The point is that she’s here now. And that’s exactly what Mulder’s look of reassurance and acceptance seems to say.

It seems to help her perk up because she offers playfully, “Oh, what about that summer on Quonochontaug? I think you were 9 or so, and you were collecting leaves for one of your Indian Guide badges.”

“Oh god!”

“I’m hooked already. Not to jump ahead, but please tell me there’s poison ivy involved,” Scully says gleefully.

Aunt Helen’s bark of laughter and Mulder’s exaggerated eye roll are all the confirmation she needs.

“It was heavily involved! But that’s not the worst part. While he was working on his Leaf Collecting badge, he also earned credit towards his Wildlife badge when he came across a skunk in the woods.”

“No!” Scully shouts.

“Ivyed and skunked at the same time,” Mulder admits.

“Oh you poor thing,” Maggie adds sympathetically, but with barely contained laughter.

“He had to jump right from a tomato juice bath for the skunk smell…”

“Which didn’t work!”

“…into an oatmeal bath for the itching.”

“Which worked better, but I still smelled like a Grateful Dead concert.”

Both Scullys are full on giggling at this point.

“Do you remember what Grandpa Ralph said when he walked in and saw you and mom dunking me in a tub of oatmeal?” Mulder asks.

Aunt Helen pitches her voice deeper and amps up her Southern twang, “Why don’t cha dip him in some egg and flour next? We toss him in the frying pan, we got supper! We’re havin’ Fried Fox tonight!”

Now they’re all in hysterics. Even the man who usually hates his given name can’t help but laugh along, especially when it makes his lovely company so happy.

*****************

Scully enters the basement office Monday morning to find Mulder already there, flipping through an open drawer in the filing cabinet.

“Good morning,” she says cheerfully.

He looks up and smiles. “Good morning. Long time no see.”

“How was the rest of your weekend? Did you guys do any sightseeing or anything?”

“No, we just had a late breakfast yesterday before I took her to the airport, but it was good to catch up some more. She told me to thank you again for letting us tag along for ice cream. It was really nice.”

“It was,” Scully agrees.

Mulder appears to be considering something for a moment before he crosses over to the desk and picks up a small envelope.

“She also told me to give this to you,” he says almost bashfully, extending the envelope in Scully’s direction. “She told me I couldn’t look inside, and I didn’t. But I think I know what’s in there, and if I’m right, you don’t have to keep it. You can just leave it here on the desk.”

Well, now she’s intrigued. Scully opens the envelope to find a small handwritten note at the top.

“I thought you might like these. I have plenty more too, if you’d ever like to see them or want any more stories. Please don’t be a stranger.”

Scully lifts up the note to see the remaining contents inside and finds a small stack of photographs, a mixture of more school photos along with a few wallet-sized family portraits and a couple candids taken on the beaches of the Vineyard or Rhode Island, she can’t tell. But she sees the same set of eyes in all of them.

She looks back to read the rest of the note.

“I’m so glad I got to meet you, Dana. Take care!”

Below Aunt Helen’s elegant signature, she has also written her home address and phone number. Scully will have to call and thank her.

“She tried to give some to me,” Mulder explains, “but I didn’t really want…and like I said, you don’t have to…”

“No, I’d like to keep them,” Dana insists.

Mulder lets her statement hang in the air for a moment, but he can’t help but diffuse it.

“You just want more blackmail material.”

“Something like that,” Scully says teasingly, but there’s no bite behind it.

“I knew I should’ve picked a different restaurant.”

She chuckles lightly as she shuffles the photos into a neat stack to place back in the envelope, thinking that this is the point where they get back to work. Mulder stays standing in front of her and appears to be considering something again. Does he have another envelope that he’s afraid to give her?

“You know it was pure luck that we ended up at Petrino’s the same night as you. I actually gave Aunt Helen a few options and let her choose. I was pushing more for that Thai place in Arlington, just off Old Dominion. The one that’s been there forever,” Mulder explains.

“Oh, the one with the secret menu? I’ve still never been there. Can’t say I’m surprised that Aunt Helen wasn’t up for Thai food, though.”

“Yeah. Fair point,” Mulder nods for a moment too long before continuing. “Would you like to go there sometime? Like this Saturday? With me?”

Scully slowly looks up from the envelope to see Mulder’s face because in all matters, other than the divine, Dana Scully needs to see to believe. And the slightly nervous yet gentle grin that she finds allows her to believe it to be true – Fox Mulder has just asked her out on a real date.

“I would like that,” Scully says gently.

“Good. You wanna say 7:30? Or we can always figure out time later,” Mulder states, aiming for practicality to keep him from grinning like a complete idiot. He ends up grinning like a moderate idiot, but he’s okay with that.

“Sounds good.”

Yep, Scully will definitely have to call Aunt Helen and thank her.

#msr fanfic #txf fanfic #msr #mulder and scully #dana scully #maggie scully #fox mulder

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tizzymcwizzy · 3 years ago

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wip game!! :D

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!) I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? Dnd campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

thanks @zivazivc @anna-scribbles and @carpisuns for tagging me! this is really good timing cause i have SO fucking many wips that im working on rn hddhhd

also! im gonna be leaving for vacation today! so! i may answer your ask tomorrow and not rn cause i need to get on a plane! dhdhhdJDJDHFG please feel free to send lots of asks about multiple tho, there's too many of these

(some date back to around 2019 some are very recent as of like, yesterday)

DIVIDED BY FANDOM AND TYPE:

miraculous ladybug

ART WIPS:

adrinette cuddle hours

horror

jumpscare

recognized

marichat cuddles

rings (on makeup file)

marichat painting nails

dump and stuff

digital redraws

chat noir comic

DUMP (sketches)

DUMP (memora)

whose woods these are marichat

tizzy's wips

disguise

more dump

letters

fashion kids

thinking of family

trapped

ladymonk designs

marichat romeo juliet

ghost of your past

don't ask me what this means

nightgown adrien

mlb x toh crossover

FICS:

asnyr (a stranger's new years resolution)

FINALLY THE LIBRARY AU

plus one

memora

the whisps decide her fate

villain au 2.0

when i wake there you are, just for me

it's you

of flowers and feathers

he could handle this

"we're not like everyone else," felix said

adrien bitching at his dad blurb

"god, and the fact that I would let her,"

ladymonk

POETRY:

oh to the truest love of things

how i knew it was over

ladynoir kissing poetry

she says i love you

oh dear god what is it to be a man in love

the owl house

ART WIPS:

hollow mind

hunter sketchdump

get yo girl bitch

outfits

lumity kiss

mlb x toh crossover

toh and at dumps

hunter redraw doodle

waffle house

(the following are from the past week)

truama talk

sandwich

give me your hand

makeover

makeover dump

hit him in a heartbeat now

something that you once where

white boy wednesday

he's a hunter

leave him alone

FICS/CONCEPTS:

late night walks through a green wood

memories of most exquisite anguish

"oh my goodness, Philip? Is that you?"

hexsquad motorcycle

hunters journey down the knee notes

POETRY:

there's this string that ties us together

is this what it's like to be loved without condition?

personal/other

skid and mari

untitled

snales

ocs

class 3

him

SNAIL WIP

last girl

the seamstress

weird

danny testing

class 5

stuff

GUY

whatever the fuck

marcie

dilves

CHRIST that was long,, anyway there's no way in hell i can tag enough people so ill abstain dfghhhff feel free to do this if you want to tho!

#when i tell you there are so many of these i meant there are SO many of these dhdhhdjdjf #tizzy talks #ask game #wip ask game #and i also mean it when i say ask for multiple cause for some of these i wouldn't post otherwise #go apeshit my friends

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ninjago-bingo · 3 years ago

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final month recap

wow, everyone. we’re here. we’ve made it. we’re reached the end of our bingo time, and i’m absolutely floored by the sheer creative output that i’ve seen over these last four months. everyone, take a moment to give yourself a pat on the back!!! no matter if you made 1 piece or 10, there’s now a work of art out there in the world that wasn’t there before. and truly, that’s super heccing rad no matter how you look at it.

so let’s celebrate! for this recap, we have a total of 20 new pieces, bringing the total amount of ninbingo pieces up to 50. in the span of four months, this little event has created 50 individual works (five of them in the last day!) holy cow ya’ll.

i’m putting out this recap now, but don’t worry, it’s not the end yet! any submissions made to the end of the 30th still count and this post will be updated accordingly :D

fic:

all the things i’ve never done by @sa-you-na-ra. tumblr || prompts: competition and teasing

It’s always a funny thing when the ninja realize new things about each other. Even though living with each other meant they had to see each other all day, there were still small habits or actions that amused the others.

(mod comments: all these little interactions made me smile so much :D looking forward to the rest!)

error 404: answer not found by @m-aster-of-spinjitzu. tumblr || prompt: memories

Akita and Zane talk after the battle in ‘Awakenings’. The conversation… doesn’t go as either of them expect.

(mod comments: the nuances in this fic are fantastic! also Akita is always a win :D)

Five times kai was a good brother by @/master-of-fluff. tumblr || ao3 || prompts: nightmare and brother

I'm writing kai centric stuff again.

(mod comments: kai IS the big bro of the team!!! i support him all the way!!)

How Garmadon became a chauffeur by @master-of-fluff. tumblr || ao3 || prompt: driving

"um...Kai? Don't you think we should go Slower?" Garmadon asked nervously trying not to panick as they raced down the road at what had to be over the speed limit.

(mod comments: who let Kai drive? no but honestly this is canon alskdfj)

little things by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: hugs and crying.

"Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things." -Kurt Vonnegut

Lloyd’s tired of being left behind. How is he meant to be the green ninja when he always has to work harder, train better, and wait longer to go on missions with his team? He wants nothing more than to be their equal.

At least, that’s what he thought he wanted.

(mod comments: a post-ep-18 resolution scene? SIGN ME UP!)

Neither Snow Nor Rain by @fangirltakesall. tumblr || ffn.net || prompt: post-fight

After their return from the Never Realm and all its troubles, Zane is quiet and Nya is incredibly worried. A call to action to a peculiar sort of battle might be enough to change both of those things.

(mod comments: the concept of these two on their own mission together is just so good! excited to see how their dynamic plays out!!)

Never Put Off Until Tomorrow by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: video games and chores

…what can be done today, yada, yada, yada, we all know the saying. So do the ninja- when Master Wu is drilling it into their heads every minute of every day, it’s kind of hard to forget.

Naturally, it only takes them a week (and the biggest new video game in Ninjago) to do so.

(mod comments: this is so in character that it’s frustrating lol. also Pixal ftw!!)

oh take me back to the start by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: comfort and 3 am

The past should be left in the past. Or, at least, that’s what Jay keeps telling himself. Nadakhan is gone. It’s not logical to still be afraid. But he is, and now everything that he left behind suddenly feels like it’s never going to be the same again.

Cole isn’t so convinced.

(mod comments: Cole is truly the man we all deserve in our lives.)

On Our Own by @redefine-your-identity. tumblr || prompt: home

It’s been a few weeks since Kai and Nya’s parents disappeared without a trace. Needless to say, they’re struggling.

(mod comments: OU C H no poor babies 😭 the relationship dynamic here is great!)

orange and gold by @/m-aster-of-spinjitzu. tumblr || prompt: cooking

...I just need more Cole and Vania content, they seem like they'd be great friends.

Basically it's just 'Cole goes to visit her there, they almost burn down the kitchen, and make way too many puns', lol.

(mod comments: I also always need more Vania content!! the puns in this were breadful!)

permafrost by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: loss of control and promise

It’s not like this is the first time this has happened. It’s not like none of his teammates have ever suffered this kind of guilt and pain. It’s not like Zane himself hasn’t walked through hell before and come out the other side (mostly) in once piece.

Except, this time, it is. It shouldn’t be different, but it is.

(mod comments: super sweet moment between two ninja who deserve more interaction like seriously!!)

Precautionary Tale by @/fangirltakesall. tumblr || ffn.net || prompt: protective

Fighting is different now, and Zane doesn't know why. Yes, he is titanium now, but why should that change anything? It seems to be changing everything, although is all really as it seems?

(mod comments: a great start to a zane-centric fic! interested to see where it goes next :D)

Star-Ninja! by @rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: siblings and competition

What happens when the loveable gremlin the ninja adopted off of the streets introduces them to Starfarer comics?

Chaos ensues, of course.

stuck with you (through bright and blue) by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompt: protective

Kai only wants two things: to protect Lloyd, and to give him the best birthday ever. Unfortunately, Lloyd seems hell-bent on making that as difficult as possible. Kai’s always prided himself on achieving the impossible, but dealing with human emotions is much more complicated than beating up Garmadon’s generals or shooting enemies with fire, as he quickly learns. Movie!verse

(mod comments: happy birthday lloyd!! look at him getting the love he deserves uwu)

Take a walk in the rain. by @/master-of-fluff. tumblr || ao3 || prompt: rain

Cole had always loved the rain, the way it smelled, the way it felt on his skin, and especially the mud! Whenever it rained his Mother would put on his rain coat and boots And they'd both go out and splash around in the puddles and make mud cakes and do all sorts of things.

(mod comments: this fic made me smile a lot :D loved the way it was arranged!)

the hues of an empty sky by @/m-aster-of-spinjitzu. tumblr || prompt: crying

Missing memories, or having two of them for one moment - not quite the same, but if there’s one thing Jay’s leant over the last few weeks, it’s that literally nothing makes sense anymore.

Or, some Skybound aftermath, Zane actually expressing emotions about his memory switch being turned off for all those years, and what was supposed to be a ‘they tell everyone about the erased timeline’ fic, but it turned into a 'two characters who barely interact on screen talk at like one am in the morning, and don’t actually tell the other what exactly they’re alluding to the whole time’ fic that I wrote at like one am-

(mod comments: Skybound resolution? SIGN ME THE HECK UP YES)

The Make-Cole-Realize-How-Much-We-Love-Him Competition by @21st-century-ninja. tumblr || ao3 || prompts: bets and competition

Jay and Kai share a horrified look. “He really doesn’t get it,” Jay says.

Kai shakes his head. “We need to show him somehow.”

“Show me what?” Cole asks, exasperated again.

“How much we love you!” Kai exclaims. “Somehow, it’s not getting through your thick skull that we want to sit next to you because you’re you, so I’m gonna have to just prove it to you.”

(mod comments: a silly little movie fic!)

twitter was a mistake by @/21st-century-ninja. tumblr || ao3 || prompts: teasing and birthday

Kai 🔥 @flaminhotninja ☑

so who was gonna tell me that Jay used to be a game show host huh

🌺✨ the Gift of Jay ✨🌺 @zaptrap ☑

Replying to @flaminhotninja

NO WHO SHOWED YOU

(mod comments: twitter was a mistake)

two halves of a broken whole by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: scars and post-fight

The Sons of Garmadon have been defeated. Garmadon is in prison. The city has been saved.

In the aftermath of the battle, Nya is more than ready to take a much-needed break. But the life of a ninja is messy. Recovery is never that simple. Although the wounds may have healed, the scars still remain.

Zane’s scars seem to match up, though. And maybe together, they can begin to heal.

(mod comments: aggressive care is my jam, and this is it!)

wait by @rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: home and memories

Lloyd’s not so great at being patient. It’s not his fault though- maybe he would be better at it if waiting didn’t always end up being so disappointing- if people actually kept their promises. But this time’s going to be different, he knows it. His father will come back for him. And Lloyd’s going to wait.

As long as it takes.

(mod comments: baby. baby boy. baby. protecc him plz.)

#ninbingo #recap #long post #but i don't want to hide anyone's work yk #ninjago #ninjago fic

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wanderinginksplot · 4 years ago

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Soft Fic: Tup + Teaching Mechanics

This is a fic I wrote a while ago for this post, but I realized in a conversation with @asiamnow that I never posted it! So enjoy!

---

“And that is how you fix a LAATi’s main motivator drive,” Tup finished, tapping at the freshly-repaired mechanism. The ring of his gauntlet striking against the hollow metal made you wince. You didn’t know much about mechanical things and, from everything he had just shown you, neither did Tup.

“Very impressive. Do you want to get something to eat” you asked, steering him gently toward the mess hall at GAR’s headquarters. While you walked, you made a mental note to send one of the engineers to check out the motivator drive before the ship was cleared for use. “Where did you learn to do that?”

As you both stepped into the mess, Tup scrubbed a hand over his scalp, the movement dislodging his hair from where it had been confined in his neatly-tied ponytail. “Err… I mostly taught myself. You don’t get many chances to cross-train out here and I never got the chance to be in the mechanic corps. I was marked for infantry since I was decanted.”

Well, there was certainly a lot to unpack in that, but now you didn’t feel like you could order him not to fix anything in the future. “Do you want to learn about mechanical processes? It may not be how you want to spend your leave, but I could get you a shadow day or two with some of the mechanics.”

“Really?” Tup asked excitedly, piling his tray with more food than you had ever seen anyone eat in one sitting. These troopers and their enhanced metabolisms.

You shrugged a bit at his question. You oversaw most of the GAR’s administrative tasks on Coruscant, but you were still low-level enough that you knew a few of the mechanics. They liked to chat for a bit when you gave them the lists of work orders for ships that needed repairs. “Probably?”

“I would love to do that!” Tup grinned, and the conversation paused as you both took your trays to a table and settled facing each other.

You ate in silence for a few minutes before Tup gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “I mostly work on electronics now, but I really want to learn more about mechanical things.”

“Electronics?” you asked, perking up a bit as you stirred at the soup you had chosen for some reason. It was always awful, but you got it every now and then to see if it had magically improved. “Do you think you could you fix my comlink?”

He seemed bewildered by your question, the blinking he did accentuating both his long lashes and the teardrop tattooed under one eye.

Your face heated a bit. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to ask. It’s just been shorting out lately and repair shops charge so much-”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Tup hurried to say. “I know a bit about comlinks from when I’ve had to fix them in the field. I’d be happy to take a look. Do you have it here?”

“It’s up in my office, actually,” you explained. "Maybe I could run up and get it?"

"I'll come with you," Tup offered, standing from the table only a moment behind you.

"No, you should stay here and eat," you told him. “I’ll be right back.”

"I'm already done," he said, taking a bit of a piece of fruit. Startled, you glanced down at his plate. Where it had been absolutely piled with food only minutes before, it was now empty. The fruit Tup was holding was indeed the last thing left from the plate.

While you were staring at the lack of food on his tray, Tup had been eying your barely touched soup. “Do you want to bring that with you? I’m sure they’d have a container for it if you want…”

“Nah, it’s terrible,” you said with a laugh.

“It always is,” he agreed, smiling so widely that his eyes crinkled at the corners. It warmed your heart to see it and you were a little sad when he turned toward the administrative offices.

You followed Tup, amused to see where you would end up, but he led the way unerringly to your office.

“How did you know where this was?” you asked. “You’ve never been here.”

“Oh, uh… Well, you know troopers,” he hedged. “We all talk, share information. Some of the guys have been here, so I know where it is.”

You frowned, trying to think of a single time when a trooper had visited the admin offices, but nothing came to mind. Too bad, because it certainly would have made your day more interesting. “When did-?”

“Now, where is that comlink?” Tup asked loudly.

“Uh, right over here…” you said slowly, pulling open a drawer and bringing out the malfunctioning piece of equipment. “It’s just having trouble making outgoing calls.”

He hummed a bit, turning the comlink over to study it, then shrugged. “Easy enough to test. Let me put in my frequency and try to make a call…”

Tup typed in a code and his wrist comlink chimed right away. One of his eyebrows shot up and your face heated again. It wasn't as if you had made up a broken comlink in order to get Tup's frequency, but it probably looked that way to him.

"Let's try one more time," he suggested. You nodded, grateful that he wasn't going to start teasing you.

You didn't think you had ever hoped for a comlink malfunction before, but stars, it would really be great if Tup could see the problem with his own eyes.

He typed in the number for his frequency again, hit the button to connect, and nothing happened. At least, nothing happened for a split second before his comlink beeped at him.

Tup grinned and you braced for a teasing comment, but he had stifled the expression only a half-second later. “Well, that’s strange. Maybe it’s fixed?”

You frowned at the odd behavior. Most of the troopers never hesitated to mercilessly tease someone, and Tup was no exception. You had seen him absolutely roast Hardcase about his new relationship with an administrator aboard the Resolute only last week, so the fact that he wasn’t teasing you was a cause for concern.

“It really is broken, though,” you insisted.

“I believe you,” Tup said quietly, without a trace of the grin he had worn only a moment before. “You have no reason to lie. But I’ll tell you what: you have my frequency now. If it keeps giving you problems, use a working comlink to call me. If I’m planetside, I’ll come take another look at it, okay?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you,” you agreed, still on-edge. You never thought you would have wanted to be teased, but this was strange behavior.

“And…” he cleared his throat. “And if you ever want to call for another reason, even if you just want to talk, you can. I’ll pick up. I’d be glad to listen to you.”

You stared at him, knowing your eyes were bulging like a particularly deranged mynock’s. “You would?”

“Of course I would,” Tup’s blush at the admission showed even through the smooth brown of his skin. “I always like talking to you."

"I like talking to you, too," you replied, feeling a bit dizzy at the conversational turn. "You're probably my favorite person to spend time with."

"Really?" Tup asked, perking up a bit. "Then… do you want to come to 79s with me? Maybe tomorrow night?"

"79s is a dance club..?" you guessed slowly, trying to remember what little you knew about the place. You weren't really the clubbing type, but for Tup? You would gladly try to be.

"Yeah! A lot of us clones go there. Some guys won't go anywhere else," Tup explained. "Do you want to come? No pressure…"

"Of course I will!" you insisted. "Are you sure none of the others will mind me tagging along?"

Tup blushed a bit, rubbing at the back of his neck. "There, uh, won't be any others. It'll just be you and me. Like a… a date. It is a date. I mean, will you go on a date with me?"

You had been putting so much effort into following Tup's train of thought that you stared at him for a long moment after he had finished speaking. He stared back, dark eyes intense, and you snapped back to the moment.

"Yes!" you agreed loudly, winced, and corrected yourself to a more natural volume. "Yes. Tup, I would be thrilled to go on a date with you."

Tup looked so excited that you forgot to apologize for shouting in his face a moment before. "That's great! I'll come get you here- I don't have a speeder. I can meet you here and we'll go together? Or I could just meet you there, or-"

"Let's meet here," you offered.

"That seems easiest," Tup agreed gratefully. With a shy smile, he said, “Thank you for agreeing to go. I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”

“I would have said yes months ago,” you admitted before you could censor yourself, and felt your face grow hot.

Tup’s eyebrows shot up his forehead at that, then a wicked smile spread across his face as his eyes heated. In a voice that was a full octave lower than you were used to hearing from him, he murmured, “Sounds like we need to make up for some lost time, then.”

You nodded breathlessly. You didn’t know where that sudden wave of confidence had come from, but it was a good look on him.

“Seven?” he asked.

“How about six,” you suggested.

He grinned and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “It’s a date.”

You watched him leave your office, an unfamiliar swagger in his step. You shook your head and smiled, cheek still warm from his lips.

Six couldn’t come soon enough.

---

A/N - thanks for reading this silly little fic! I'm still taking requests, so feel free to request something or see similar works on my masterlist.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #tup x you #tup x reader #tup #clone troopers deserve better

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whore4batfam · 3 years ago

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Tagged by @thelittleredheadedmusician! Thank you, I didn’t want to work and this is a perfect distraction~

How many works do you have on Ao3?

34, I believe

What's your total Ao3 word count?

106,218

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Batman, Star Wars, Greek mythology

What are your top five fics by kudos?

she’s like a shine on your shoes (or hearing the blues)

trix yoghurt story

Forever Today, Never Tomorrow

Lost Stars

18 (Beginnings and Endings)

(besides the first one, these are all very old)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Sometimes! I get busy often, but sometimes it’s nice to respond to comments. Especially if they point something out in the story that made them feel something, or have a question. I’m anonymous on all my work, so I don’t think people expect me to respond as much. And, well, the idea is to cultivate an experience just with the story and not necessarily with me, so it’s a half and half sort of dynamic.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Mmm…I think maybe Son of Gotham, but I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s angsty. Ashes Ashes (We All Fall Down) also isn’t necessarily angsty, though there is character death. The Price of Velvet Walls might be what fits the “angsty” type, because there isn’t really any resolution, so we’ll go with that one.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I don’t, sadly!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

A long time ago, when I was 13 or so. We called them “flames” back then 😂 I feel like it was just an excuse for miserable people to feel a bit powerful, but nowadays I haven’t had much hate. I have had folks be upset with the direction the story goes, which can be understandable because you get so invested. I have had people talk about their frustration with how the characters are behaving while acknowledging that it’s in character and being kind to me as the author, but I don’t mind that a bit! I’ve also had folks accuse me of stealing (because I’m anonymous) and very angry with me, which is actually nice to see how vehemently they protected someone else’s/my own work. I’ve explained that the writing I post actually belongs to me before and I probably will again lol

The only time I ever got angry was when someone made an incest joke, and I was quite upset at that. Stuff like that isn’t funny, so I deleted the comment and made it a point to say that I wouldn’t accept anything of that nature.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do not. I struggle with romance, but the older I get the more I understand it. Like real romance, not what people think as romance. Plus, smut is centered around voyeurism and often degradation as a method, and that’s not my cup of tea.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, but I do see my headcanons and drabbles in stories all the time 😂 I don’t think they know that it’s mine, or even where it came from. It’s sort of cool to see my ideas become a part of a “culture” so I don’t mind.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Once, they asked to translate Son of Gotham and then disappeared off tumblr forever so I don’t know where the translation is 😅😂

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not a fandom fic, but I write with my friends alllllll the time

What's your all time favorite ship?

Uh…hmmm. Recently I’ve been into Jane Austen couples, the sort of elegance while maintaining a realistic relationship. I also love Anne/Gilbert, Han/Leia…I always blank with this question.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

All of them 😂😂

What are your writing strengths?

People have said that they like my dialogue (how ��messy” it is), and how every character isn’t demonized or made to be perfect. Everyone struggles in their own way, and Simone Weil said something once about how we rarely give people understanding or truly look at them without pity or frustration. To look and understand is one of the rarest forms of human links, and thus love, I suppose. That might be the quote, I’m working off the top of my head so it’s probably not quite right!

What are your writing weaknesses?

Motivation. I’m busy and get tired easily, and I flit from project to project like a butterfly. I think one thing I struggled with in the past has been my writing not living up to my original idea. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to work with refining and accepting that it is good as it is, aka this came from me and it still has value. I think often too things are more organic when writing, and intuitively you know where the story ought to go beyond what you thought was best. I also “overdo” things the first time around, and I rarely have patience to edit before I post 😂

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t have any strong opinions on it, though I think it’s nice to try to get it right! I’m American so I am monolingual, and would likely need to do a lot of research/gain help from a native speaker. Basically, just be respectful with any language you use.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

American Girl. I was eleven 🥺

What's your favourite fic you've ever written?

Oof, tough question. Tbh I love a lot of the stuff I’ve written with my friends (fanfic of their worlds). I like the utter ridiculousness of the trix yoghurt fics, I like the silliness of birds all sing, I like the artistic direction of Son of Gotham, I like the feelings dark side of the morning has. Ultimately I really like she’s like a shine on your shoes, because it’s given me an opportunity to explore a lot more dynamics that I haven’t really paid attention to in canon, and discover more truths amongst characters that are accurate to real world experiences and people too. So that would be my answer!

I tag @hollyhock13 and whomever else would like to do it!

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ddaehyeon · 4 years ago

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。✧ hyacinth; park serim + reader – teaser

— pairing: fashion designer!park serim + photographer!reader

— genre: angst, slight fluff, exes au, post-breakup, slightly suggestive (one scene only!)

— projected word count: 7k-10k words

— warning: cursing, arguments, heartbreak, mentions of anxiety and emptiness

— summary: years had passed since you broke up with serim; life had been continuously patching up ever since. his name had marked several clothing lines, while your studio was well-known in the small city you lived in. who would’ve known that a sight of him on a bus stop would be enough to bring back wounds you thought had long ago healed?

— a/n: after more than a month, i'm coming back with another cravity long fic :') this is an exchange with @starrycrvty. i will add more warnings if i bump by another while finishing this. no warnings apply for the teaser. enjoy!

— teaser word count: 938 words

alone in your photography studio, you sat on a stool used earlier by one of the models. the room was dimly lit with only one of the umbrella lights open. it was only by then that you realized your thighs were already stiff from the nonstop work earlier. you wanted to go home and just be in the comforts of your bed.

pulling out your phone, you dialed your brother’s number, frowning when it took him quite a while to pick up. was he busy or did he just forget that he was supposed to pick you up tonight?

jungmo would always fetch you by your studio after his working hours concluded. with the two of you living together in the same house, your brother just found it ideal— bringing you to your work every morning and giving you a drive home every evening. it might seem like he was babying you, but it was a gesture you grew fond of.

“y/n?” jungmo gasped on the other line. it seemed like he was outside, music playing in the background which mingled well with the peals of laughter. “shit, i forgot to tell you.”

you raised a brow, questioning his words. “what’s the matter?”

“can’t fetch you today.” you can already envision the pout he had on his lips. “i’m at a party with allen and woobin, catching up with my colleagues. i’ll make it up to you tomorrow, i promise!”

“alright. i’ll just ride the bus then.” it was your turn to purse your lips. you can’t bring yourself to complain about it though. “have fun! just stay in woobin’s apartment tonight, don’t drive!”

“i will, i will,” jungmo replied, a call of his name following. his friends might’ve been looking for him already. “text me alright? get home safely, y/nie.”

at the end of the phone call came another sigh from you. a tightlipped smile braced your lips as you stood to turn off the remaining lights. you retrieved your camera and placed it back in one of the drawers. making sure everything was back to its place, secured; you gave the place one final look. something you’d do every single day before going home. a reminder of the thing you loved the most. a reminder of what could have been.

the sidewalk wasn’t as empty as you imagined it to be, maybe you weren’t used to walking to the bus stop anymore. strangers of different day occurrences exchanged various looks that shared one same element, tiredness.

when the wind blew, the fallen leaves danced along with it. the slight coldness making you tuck your hands inside the pocket of the cardigan you were wearing. you loved the cool breeze, but not when you knew you had to stay out on an open shed with it as your companion. cold weather could be your friend, a company for a better evening sleep. but rather a harsh fellow when you had to be alone, when loneliness can easily be injected to your senses.

tracing the path, a memory went to play in your head. way back in college, this was the same sidewalk you’d walk in with your ex-lover. a camera on your hand while he had a roll of satin in his arms. it was such a usual view for the two of you as you talked about how the day went, ranting about the monotonous lectures, gushing over how you missed each other’s company and how you wished that the two of you could get back to your shared apartment as soon just so you can snuggle on the couch.

you glanced at the sky, the cloud hiding the few scattered twinkling stars. a faint smile spread upon your lips, only to disappear when your gaze went back to the bus stop. the male that passed by in a form of fleeting memory earlier was standing right in front of you as if fleshed out from your mind. a lavender-colored paper bag was hanging on his arm, the logo of his product line delicately stamped on the middle. his phone was resting on his other hand, if he was scrolling through sns or texting someone, you weren’t sure.

the magical feeling he used to offer long gone, your stomach twisting into several knots. a cold sensation went down in your spine as a familiar tug came to pull your heartstring. he’s back? what is he doing here? he lives here again?

your thoughts were loud in your head, but none of it was pulled out loud. each word ending up as a lump in your throat. the air was thickening, your heart beating fast, not out of excitement, but out of the clashing thoughts that left you so nervous and confused. it had been years, how come a single sight of him made you feel like all your resolutions are gone? how did a single sight of him become enough to shatter the glass that protected you from the ache that night had caused you?

it was cold. but no, it was no longer because of the autumn breeze.

“serim?” the name was uttered in the same way you would before everything came crashing, yet it held a much weaker tone. you can’t even remember the last time your voice came to wrap around the syllable of his name.

the male turned his head to look at you, a brow raised as he stared at you. no obvious emotion, his eyes held no recognition.

and his reply? it sent a shiver down your spine, your stomach flipping in a horrendous manner.

“who are you?”

date of posting: last week of february

#cravitywriters #cravity imagines #cravity scenarios #cravity #serim #park serim #cravity serim #fic teaser

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vic-chaos · 4 years ago

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ok on the special.... I’ve only seen it once and some bits cut out from bad connection, so I might have more to say tomorrow when I've rewatched and been able to pay closer attention. But here is my jumble of thoughts so far (under cut for spoilers):

okay.......... the ending fucked me up so badly that its hard for me to focus on anything else jsjdsjdjsd.... so i’ll talk about that first 😭

my main issue is that I don’t really understand why they broke them up at the end despite everything, especially after it seemed they had reunited??? like when they finally got the vaccines to the teachers and Cartman had that line about how “their broship could survive anything”.... it felt so much like that was the resolution and they were back together. But then the final scene came out nowhere anyway, why?? 😭 it makes no sense to resolve something then unresolve it at the last second?

I don’t think they will stay split up though... I’m sure it will get fixed eventually. It’s too sad, and also wouldn’t make sense for the show in general to keep them apart??? My first guess is that the next season (hopefully a season and not another special) will be beginning the process to get them back together. I think one possibility might be that as soon as they start going off with different friend groups they will realise it’s not the same and that they miss each other too much....... or another possibility might be Kenny intervening? Because even though they were trying to do everything for whats best for him, they never actually consulted him about any of it?? Plus even though they were putting him in the role of their child for the sake of the joke, he is actually the most emotionally mature of the boys. So I wonder...

That said though the stylennyman content is still making me scream, Cartman bringing his boyfriends to couples therapy.......... and (even if they got “divorced” by the end ;_; ) the way it was framed as if Stan/Kyle/Cartman were married is gonna be making me crazy for weeks jsdsjdjsdjsjdjs, all of Cartman’s dad/husband behaviour with the custody schedules PLEASE lmao.....

And the kenman at the beginning with them being little shits together jsdnsdsdjsd I love them so much aaaaaah.... I need to add that scene to my compilation video of kenman laughing super hard at each other’s jokes while everyone else is like 😐 lmaooo

Ok I have been complaining a lot, but OVERALL I thought it was actually really good and I loved it actually. The very last scene like obliterated my heart, but everything before that was so good, and we got SO MUCH good main 4 content fucking finally 🥺 I’m so happy to see them joining forces again and being adventurous. And we even got more Kenny screentime too!!

The jokes were legit funny and I think it made me laugh more and was just generally better written and just overall better than SP has been in a while. I’m relieved they didn’t depict qanon as being sympathetic in any way (since I made some posts before worried abt that lmao... and I forgive Butters for being part of it bc all he wanted was be out of his house/away from his dad and didn't care what they believed as long as he could escape, so it didn’t mean anything jsjdsmdsdsd) I’m also glad we have confirmation that Cartman would never believe in like the alt right or any of that garbage, so please no more depicting him as any kind of n*zi in fics ever again thanks 🙏

The scene with the 4th wall break and all of the animation stuff was really good too, it was wild omg.... also all of the little cameos and stuff at the end, I’m weirdly so happy to see background visitors again omg!!! It reminds me of old school SP 🥺 I did straight up think Stuart and Kanye were gonna make out for a second though LMAO

UHHHHH a few other things:

There were some scenes from the trailer that didnt appear in the special??? Cartman threatening Stephen and him giving that speech in the boy’s bathroom..... I wonder what happened to those, cut for time maybe? Give me the buttman content 😭 they better release that as a deleted scene 😤

Garrison..... IDK........ I know some people are happy to see him back but I hate him so I’m kind of 🥴 about it, though he was more tolerable in this ep than normal so maybe he’ll be ok in the future lmfao.

And finally...................................... NO RANDY!! 🎉 We did it guys. I’m actually kind of surprised they didn’t try to resolve any of his storylines that were left open or anything lmao, but I also don’t care about him at all so god bless.... we finally got a break 😔🙏

#x #sp spoilers #south park spoilers #THIS POST IS SO LONG SJDJSDJSDS IM SORRY............#im having a lot of emotions so i'm gonna just use this blog to vent LMAO

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natandwandaseries · 4 years ago

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Yelena

Hi everyone, as promised when I reach 50,000 hits! We get to see a different side of Yelena, a bit softer since we hear her inner thoughts. I hope you enjoy! (Also, unlike the other mini fics I post on here, this one is canon and exists within the series!) _____________________________________________________________

I am barely old enough to tie my shoes, I when I meet Natasha. She walks in first, leading a group of young girls like her- wet and frozen. But she holds her head high and commands the room, despite barely being up to the guards’ waist. It hadn’t been my first time seeing her, as I look down from my hiding spot on the stairs, but it is my first time noticing her. The next day, during our free hour, I seek her out. She is in the courtyard, alone. We are never alone here, so this being the case is odd. It took a great deal of effort on my side to get out here without Fredrik, one of the guards for the younger girls, to notice me. “Hello,” she greets me without taking attention off her task, “Yelena, correct?” She turns around now, her eyes bright and face kind. Kindness, such a rarity. “Yes,” “I am Natalia,” She sets down the stick in her hand, “You were watching last night, when we came home.” “I heard some of the older girls, this is when they start to have less of us.” “The trick is to take off your coat and keep your hands cupped.” She sits down on the grass, stick in hand once more. I walk over, looking down at her project. They are swirling lines, graceful, looking like art. “It is cursive English. I am practicing,” She explains. “No one else would tell me about the water,” “Everyone else wants you dead,” She states matter-of-factly. No deception or tricks. “You don’t?” I do not yet understand the permanence of death, only that it was undesirable, worse than even the Red Room. “No.” She wipes the sand from her palms, and then leans back to look up at the sky. “Why?” “I don’t want any of them to die. I can’t save everyone, but I’ll die trying.” Her mouth form into a hard line, and to most, it would cute, seeing a little girl seem so resolute. But that same look of determination, years later, would cause men to scream in fear. “You talk like an adult,” She always spoke as though she lived a thousand lifetimes. I would joke later on that she was born serious. Though sometimes, later on, she would point out clouds in the sky that look like different animals, or weapons. And on rare occasions, we would spin each other around as fast as we could, to fall back and look at the sky spinning above us. “See Yelena? We make the world go ‘round,” she’d joke. And then, two days after our meeting, we are in a combined class. Three different years, all together, working on letters of different alphabets. My elbow knocks over a jar of red paint, splattering across a stack of white paper, like blood on skin. Last week, Svetlana tripped and broke a plate. Madame slit her arm with a letter opener. I stare at the pile of paint in fear, unable to move or make a sound. Natalia appears at my side. She stains the arm of her shirt with paint and begins to apologize loudly. Madame walks over, since that night, she seems to always be where Natalia is, and sees the mess. “Did you knock over this paint?” “Yes, Madame,” The woman strikes like a snake- her cane striking the back of Natalia’s knees, forcing her to the ground. “Clean it up. Then you clear her up as well,” I look down and see I am stained with paint, across my stomach like a bullet wound. “Why did you do that?” I ask as Natalia washes my pinafore. “I am going to protect you, like sisters.” Familial words like that are forbidden, even saying friend will get you a warning glare. “Sisters,” I reply, watching as she wipes out the red.

I am nearly eight when I first see Natalia crack, just a little. She is angry, furious. She tries to run away, without me. I heard what everyone was saying. She made her first kill. Secretly gentle Natalia, who once hid and nursed a baby bird back to health in her courtyard. The bird still visits, and I frequently find her smiling out the window when she sees it. Or not smiling. Just happier than the flatness she normally sports. But in front of me now, she dances with glass in her shoes. A morbid part of me thinks of Cinderella’s glass slippers. Perhaps this is what really happened to her feet. When she finally stops, Madame breaks her cheekbone, for her pride, I think. For being unbreakable. The last time I see Natasha in the Red Room, our courtyard days are long over. Both of us have graduated and sit at a table separate from the students. The number of adult Widows has dwindled as the KGB sends us on more dangerous missions. Her spark has begun to dim. She is getting worn down, like they want. The first that burns with in her, that in explicably Natalia, should not be put out. That evening, for the first time in a long while, I slip into her bed. She moves closer, so our shoulder touch, something she doesn’t normally allow anymore. Since she turned thirteen, she has grown more and more opposed, and I don’t need to ask why. “I have a mission in America tomorrow.” “Alone?” She nods in the dark. “Don’t come back,” I request, daring to speak the words. She stiffens beside me. “Don’t say silly things, Yelena. We are not children.” “They are going to kill you.” “It is what I was made for.” “No. You were made for better things. If you get the opportunity, don’t come back.” “There is only one way I don’t,” she whispers, “I will bring you back sweets, Little Sister. They’ll be hidden in the same spot as always,” Inside the rip in my mattress. It hadn’t occurred to me until now, that the reason she keeps coming back, might be for me. Except she doesn’t, and I am grateful. They tell me she is dead, but I know better. The next time I see her, it is to burn this place to the ground. In America, she has people who care for her. A best friend who takes me in, a nephew. And they welcome me in too. We celebrate Christmas together, spend time with one and other. Natasha, as she is now called, is finding herself again. That fire within her grows stronger once more, rising out of the embers that had begun to die out. After Christmas, I leave for Europe, following leads about the Red Room. There is a rumor that Ivan is still alive, that he could resurrect what Tasha and I destroyed. I have to kill him, kill him before he can find out Natasha is alive, or get anywhere near her. His prized possession. That is what he used to call her. I step out of my taxi, heading into the hotel lobby, where the once lush carpets are worn down from years of suitcase wheels and feet. A bellhop smiles at me, and a man sitting at a nearby table, drinking coffee, catches my eye. _______________________________________________________________

“Yelena?” I blink, feeling nauseous. Clint, Tasha’s American, is sitting close to me, too close. He looks almost as though he has seen a ghost. A part of me, for some reason, feels like it has been a long time since we have seen each other, though it has only been a few weeks. “You look old,” I tilt my head. He grins and squeezes my shoulder. “Where are we?” “We’re on a quinjet, we rescued you,” “Rescued?” He seems reluctant to answer. “You were being held prisoner,” I feel pressure building up in my head, the feeling of hitting a wall. “Where’s Tasha?” I get up from the cot, my legs unsteady, and pull back the curtain. Rather than seeing Natasha in the cockpit as I expected, there is a gaggle of individuals deep in discussion. A slight brunette catches my eye, blushing furiously and looking away. “Yelena, they’re friends,” “I don’t know, they not friends.” I growl. “They are my friends, Nat’s,” Clint explains, “Tony, Sam, Rhodey, Bruce, and,” “Wanda,” The girl offers, her voice timid and unsure. He looks at her with a particular tenderness that makes me inspect the girl closer. She has folded into herself, as if she is trying to disappear. “Nice to meet a member of Nat’s family. I was always curious,” “Not the time, Tony.” The American glares at the man. Though, they all seem American. “Where is Tasha?” I try again. “We’re on our way to her now. We were on a mission,” One of the men, Sam, explains. I look him up and down and give him a little smirk. The girl calls my attention again, however. She does not speak again, playing with the rings on her fingers. We touch down on the tarmac and the gangplank drops. They do not handcuff me, which seems foolish on their part. Though, I suppose I am not a prisoner. But maybe I should be, I don’t know what I have been doing since I last saw Natasha. “Hey Friday,” Tony begins, “When are Steve and Nat landing?” “They are currently in the kitchen,” I break into a sprint. There is some kind of AI wired throughout the area, and I ask for directions. The AI, whom had been referred to as Friday, provides the answers promptly. AI, something that had seemed like a distant future just days ago, or weeks, months, years. I skid to a stop in the kitchen. Her red hair shines like a beacon. “Tasha,” I breathe, my heart aching. My mind may not know how long it has been, but my soul clearly does. She spins around, along with the man she is with, gun drawn. I put my hands up, remaining passive. A piece of me fears she does not remember me, does not know who I am. But she has to, it is us. Clint and his little friend run into the room, panting. They quickly take in the scene and turn their attention to Natasha. “Nat, put down the gun,” He tries. She doesn’t take her hard gaze off of me, the gun steady. “That isn’t, it can’t be, you saw, you were,” She speaks in half sentences, her words becoming lost in her head, in her memories. Whatever happened to me, she was there for it. “Is me, Tasha,” I swear once Clint affirms who I am. She is beginning to become distressed, her hands starting to shake. I’m upsetting her. “Mom,” The girl says quietly. Mom? I whip around, looking at her. She still sounds fragile, quiet. But she called Natasha mom. “It’s her. I looked. I saw her giving you a pair of ballet slippers and sitting with Cooper as a baby.” What the hell does that mean? I saw, how would she see? Home videos, maybe? How does that ensure I am me? She comes between Natasha and I, gently taking the gun out of Natasha’s hand and putting it back in her holster. There is a quiet moment shared between the two, before she finally speaks. “Lena?” Relief, elation. Elation is the only word I can use to describe the optimistic hope that lilts up at the end of my name. “Hi Tasha,” I beam. “How are you here?” “I don’t know,” I feel pressure begin to build again, “I think it has been long time, yes? It feels like long time.” Ten years she tells me. She tries to take the blame, as she did when we were children. Whatever happened, I know it was not her fault. She had begun to panic, believing none of this is real, that I am not real. I tease gently about her pulling a gun on me again, though it is a legitimate concern. Then she properly introduces Wanda. The girl doesn’t meet my eyes, almost hiding behind her mother. Her mother. Natasha has a daughter. An adopted daughter, like how I am her adopted sister. Because that is what Natasha has always done, she takes in strays, people in need of help.

The girl. Wanda. She sits next to me on my couch, while Natasha is on her date with Steve. This couch from Pottery Barn that we bought together, after she had shown me a particular episode of Friends. Clint informed me that she does not talk a lot to anyone but Natasha, even his own children and her best friend, a fellow superhero, get few words from her. So, whenever she says anything to me, I feel particularly flattered. And the guilt for what I had done to her when I first found out about her past continues to eat me alive. Guilt is supposed to be Natasha’s specialty, but it seems as though I am taking on some of her traits. “We order takeout?” I ask the witch. She looks up from her phone, where she scrolls through social media, a new trend that I am still trying to catch up with. “Okay,” She looks back down. “You can go home,” I offer, not wanting her to feel trapped. Her lips pinch momentarily, “You stay, I order food,” She raises an eyebrow before going back to scrolling. I have no clue how I am supposed to be an aunt. Barton’s children, they refer to me as Auntie Lena, and that is definitely my familial position with Wanda. But I’m twenty-, no. I’m in my thirties. I pass a mirror on my way into the kitchen, catching a look at my face. Time has barely passed on my body, in my mind, but the world kept going while I was on pause. “Wanda,” I call, coming to a decision, “We go out,” I come back into the living room, the girl craning her neck to look at me. “Put on nice dress, we go out. Have fun.” She stares at me, considering for a moment, before nodding, hopping up from the sofa, her powers bursting. “What are we doing?” “Go to gala,” “What gala?” “I not decide yet. Put on gown and be back in twenty. I do your hair.” She returns fifteen minutes later, donning a ruby red satin gown. It looks custom made. She also holds a makeup box and a red clutch, clearly well loved. “I was supposed to wear this to a charity event in November,” she explains, sitting down at my bathroom vanity. I’m given no other explanation, and though I wait in silence for more information, unlike most people, she does not open up. I sweep her hair to the side into a side bun. She leans forward, doing her own makeup. She glances back at me every few seconds, taking her attention off her eyeshadow. “Do you want me to do your makeup?” She puts down her brush. She stands up, and I can hear the faint mechanical whir of her leg as she stands up. To anyone with unenhanced hearing, it would be silent. I don’t know how I missed it initially. I sit down on the stool and face her. Wanda’s eyes meet mine momentarily before looking away, going through her palette. “You like doing makeup?” “I used to wear it a lot,” She shrugs and continues to do her work, and then steps back to admire it. “Okay,” She picks up a handheld mirror. “Oh, you should have been one to do Tasha’s makeup for date,” Wanda blushes to the color of her dress, ducking her head. “Okay, I go change, then we leave.” When I come out of my room, wearing a dress the color of a night sky, Wanda is busy scrolling through her phone. “There is a gala at 583 Park Avenue tonight, it is for one of the mayor’s pet projects.” “We go,” She watches as I grab my beaded wallet, “I call us cab,” “Uber, Yelena. No one calls taxis anymore.” She rolls her eyes, teasing, and we head down to the lobby. We take the car to the venue, and the beautiful Greek revival is lit up by glowing pendants, the four pillars casting shadows down on us. Security stands at the front, checking everyone for a ticket. “They are sold out online,” Wanda’s bottom lip juts out. “Come on,” I grab her hand, pull her behind me as I round the corner, heading towards the back entrance of the building. “You watch and play along, da?” “Okay,” I spy a pair of busboys sharing a joint, taking a break from the mayhem of the evening. I think of the whole song and dance I had planned to get us in. Fake being locked out, fight with my boyfriend who is a staffer for the mayor and got us tickets. “Three hundred for each of you if you let us in.” The pair exchange a glance and stand up holding out their hands and opening the side door. “That was watch and learn?” Wanda laughs as we head down the hall. “Sometimes money speaks better than words,” We enter the hall and I grab us each a glass of champagne. It is not very often, or rather never, that I get to attend galas without having to kill or torture somebody. However, Wanda seems to fit right in. She wears large diamond studs, each the size of a blueberry, and this custom-made gown. However, her anxiety is visible in the way she grips her clutch, almost like a security blanket. “Is special to you?” “Hm?” She follows my eyes to her wallet. “Oh, this is the first gift Nat every bought me. It was for my sixteenth birthday.” Her face softens at the memory. “We find people to dance with, come.” She laughs as I introduce her as a foreign princess, and the man plays along, despite the obvious fact that she is her. I, on the other hand, am still harder to identify. The world news has not been plastered with my face for the past two years as it has her. I am not burned into the collective consciousness. I dance with a woman is a white cocktail dress, keeping one eye on Wanda the entire time. After two songs, the pair break apart, and I bid the woman adieu. Wanda takes an empty seat, and I next to her. “Hello,” I look at the nametag, “Mr. Abbot,” “Mrs. Pruitt,” She responds, eyes twinkling. We order more champagne, or rather Wanda does while I switch to vodka on the rocks, and take canapes and caviar off passing trays. “And then, as Tasha in middle of mission, she stop to,” “Stops to save a cat from being hit by a car,” A voice finishes. I turn around. Natasha and Steve stand behind us. Natasha looks stuck somewhere between amused and stern, while Steve is doing nothing to hide how humorous he finds the situation. “How did you two get in here?” “I pay,” I reply hotly, jutting out my chin. She moves her gaze to Wanda. “We bribed the busboys.” “I not say who we pay,” “Do you even know what this event is for?” “Dogs?” “Children?” We both say at the same time, causing a fit of laughter. My sister pinches the bridge of her nose. “Well, since you two are here, you may as well come to the after party,” She looks to Steve for agreement, who nods. “But you, Little Witch, will not be having any more champagne,” Wanda’s face, already flushed from alcohol, seems to redden even more. “Come on,” Nat leads us out the front door where a town car awaits. “We are sorry for ruining date night, I had no idea that you were going to be there,” “It was on the calendar in the kitchen, perhaps that is where your subconscious got the idea,” Natasha teases and fixes the strap on her daughters dress as we climb into the car. We pull up at the Avengers Tower, and take the elevator up to the penthouse. “There you are, and you brought company!” Tony cheers, “Good, I could use some of her expertise,” I expect him to be pointing at me, but instead he is at Wanda, “You are the expert at naming things, I have a list of baby names and need your help,” “I thought you were naming her Morgan,” Nat calls, heading over to the bar. “Middle names, Natalie!” “Did he say names, plural?” Steve asks. “Did he call you Natalie?” Natasha pours Steve a glass of whiskey and I another cup of vodka before coming around the bar with her own drink, a martini. “You snuck my underaged daughter into a gala,” She leans back next to me, watching Wanda and Tony, while Steve begins to thumb through the vinyls next to the record player. “Was either that or Chinese food again,” “Maybe try bowling next time,” “With ax throwing,” I grin. “Galas, then,” Natasha laughs. “Sorry for ruining date night,” I say earnestly. I hadn’t expected them to be there. “Oh, please,” She waves me off, “Tony already did. Pepper called us saying Tony was here at the tower, working late, and you know,” She nods to the empty bottles, “Trying to develop a special crib or something. Asked Steve and I to check in. We ran into you two while we were heading out.” “You can’t give her the middle name Una, then her name would be Morguna,” “I like the sound of that, put it on the list!” Tony cheers, while Wanda scrawls on the glass screen. “This is good life,” Steve finally selects a record, and the Beatles start to play. The first lyrics, Flew in from Miami Beach BOAC, cause Natasha to grin. “Is our song!” I cry out, tugging her out into the center of the room, kicking off my heels. She laughs as I spin her around, spilling her drink the process. Tony, Steve, and Wanda join in as we dance to the Beatles at one in the morning, I can’t imagine a life any better.

#natasha romanoff #natandwandaseries #TheNatAndWandaSeries #NatAndWandaSeriesMiniFic #yelena belova #capwidow #backstory #romanrogers #wanda maximoff #Widow and Little Widow #The Nat and Wanda Series #the red room #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic series #one shot

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warcats-cat · 4 years ago

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Fragile

I’m so glad I got to participate in the @goloveday exchange! I don’t do fic exchanges often, but this one was a lot of fun! Special thanks to @miniaturefern for beta'ing this for me. @saer-m, I really hope you enjoy your gift! It was wonderful to write this for you!! <3

Also cross posted on Ao3!

TW: a little bit of insecurity, crying, references to past trauma. It’s that good good hurt/comfort tho. <3

Crowley had everything planned perfectly. Really. He’d tagged along on one of angel’s trips for some special book that Crowley didn’t fully care about; he just liked to hear Aziraphale’s voice. He liked the way the angel’s face literally lit up, he started almost glowing out his eyeballs, when he got excited. Crowley liked it when Aziraphale was happy. Crowley would damn his soul all over again to see that glowing smile forever. So he’d come with Aziraphale on a little trip, listening to his angel babble about botched phrasing and hilariously disastrous typos and watching from the corner of his eye as the fluffy head bounced and soft hands jittered.

And of course, as soon as Crowley found out they were going on a trip of any kind, he started planning. This was their first trip, after all.

Well, their first as a couple at least.

And it was a little weird, being officially a thing and having the freedom to hold hands or press into each other’s sides at night; knowing that, for once, they didn’t have to worry about “them” watching. If “they” were watching, it didn’t really matter. And Crowley wanted to celebrate the idea.

So he had driven his angel out to Satan-Knows-Where in the middle of autumn. He had watched his angel barter and chat with people milling about in shop fronts and street market stalls. He had listened to his angel prattle on and almost drifted away on the sound of his voice.

God just wasn’t interested in his happiness, apparently.

See, the opposite of that exciting feeling of holding hands was being able to feel Aziraphale’s hand tense when they got dirty looks from passersby. The opposite of the warmth coming from Aziraphale’s soft side was the coldness he felt when the angel tensed, just slightly, and pulled the nearest breadth away. "They" may not have been watching, but the humans certainly were. And the humans around them lately were making Aziraphale upset. And Crowley didn’t really know why.

So Crowley had taken to planning things. A picnic in the park near their hotel, late evening, and maybe some stargazing (since Aziraphale seemed to love Crowley’s stories as much as the demon enjoyed his angel’s.) Quiet and away from prying, judgmental eyes. Crowley only hoped it made Aziraphale feel safer.

It didn’t.

Crowley could feel it right off. Aziraphale was tense; he chose to carry the basket instead of holding Crowley’s hand. He kept himself carefully apart, not even bumping Crowley’s shoulder affectionately as he had the morning before. Crowley was chilly in the warm night air, feeling alone despite the angel at his side.

The picnic went carefully; Aziraphale sat opposite the demon, and resolutely fixed his eyes just above Crowley’s glasses. He poured wine and nibbled bread and cheese and very purposefully made small talk, as if Crowley wouldn’t notice something amiss after six thousand years of knowing the bastard.

After almost a hundred years of loving him.

After almost a full year of getting to say it out loud.

“Angel, what the Heaven is wrong with you?” Crowley finally blurted, interrupting Aziraphale’s droll observations on cicadas or some such insect with all the grace of a newborn elephant. Aziraphale’s face sunk as the angel huddled into himself, and Crowley began tripping over his own tongue in an effort to course-correct. “No. That’s not- I said that wrong. Uh. Yeah. I don’t mean it like, ‘what’s wrong with you’, but like, ‘you’ve been weird lately and I don’t know if I did something’ but if I did do something you know you can tell me because I want to fix it, right?” Crowley stammered out, as if trying to catch Aziraphale’s heart as it sank.

Aziraphale stayed quiet for a long time after that, staying in his little hunched position, looking like the picture of sadness to the demon in front of him. This was not going to plan. He’d brought the angel’s favorites and yet Aziraphale had barely eaten or drank anything. He’d tried to have a nice outdoor meeting because Aziraphale loved picnics, but the angel had shuttered at every passerby for the last fifteen minutes. He’d talked about nothing more in-depth than the weather, and had ignored all of Crowley’s digs and efforts to start debates in favor of remaining passive and demure. Finally, Crowley couldn’t stand the quiet; whispering softly into the darkness before him. “Angel?

The angel swallowed and took a light, steadying breath, before leaning in and softly pressing his forehead to Crowley’s.

“My dearest, I think I should like to go inside…” he said, barely murmuring himself. Crowley could feel the bridge of his angel’s nose pressing the bridge of his glasses. He could feel the warmth from the angel’s skin on his forehead. And he could feel the barest tremble of the body underneath.

“Okay, angel; anything you want.” He replied quietly. “Do you want to walk there, or..?” When Aziraphale’s answer wasn’t forthcoming, Crowley chose to snap his fingers, bringing them right into their room and onto the plush bed, barely a pop to denote the change. And yet, Aziraphale didn’t move for several minutes.

Crowley knew, of course, that Aziraphale didn’t do well being rushed, but he was also acutely aware of warm tears dropping down between the pair. So the demon chose instead to tilt his head, just slightly, and gently nuzzle the angel’s face, hoping to bring comfort. Aziraphale’s cheek twitched, and he let out a soft, shaken sigh.

“I’m old.” he said quietly.

Once again, Crowley’s handling of the situation was eloquent and sensitive;

“Well duh, we’ve both been around for six millennia! They could be studying us in the Royal Museum, angel!”

Aziraphale let out a wet “Ha!” and started to cry harder, at which point Crowley realized he hadn’t quite soothed the situation like he’d thought, and wrapped his arms around the angel tightly.

“Oh, you know I don’t know what to say you prissy bastard. I haven’t got near the high-and-mighty education you do.” That brought a more earnest chuckle out of Aziraphale, and the angel reached to wipe the tears from his cheeks, wiggling from Crowley’s grasp for a moment. “You’ve gotta tell me what you mean, when you say something like that,” the demon continued.

“I suppose I mean old-fashioned,” Aziraphale began, “And really even then I can’t explain.” He sat quietly for a moment, trying to recompose himself. Crowley moved to pull Aziraphale into his chest, wanting to hold the angel. Once again, however, Aziraphale tried to pull away.

“I’m afraid.” Aziraphale said softly. “I’m afraid because I feel the archangels' eyes on me even when I know they aren’t, and that lot have plenty of other things to do. And I’m afraid because I love you very much, but I worry I’m not right.”

Crowley’s heart leapt at hearing the little ‘I love you’ in the angel’s confession, since the pair had only said it out loud a few times since their retirement; but it sank right down again at hearing the rest of what Aziraphale had to say. He tried to give the confession the appropriate amount of time for consideration, before finally asking, “I don’t know what you mean?”

The angel’s eyes became wet again, and he let out a heavy sigh; “Oh, Crowley.” He had a sad but fond smile, and pulled Crowley back onto the bed, finally cuddling up into the demon’s side.

“You’re you, my dear. You’re clever and tall and fantastically dapper, and you’re constantly swaying about as if you haven’t got a care in the world for what the people around us think, and I’m most certain you really don’t . And I suppose it’s not really my worry what the humans think of us. But…” He quieted once more, and all but buried his face in Crowley’s side. “I can’t just let go. They were my family, Crowley, and they said such awful things to me, and I want to just forget but I can’t and I’m afraid I never will and I don’t want to just be your constant reminder of my own problems that I can’t solve. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“So you’ve been thinking about the self-obsessed pigeon again,” Crowley teased. Aziraphale turned delightfully red at that, and smacked Crowley’s chest, smiling despite himself.

“You really mustn’t call him that. It's terribly rude.” Aziraphale said, sniffling.

“Oh! Rude! You didn’t tell me he didn’t like the nickname!” Crowley teased back. He snuggled closer and planted a kiss right on Aziraphale’s cheekbone. “I didn’t know we were being nice to the pigeon now! After he's treated my dove so terribly!” Crowley attempted another nuzzle and won a beautiful little wet laugh from the angel.

“Look, angel. Angel, I..." He looked up at the ceiling, then back down. "Angel," he said, "my love is not fragile. Do you really think I care if you still wake me up in the middle of the night because you’re feeling insecure a thousand years from now? Granted, I might be a little grumpy about it. 'Gotta get my beauty sleep in after all. But..." he paused, suddenly a little self-conscious, "I'll... I'll still love you. No matter how many times I have to remind you.”

Aziraphale’s tears were soaking Crowley’s shirt, but the demon couldn’t bring himself to care. He could sense the change; they weren’t borne strictly of sadness any longer. Crowley held his angel for a long time after that, letting the night wrap around them. They could picnic and stargaze tomorrow. Drive back to London later in the week. Tomorrow Aziraphale would brew tea and Crowley would tease him about the new book. Right now, Crowley was exactly where he wanted to be, planning be blessed.

The demon pulled a hand up, for just a moment, and snapped his fingers. The pair became cocooned in soft, heavy blankets. They held onto each other, two stars so close they might as well have been one.

#warcats writes #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #goloveday2021 #hurt/comfort #good omens fluff #tw insecurity #tw references to trauma #tw crying

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iffeelscouldkill · 4 years ago

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Mission Log: REDACTED

A/N: Now that Yuletide reveals are revealed, I can go ahead and own this fic I wrote for the awesome Mousek for Yuletide! It’s quite long (14,999 words), so I’m not going to post the whole thing here, just enough to give people a flavour and lure them to AO3 for the rest.

This fic is written in an “audio narrative” format, in the same style as the From the Archives ficlets if you’ve read those. Slightly spoilery warning (skip over this to remain unspoiled but please read if you’re concerned about potential triggers): this fic features people’s memories being modified (though not completely irreversibly) without their consent.

Enjoy, friends!

Summary: Canon divergence AU from mid-episode 9. Instead of executing Plan B, the Rumor crew learns about a top-secret Regime project that is being carried out at ADVANCE Labs - and that the fate of the crew of the Iris is not what they thought it had been.Violet Liu goes in undercover, posing as a member of the lab team. But can she undo what the Regime has done to the crew and free them - without losing herself in the process?

Read on AO3!

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“This is Agent McCabe. Two weeks have now passed since our last update. Based on the continued lack of audio input via this swarm of Strain H, we can assume that the crew of the Rumor have acted on the intel given to them by the insurgents, Thasia and Violet Liu, and successfully cured themselves of the VCN nanocloud infection.

“As a result, pending further developments in this case, the Strange Case of Starship Iris is now considered closed. Footage from the case remains available in the archives and can be accessed on request by submitting form B7-081 with a superior’s signature.

“My thanks to Major General Frederick, Agents Bauman and Cross, and the specialists at Procyon, as well as Junior Agent Goodman for their assistance in this case. Long live the Republic.”

SYSTEM: E.L.L.A.

USERNAME: EMILY CRADDOCK

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“Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to check in and say that I’m fine, I’m safe and I passed the background checks without any problems. I kept thinking the whole time that someone from the intake process would recognise me, but – none of them seemed familiar, and I guess I wasn’t either. Just a very small cog in the vast machine of the Reg- the Republic. God, I’ve got to get used to saying that again.

“I’m all settled in in my apartment – it’s twice the size of my room on the Rumor, but I can’t help thinking how much I miss that space.” Quiet laughter. “And you all. I… guess I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll have more to update you with tomorrow, after I start work at the lab. And I’ll be able to let you know whether our intel was good.

“Until then… Violet Liu out.”

“This is uh, lab report 05, week two? Analyst Brannon reporting on behalf of Gamma Team at ADVANCE.

“Over the past few days, our lab has continued work on synthesizing the NDMA proteins, and Specialists Chang and Yeboah report that they have made some positive advancements in this area. We have provisionally moved up the timeline for the first round of testing with this in mind, though Specialist Yeboah cautions that we need to monitor how the new proteins react with other molecules in the solution first, and then with the blood cell samples.

“A new member also joined our team today – specialist Huang. I wasn’t aware that we’d actually been hiring for our vacancy, but uh, she seems very qualified? A little over-qualified, even. In addition to her qualification from Brightwell she has extensive experience with this type of lab work, which makes us lucky to have her as part of the team. She’s joined Analyst Vázquez and Assistant Hudson in their work on the histone deacetylases.

“My specialism is in a completely different area, and I’m pretty sure our work histories have never overlapped, but – she seems familiar somehow. Except she said she was based on Mars up until six months ago, and I’ve been working on New Jupiter since… uh…

“Sorry – lost my train of thought for a minute there. I’ve been getting these persistent headaches… I think it’s all that poring over modelling data. Though I never get them while I’m working, so maybe they’re delayed-onset headaches? Heh. It could be the lab lighting; I might ask Supervisor Kaaka if we can swap out the bulbs for a lower wattage.

“Uh, anyway. This is Analyst Brannon signing off. Long live the Republic.”

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“Hey, it’s me. Oh my god… oh my god, I can barely process what’s been happening. I was going to send this message as soon as I got back to my apartment, and instead I’ve just been sitting and staring into space because it’s just so… surreal…

“They’re alive. They’re all just… alive and working in a lab at ADVANCE on New Jupiter.

“I mean, we haven’t ruled out the possibility of highly advanced duplicates, but why would the Repub- the Reg- the IGR go to all that trouble? The simplest explanation - even if it still sounds pretty far-fetched - is that they're the same crew.

“Brian, if you’re listening to this – Alvy's alive. I know I didn’t work with him that long but I’m sure, I’m so sure it's really him. But it’s like Thasia and Other Violet said – none of them remember who they were, or their real names. Everyone here calls him Analyst Brannon – Michael Brannon.

“We’re not working very closely together, but I found an excuse to go over to his workstation and introduce myself, and – it seemed like he recognised me. I’m gonna try and find ways to talk to him – the real Alvy Connors is still in there, Brian, I’m sure of it.

“Is there anything you want me to… ask him? Maybe a question that only he would know the answer to?

“Sorry, I don’t have much more time – the IGR has listening devices planted throughout every Republic-issued apartment; everywhere except the bathroom. Even they have to draw the line somewhere. I scanned it, and it’s clean, but if I remember right there are still sensors that will activate if you go above a certain noise, light or heat, threshold – y’know, in case anyone takes it upon themselves to… build a bomb in here or something. And I don’t want the bugs outside to pick up what I’m saying, which is why I’m whispering.

“But I can’t stay in here too long, or they’ll get suspicious, so – I’m fine, and so far I haven’t messed up or called the Republic the Regime or anything in earshot of anyone. And no-one has recognised me. Well, except for Alvy, maybe.

“I’m still trying to figure out what exactly they’re working on, here. If you’re going to go to the trouble of staffing a lab with the crew of an… of an exploded space ship, it must be important, right? Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just a test, to see how well they assimilate.

“I’ll let you know when I know more. Until then… stay safe. I will too. Violet Liu out.”

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“Hi, Liu. It’s me.

“I’ll keep this to the point, since I know you probably don’t have much time to spend playing back these messages. We’re all fine here. Kind of in a holding pattern, since there’s not much to do until we hear more from you or from Thasia and the other Violet, but it’s not too bad.

“Jeeter’s really happy, by the way, since he listened to your message. I mean, I think he’s still – processing – because he thought Connors was dead, he even wrote to his parents, and now we find out he’s alive, but not… y’know. Not Connors any more.

“But he’ll be fine. Krejjh is helping, which means the two of them are being even more nauseating then they usually are, and that’s saying something.

“Anyway. Listen, I know you want to try and get through to Connors, but… just be careful, okay? None of us, including Jeeter, wants you to get hurt or – worse – on the off chance that we might be able to bring him back. We always knew it was gonna be a long shot.

“Tripathi said to tell you the same, by the way. Well, she said it in a more… Tripathi… way, but the idea was the same. Find out what you can, but don’t get caught. We can’t afford to lo- to mess this up.

“Okay, I should go. Arkady Patel out.”

“This is lab report 06, week three. Analyst Brannon reporting on behalf of Gamma Team at ADVANCE.

“Since my last report, we have introduced the synthesized NDMA proteins to the solution and tested their interactions with samples representing different blood types. Six out of eight of the samples produced expected results, but two of the samples produced some unexpected interactions with the AB type blood cells, which warrants further testing and study.

“Specialist Huang, Analyst Vázquez and Assistant Hudson are progressing with their work on the histone deacetylases, which should be ready to introduce in the next phase of the solution, pending resolution of the AB blood cell issue.

“Okay, what else… Oh, Specialist Huang is integrating well with the team. She and I have had a couple of conversations, though our second one was unfortunately cut short when my headache started up again. Maybe I should bring it up with Dr. Starling…

“Damn it. Is that the time? I was supposed to go for my treatment a half hour ago – damn it, damn it.

“Uh… I should probably redact that from the final report. This is Analyst Brannon, signing off. Long live the Republic.”

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“Hey guys, it’s me again. Violet. It feels kind of nice to use my own name for a change instead of being called ‘Specialist Huang’ all the time… I almost forgot to react to it once, though luckily Vázquez thought I was just focused on my work.

“Not a whole lot to report still – I’m still trying to figure out what it is the Regime is doing in these labs. It’s something to do with DNA methylation and synthesized NDMA proteins – well, I won’t bore you with the science, but why would the IGR be working on that? Could be they’re trying to develop a neural enhancer, but for what? I haven’t ruled out the possibility of there being some kind of link to the nanobots, but no-one here has mentioned nanites, and there are no nanotech specialists working in the lab.

“They keep us very siloed, too. I know what I’m working on, or at least what I have to do, but I don’t know why, and none of the people I work directly with seems to know what we’re developing here. Just something about a solution and blood cell samples. We might not even be the only lab working on this, which means I’ll have to find another way to get at the bigger picture.

“I spoke to Alvy a couple times – I was careful, Arkady, don’t worry. We didn’t manage to talk for long anyway – people don’t socialise much here. I’d kind of forgotten what it was like to work in this kind of environment, where no-one trusts anyone or lets their guard down, because people will backstab each other for the slightest thing. Maybe they had a professional disagreement, or don’t get along, or they wanted to get the credit for the other person’s work. It doesn’t take much of an insinuation to get someone transferred or – worse.

“Nothing’s happened, not yet, and it’s still nowhere near as bad as that student internship I did during the war. But it feels… tense, almost hair-trigger. I think I heard we’re having an inspection later on this week.

“Anyway, Alvy – I didn’t get to talk to him for very long, not just because of the environment, but because he had this headache come on the second time we talked. I’m not sure if it means anything – he said he gets them often. Brian, do you… remember him saying anything about that before?

“He seems a little different to the way I remember him on the Iris – a little more serious, less laid-back, though he’s still the friendliest person on the team. I didn’t… get to know him under the best circumstances, so I’m not sure if that’s due to the memory wipe or not.

“He also mentioned that he’s been seeing a doctor for these treatments – they all have. It could just be something to do with the away shuttle explosion, some kind of recovery program – there was an explosion, even if it didn’t really kill anyone, and Alvy’s got these – support struts in one of his legs, I think they’re carbon fibre. He walks with a slight limp sometimes.

“It could be nothing, but I feel like it might be worth digging into? Arkady, are you able to poke around in ADVANCE’s systems a bit, see if you can find anything that resembles medical reports?

“I’d better go. I brought my makeup bag in here as a cover for taking a bit longer – I don’t even know if the IGR has cameras in these apartments, but better to be safe than sorry – but there’s only so long you can take to put on the bare minimum I wear.

“Send me a message when you can. Violet Liu, out.”

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“Hey, Liu. Good instincts on the medical treatment thing. I didn’t spot anything like that in my initial sweep of the system when I forged your interview and acceptance records, but I wasn’t on the lookout for it either.

“There’s a limit to what I can access without jacking directly into ADVANCE’s mainframe computer or piggybacking on their local network, but I’ll dig around as much as I can.” Jokingly: “ Worst comes to worst, we could always send Jeeter in with an earpiece and make him pose as a computer technician.

“Oh, also, Jeeter says he doesn’t remember Alvy ever mentioning any kind of migraines or head pain. Apparently he’d go on these all-night coding benders and then sleep for two hours and be completely fine the next morning. Maybe it caught up to him, but – well, I’m not gonna jump to any conclusions. I’ll see what I can find in the medical records.

“Also – be careful with the inspection, okay? Your ID will hold up, Campbell doesn’t skimp on the quality, and you look different enough from the physical description they have on file, but those Regime higher-ups will ask some weird shit to catch you out.

“You’ve got the comm if you need us for anything. Just… keep your head down.

“Arkady Patel, out.”

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“Hey, Liu, listen. You were right. There’s something weird going on with these treatments.

“I managed to track down the medical records for the whole crew. Wasn’t easy, but I’ll save the tales of my security-defying exploits for another time. Anyway, I managed to hack into an account belonging to someone called Dr. Starling. They were brought onto ADVANCE’s payroll on June 1st – two days before the away shuttle exploded.

“There are files for all of them, and the scientific stuff doesn’t mean much to me, but from what I can tell, they’re monitoring them all for signs of what Starling calls ‘leakage’ – memories from their previous lives. Five of the other crew members have reported experiencing head pains, and it’s not a physical injury – Starling seems to think the pain is set off by them thinking back beyond a certain point, or being reminded of something from their past life. They upped the frequency of the ‘treatments’ to try and counter it, but so far it hasn’t worked.

“I think that’s what they’re for, the treatments – they’re keeping the crew’s memories suppressed. Which means, if they can be interfered with somehow…

“Bad news is, I can’t get into the scheduling system, not without access to the local network. But in Starling’s notes it says that Alvy was meant to come in for a treatment earlier today- well, yesterday technically, since it’s after 3am. But he didn’t show. So maybe you could get through to him.

“Obviously, don’t blow your cover, but if Alvy’s been getting these headaches a lot, it could mean he’s trying to remember? You said he got a headache when you guys talked – what were you talking about?”

A stifled yawn. “Shit, I’d better sleep, Sana wanted me to help encrypt some intel to send to Thasia and the other Violet Liu first thing in the morning. I’ll talk to you later. Arkady Patel out.”

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“Arkady, you’re a genius! Oh my god, I could kiss you.

“I’ve only skimmed the records you copied, but they make references to a solution that sounds a lot like the one we’re developing in the lab. What if that’s the answer? What if that’s what the IGR is having the crew develop, another version of the treatment – maybe one that’s more permanent…

“…Oh god, that’s so dark. They’re having the crew work on erasing their own memories. It’s so inhuman, so – exactly what the IGR would do.

“–I have to go, I’ve got work in half an hour, but – this really helps. And I’ll try to talk to Alvy today, see if he seems any different after his missed treatment. Violet Liu out.”

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“You, uh—” The sound of awkward throat-clearing. “You are welcome. Yeah. Like I said, it’s uh, it’s what I do! So, no, uh thanks required. Though if you wanted to, I—

“Shit, I’ve gotta go, Sana needs me. Uh, Arkady Patel out.”

Read the rest here!

#fic #TSCOSI #The Strange Case of Starship Iris #Yuletide #Yuletide fic #mission fic #Violet Liu #Arkady Patel #Alvy Connors #RJ McCabe #Vikady #I really enjoyed writing the dorky Violet/Arkady interactions in this fic #I mean I really enjoyed writing all of this #but especially that aspect #also please ignore the sciencey jargon #though I've been told by someone who is more sciencey than I am that it is not bad jargon #it took me way too long to come up with 😂 I wanted it to be vaguely plausible #but it's not necessary to understand the fic

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cursesthemusical · 4 years ago

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hestadil fic

ok so I posted about a hestadil fic I wrote earlier and I figured I’d just share it here, bc why not? It’s called coward, set during AWWP right after the trial, and it’s about 3.5k words so, not too long? anyway yeah hope you like it :) oH and if you wanna read it on ao3 instead, the link’s in my. . . profile? past posts? idk what to call them

(and yes this is mostly because I want to put off doing geometry homework shh)

“A-Anadil-”

“Shh, shh,” Anadil whispers to Hester, trying to disguise the fear in her voice. Hester’s whole face is bloodied and her leg is bent the wrong way and her usually piercing eyes look so tired and who even is this girl under Anadil’s arm, because Hester is always so strong? What has the world come to if Hester looks like this? It’s up to Anadil to take care of her friend, and that scares her, because she’s always been a sidekick. She’s never had to lead. But right now, she tells herself sharply, she has to be here for Hester and not be scared even though she is so freaking scared.

She looks up and sees Lady Lesso running towards them, black hair flowing in a rare ponytail. Anadil’s heart stops again because everything’s so, so wrong. Their dean is always perfectly poised, not a single hair out of her braid, purple dress immaculate. Now she looks a mess, even more than Sophie on that first day of school. Her dress is dirty and her cheeks are blotchy, and the dean’s fear only seems to worsen when she sees the state Hester’s in.

“Anadil, what happened?” Lady Lesso demands.

“A-Aric - his princes -” she stammers. Truthfully, she didn’t see everything that happened. All she knows is that they were fighting the princes, the Coven as one, and then Hester fell and Anadil reached for her friend’s flag, her mind and body screaming in pain, and dropped it, but not before seeing that Hester was almost dead.

No, is. Is almost dead.

Lady Lesso’s face pales. “Aric. . .” She hesitates for a second, but then shakes her head, dispelling some image from her mind. All of a sudden, there’s another flash and Dot appears in the field, looking shocked but with no injuries except a minor gash across one arm.

“Hester!” Dot cries, rushing to her friend. Hester only manages a weak gasp in response, and Dot’s face pales. “What do we do?” she asks, turning to Lady Lesso, tears in her large eyes. She grabs a clump of grass from the ground and twists it in her hands viciously, then shoots a blast of brown magic at it and turns it to chocolate. Anadil doesn’t even think she knows she’s doing it.

Lady Lesso is silent for a moment, looking out over the Blue Forest. “Things are happening tonight, girls. Things I never thought would happen. A lot’s going to be different after tonight.” She pauses, and when she starts talking again, her voice is hard. “Anadil, are you injured?” Anadil shakes her head mutely. “Good. Dot, since you were the last one out of you three, I want you to stay here and tell me absolutely everything you remember. Anadil, bring Hester to the medical ward and stay with her at least until she’s under. We all could use a friend right now.”

Anadil and Dot nod resolutely, both determined to help with whatever they can. “Off with you,” Lady Lesso says to Anadil, the dean’s purple fingerglow lighting. She waves it, muttering something under her breath, and then Hester’s floating up in the air, surrounded in a purple glow. “She’s Bonded to you, Anadil - until the spell breaks, she’ll float after you when you walk. Now, go. She’s not in a good state.”

Scared, Anadil nods and starts walking. True to Lady Lesso’s words, Hester’s body follows her, and so do her rats, who are whimpering. One jumps up onto Hester’s prone form, and Anadil’s about to command it to get off when she sees Hester’s face relax a bit at the sensation of the pale grey fur brushing the witch’s cheek. She bites her lip and continues on, faster. Once she’s in the School, Dean Dovey meets her and ushers her into the hospital wing, not even bothering to look at Hester. There’s no time to waste.

Once Anadil, Hester, the rats, and the Dean are all in the hospital wing, Dean Dovey closes her eyes and pale blue magic surrounds Hester, taking her out of Anadil’s aura and on to a bed. A nymph rushes over and starts washing strips of gauze as Anadil watches, not able to tear her eyes away from Hester.

“Er. . . Anadil? Do you want to go back to your dorm, or outside, perhaps?” Dean Dovey asks her in a soft voice so as not to disturb the nymph.

“No.” Anadil’s voice may come out harsher than intended, but Hester is almost dead.

Her best friend is almost dead.

She thinks she can be as harsh as she wants.

“All right,” the Dean says. Anadil’s surprised she doesn’t press further, but she lets it alone and sinks into a chair, her rats crowding on to her lap. The four pairs of red eyes are all focused on the girl in the bed, black and red hair spilling out over the pillow. Hester looks more vulnerable than Anadil’s ever seen her, face covered with gashes and a pained frown twisting her features.

The nymph takes a second to look at Anadil, asking a silent question - are you hurt? One of Aric’s blasted princes got Anadil’s own leg, but it didn’t reach any major arteries or veins and really, it barely hurts. And of course, Anadil’s had worse.

Unconsciously, she strokes a raised scar on her arm, where a Bloodbrook boy cut her with a knife after she told everyone she liked girls and only girls. She’d had to get stitches, and it still twinges painfully now and then. She doesn't understand why people don’t like girls loving girls and boys loving boys. Even though she’s a witch, she’ll never hate people for loving. She knows what it’s like to love.

She tucks a lock of white hair over her shoulder and leans back against the chair. If she’s going to stay - which, of course she is, Hester’s her best friend in the world - she’ll need to be comfortable. Slowly, her eyes drift closed, and she falls into a restless sleep, dreaming of blood and savage purple eyes and shadowy trees rising all around her and Hester.

About an hour later, she wakes up, jolting out of a nightmare by a faint voice calling her name. She takes a deep breath, holding her rats close, then searches for the source of the voice.

“A-ani?”

Only one person calls her Ani.

She hurries to drag her chair closer to Hester’s bed and puts her pale hand over Hester’s. “You’re awake!” she says, tears threatening to spill over. Why is she crying? She wasn’t crying before.

“Ani,” Hester says again, then coughs, blood staining her lips as she does. Anadil looks around the room frantically, but the nymph is gone. She presses a tissue to Hester’s mouth, hoping against hope that Hester will be okay.

She doesn’t know what she’ll do if Hester’s not okay.

She doesn’t know how she’ll live if Hester’s not right there beside her.

Hester coughs again into the tissue, and Anadil’s relieved to see that there isn’t as much blood this time. Maybe Hester will be absolutely fine, maybe she’ll be out of the hospital by tonight and they’ll be back to planning pranks and they’ll think of a new mean nickname for Sophie tomorrow morning, knees and shoulders pressed together, Dot hovering over them and force feeding them chocolate (however much Hester gripes about how villains shouldn’t eat candy, Anadil knows she loves white chocolate. Anadil knows everything about Hester.). Maybe at lunch they’ll be back to practicing light curses on each other while they eat gruel and complain about how annoying having school with the Evers is. Maybe everything will be back to normal, and Anadil will never have to tell Hester how much she likes her, because Hester will be alive for a long time and there’ll be no chance of Hester dying without knowing how Anadil really feels.

How does Anadil really feel towards Hester?

She knows. She’s known since first year.

But she can’t say it. Not even to herself. Evil’s supposed to be strong, fearless, outspoken, and here she is, not able to say three simple words. How cowardly.

She wants to run and not look back, run out of the school, to Bloodbrook even though she hates Bloodbrook with all her heart. To her mother who’s still looking for a fairytale of her own. To the memories of her grandmother, the Witch she wanted to be. To a château full of lost hope and sadness and evil. To a life not worth living. And away from Hester, the girl who Anadil would die for, the girl who Anadil cares about more deeply than she’s ever cared for anything in her whole life. Away from the confusion and the blood still dripping down Hester’s leg. Away from her feelings.

How fucking cowardly.

A hitched sob claws out of her throat and now she’s crying again and villains shouldn’t cry but she can’t stop the tears from spilling down her thin face and down onto her trial uniform, soaking into the blue silk fabric. Hester looks shocked at first, then folds her other hand over Anadil’s. “Ani,” she says, and her voice comes out stronger, and the tears clear out enough for Anadil to see Hester’s face, her dark eyes wide and filled with love.

Not love. Hester doesn’t love Anadil in the way Anadil loves Hester. That at least, she’s sure about.

“Sleep,” Hester whispers, and Anadil can’t even find the strength to choke out that Hester’s the one who’s hurt, Hester’s the one who needs to sleep. Instead she leans back in her chair and closes her eyes, acutely aware of the fact that Hester’s watching her. Finally, it feels like someone cares for her.

When she wakes again, her rats have burrowed into her trial uniform, her hair covering them like a blanket. The nymph is in the room now too, busily wetting fresh bandages. She looks over and gives Anadil one of her nymph smiles, a bit mysterious and otherworldly but still a smile. Hester’s awake and propped up on her arms in her bed, staring off into space. Their hands are still folded together, and Anadil feels faint when she looks at the bed. She looks away, trying not to think about how Hester’s finger is absentmindedly stroking Anadil’s palm.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Hester says, sounding cheery, and Anadil’s forced to look back. “You know, the gash in my leg isn’t bleeding anymore. Bet Aric’s mad. We’re gonna have to get revenge on him, you know.” She doesn’t mention Anadil crying - last night, she thinks it was - and Anadil says a silent thank you. One of her rats jumps onto Hester’s bed and cuddles into Hester’s side, then peers at Anadil as if to say tell her. “Shut up,” Anadil whispers to the rat.

“What?” Hester asks.

“Um. Nothing,” Anadil says, giving a last glare to the rat. “What were you saying?”

“Revenge.” Hester’s eyes get that evil gleam Anadil knows so well. “On Aric. He did almost kill me. We should almost kill him in return.”

Anadil tries not to think about the “we”. “How?”

“I don’t know. Sophie could probably think of something. Scream at him?” They both laugh, although the mood is subdued. Hester did almost die.

The door slams open, and both of them turn to see Dot nibbling on some chocolate and staring at them. “Hester, how are you?” she says, moving closer.

“Not dead anymore,” Hester says. Anadil can’t tell if it’s a joke or not. Neither can Dot, apparently, because she frowns.

“Well, er, that’s good,” Dot says, but Dot can never stay sad for long (not unless she’s thinking about her father) and she quickly brightens, pulling something round and brown from behind her back. “I got you a get well present,” she says cheerfully. “I saw a doorknob on the way here and unscrewed it and now it’s chocolate. And I did a Solidify spell on it so it wouldn’t melt.” She presents the doorknob to Hester, who takes a bite.

“Really good,” Hester tells Dot, who grins. Anadil’s just about to ask whether it was the only doorknob on the door when they hear a shout from far off in the Evil castle.

“Who locked me in this merlinforsaken closet?!” A volley of curses follows it. It sounds like Beezle. The three witches look at the door to the medical room then at each other, then burst out laughing. This time it’s real laughter.

Dot takes a chair and drags it next to Anadil’s, and they sit (or lie) in silence for a while after the last giggles stop. Anadil glances at Hester occasionally, who’s toying with a loose thread on her blankets. She’s still kicking herself for being such a coward. She’s missed her chance to tell Hester how she feels. How she shouldn’t feel. She’s a witch. Hasn’t her grandmother told her hundreds of times that witches don’t love? Hasn’t that been drilled into them from the very beginning of School? The Good love. The Evil hate.

Even when the boundaries between Good and Evil are changed into Girls and Boys, she’s still a witch. And witches don’t love.

But Anadil does.

What does that mean?

Probably that she’s going to be expelled if anyone finds out.

So it was good that she didn’t say anything.

Maybe if she thinks that enough it’ll be true.

She sighs, slumping in her chair. One of her rats climbs into her hand and she strokes its fur absentmindedly. Dot and Hester have struck up a conversation about whether Hester’s demon likes chocolate, so Anadil’s lost to her thoughts. She remembers her mother, giving her three rats when she was two. In hindsight, she was probably supposed to kill them, establishing herself early as a witch. Evil parenting strategies. . . definitely aren’t the kindest, though they can be effective.

She doesn’t know who her father is. Actually, she’s not sure if she has one. She looks almost like a carbon copy of her mother, and there are some ways of having a child by magic in the Woods. And of course, Evil doesn’t love.

She tries not to look at Hester.

A few hours later, Lady Lesso pushes open the door, looking even worse than she did two days ago. When she sees them, her eyes widen. “You three. . . you don’t know. . .”

“Know what?” Hester asks, her demon flying shaky circles around her head.

“On the night of the Trial. . . I’ll spare you the details. But Agatha and Tedros are gone, back to Gavaldon, Dean Sader is presumed dead, and Sophie kissed the School Master.” Lady Lesso puts a hand to her head, looking up at the ceiling as if to say can’t we just have one normal year at this school? She looks back at the coven. “Don’t trouble yourselves with it just yet, though, all right? We’ll deal with this when we come to it. Hester, are you feeling alright?”

“B-better,” Hester stammers, looking shocked by the slew of information.

“Good.” Lady Lesso gives them a weak smile and casts a purple spell at Hester. “I just came in to do this healing spell. I’m only sorry I didn’t do it earlier. It won’t completely heal you, but it’ll speed it up by quite a bit.”

Hester nods stiffly, still processing, but still the leader and Lady Lesso laughs, a rare thing for their dean. “I’m sorry. Please don’t worry about anything just yet. Everything will be alright.” Nobody believes that, but they all nod in unison and Lady Lesso turns, pushing the door open and walking out. Hester, Anadil, and Dot look at each other.

“So,” Dot says, her voice shaking. With laughter or fear, Anadil can’t tell. “That. . . happened. I guess.”

Anadil nods, feeling the way Dot’s voice sounded. “She said not to worry about it.”

Hester smiles. “So we won’t. Not yet, at least. Let’s just, you know, do what we always do. At least while I’m still in the hospital.” Her demon makes a sound that’s kind of like a laugh and settles back into Hester’s neck, melting into its tattoo form. Anadil stares at it. Two years, and she still can’t get over how cool it is. How cool Hester is.

At night, Dot leaves, promising to bring back more chocolate in the morning. She winks at Anadil, and the white haired witch gives her a glare in return, remembering how she and Dot told each other their biggest secrets in one particularly late night in their first year, when Hester was in the library researching love potions with Sophie. Anadil hadn’t told her friend exactly what she felt - she didn’t even know exactly what she felt at that time - but she had rhapsodized about Hester’s hair for a while and Dot had put it together even faster than she did. Anadil was pretty sure Dot wasn’t leaving because she had a project to finish.

“Ani?” Hester said sleepily around eleven o’clock.

“Yes?”

“Can you come here?” Anadil moves her chair closer to Hester’s bed, heart thundering. They’re close enough now that if Anadil were to lean down just a few inches, her hair would touch Hester’s face. “Are you okay?”

Hester shuts her eyes tightly, then reopens them and looks up at Anadil, a rare soft smile curving her lips. “Yeah. Just. . .” She scrunches her nose, and Anadil has to admit, it looks adorable. “I need you, Ani. I hate that I need you, but I do.”

“I need you too.” Anadil’s voice comes out too quiet, but Hester hears. She always hears, even when no one else does. Even when Anadil’s mother or grandmother doesn’t hear her, Hester does. And Hester listens.

She’s really in this deep, isn’t she.

“You don’t understand.” Hester looks down at her sheets, the clean white stained with drops of red. “I need you, Anadil. In a way that I’m not supposed to need anyone.”

If Hester’s saying what Anadil thinks she’s saying, this is the most wonderful moment of Anadil’s life. She feels shivery, freezing cold and burning hot at the same time, like she’s encased in clouds and floating high above everything. Is this how Evers feel when they get asked to the ball? It must be. No other feeling she’s had has been as beautiful as this “I know.”

“You know?” Black eyes meet red, both girls still. Anadil doesn’t feel witchy right now. These past years, she’s been trying to make herself older than she is, older and more mature and more evil. But really, she’s only sixteen. She’s still just a girl. And right now, she feels young and beautiful and in love.

“Yes,” she says, sure of herself. This is what she wants. “I know,” she whispers.

Hester props herself up on her arms and looks at Anadil, wonder in her eyes. They lean towards each other, and it’s definitely uncomfortable, but all Anadil can think is that it’s happening. And when their lips touch, it feels like home. More home than the Bloodbrook château, certainly, more home than the School for Evil, more home than anything’s ever been. And she knows now what that warm feeling she gets when she’s with Hester is.

Belonging.

The kiss is light, fleeting, filled with the promises of more kisses and love and forever. They pull away and stare at each other, both blushing. “I love you, Hester,” Anadil says quietly, her voice shaky. For a terrible moment, Hester’s eyes get wide and Anadil’s so scared she’s done something wrong.

But then Hester smiles and says, “I love you, Anadil,” and even though she’s still got blood on her lips and her hair is a tangled mess and her voice is scratchy, she’s the most beautiful thing Anadil’s ever seen.

The Good love. The Evil hate.

Not anymore, Anadil thinks to the voice in her head, gazing at the girl she loves. And like it was never there at all, the voice that called her a coward, the voice that said she could never love, the voice that brought her deepest fears and insecurities to life, is gone.

And all that’s left is Hester.

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theres-a-goldensky · 5 years ago

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32 Reddie Fic Recs

In honor of the joy I feel in finally getting out of this miserably terrible fucking year of my life, I thought I’d do something fun and make up a list of Reddie fic recs, since this has fandom has taken over my life recently. Strap in, friends. This is gonna be a long one.

These recs are in the order in which I read them.

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

IT chapter 2 list part two - Reddie

Good Omens fic

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

Various BL Series fic (fandoms: Love By Chance, TharnType, 2Moons series, My Engineer, Until We Meet Again, 2gether, History3: Trapped)

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

All fics are Reddie, all are complete.

** - denotes personal favorite

1. first love / late spring by vowelinthug - ~36,000 words, explicit - They both survive It, but not without some injuries, both physical and psychological. Richie takes Eddie to a secluded cabin to help him recover. And then they accidentally make a podcast. Nice slowburn, a good Richie characterization. I liked the conversations between the two of them, in particular one about Richie’s disdain for shoes that was pitch perfect.

The doctor’s evil eye is on both of them now. “Your friend is gonna be fine. Broken collarbone and a lot of blood loss, but the arm stays on, for now anyway.” Probably at the way Richie sags in relief so hard he groans in pain, the doctor stops looking so severe. “He’s a tough guy. I’ve never seen anyone regain consciousness from that much blood loss just to give me a full medical history.”

“Oh my god,” says Richie, covering his mouth. “I like him so much.”

Bill pats his shoulder in sympathy.

2. the fireworks that go off when you smile by zach_stone - ~10,000 words, teen - Post-movie the adult Losers, including Stan, go on a vacation together. There’s just lots of Richie staring at a wet, shirtless Eddie and pining.

Richie blinks at him, his stomach doing a fucking somersault, pinned under Eddie’s weirdly passionate stare. He swallows another mouthful of beer to stall for time, shifting his gaze away. Spread out before him, the lake looks like flat, black glass. “Jeez, is the risk analyst really telling me to ignore the risks? What’s the world coming to?” he manages to joke.

He expects Eddie to roll his eyes, to huff and lean away again, but he doesn’t. He says, still earnest, “I just think some things are worth the risk.”

And Richie doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that. He resolutely tells himself not to puke on Ben and Beverly’s porch, because he thinks if he did it would just be the words I love Eddie Kaspbrak a hundred times over, all puddled on the slats of wood. He stands up rather abruptly. “I should go to bed,” he says, aware that he’s talking too loud, being too fucking obvious. “I’m jetlagged as fuck. Also maybe a little drunk.”

3. oh, i want the truth to be known by ShowMeAHero - ~7000 words, explicit - Richie sees Eddie die in the deadlights and then manages to save him at the last second, but It skewers him instead. I’m honestly not sure why there isn’t more fic with this premise, because Richie sacrificing his own safety for Eddie and then Eddie losing his shit is absolutely, 100% my jam.

The claw isn’t in Eddie’s chest. Instead, it’s in Richie’s, caught in his side, pinning him to the ground. He chokes on a scream, caught in his throat, and pushes at Eddie, just trying to get them away. He rolls into him, ripping Pennywise’s claw through his side to get away, but once he’s free, he’s scrambling into a half-stumble and dragging Eddie with him until they’re hidden under an outcropping of rock. His side is bleeding, he can feel it, and his entire fucking abdomen hurts, and, for a moment, it’s all he can process.

“Holy shit, Richie,” Eddie exclaims. The pain shuffles to the back of Richie’s mind so he can focus on Eddie instead. He sounds winded, but he’s fucking alive, unhurt and breathing and okay, and Richie huffs a laugh. He’s in so much fucking pain, but he can’t even figure out where it’s all originating from, and the only thought cycling through his brain is it’s okay, he’s okay, Eddie’s okay, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, over and over.

4. we'll be a fine line (we'll be alright) by buckyjerkbarnes - ~9,000 words, teen - Richie and the other Losers in the hospital after killing It, waiting for news on Eddie. Richie has a bit of a breakdown.

The ambulance ride had been the longest twenty minutes of Richie’s life. He'd tried not to get in the way of the EMTs who worked frantically to keep Eddie alive; who were far more patient with him than Richie likely deserved. By the time they'd rolled up to the emergency entrance at the hospital, Ben stamping his breaks as the rest of the Losers came to a grinding halt not fifteen yards away, Richie was still a sobbing mess. He couldn't see through the cracked lens of his glasses, and when Eddie, who had not opened his eyes or said a word since they were still in the sewers, was about to be wheeled out of sight, Richie made like a battering ram and lunged towards the pair of swinging doors.

“Sir!" An orderly yelped. "You can’t—!"

And Stan, who had materialized at Richie's elbow, told the orderly: "He's the husband."

5. ** It’s Hard to Tell Sometimes by gallopingmelancholia - ~21,000 words, explicit - Eddie divorces his wife and moves to LA to live with Richie. Richie promptly has like five emotional meltdowns over it. So much pining. So much. This is one of very few that has Eddie in the hospital for a realistic amount of time, which I appreciate. When writers have been hoping out of bed after a day or whatever, it really throws me out of the story.

“When can we see him?” Mike asks.

“He’s asleep, but we’ll send in a nurse when he wakes up. I wouldn’t expect it until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He’s been through quite a lot, eleven hours of surgery, and is on a lot of pain medication.”

“Will he survive? What’s the percentage? He’ll want to know the probability, he’s a risk analyst,” Richie says.

The doctor hesitates. “The chances he makes it through the night are 65%.”

“That’s not bad!” Richie says even as his heart drops to somewhere in the region of his feet. The others look at him pitifully. “Tell him we’re here and we love him. Tell him the Losers are here and we’ll see him soon.”

6. ** it’s a nice day to start again by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson) - ~6000 words, teen - Post-movie, Eddie wakes up one morning to discover that Richie and a woman had a shotgun wedding in Vegas the night before. Great, sad-but-trying-not-to-show-it Eddie here. (And yes, Richie is a total disaster gay who marries a woman on a whim.)

“Are you sitting down?”

“I didn’t even get out of bed yet! Bev please just tell me what the fuck is happening.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Just- Richie got married.”

“What? No he didn’t,” Eddie scoffs, throwing the covers off. “I’m not - he’s not even dating anybody, I see him all the time. It’s probably just a big joke or something, that’s-”

“He got married, in Vegas. It’s all over Twitter, and he- he sent pictures to the group chat last night. She’s some other comedian. None of us have ever met her, he didn’t invite any of us.”

7. Oh, But He Makes You Laugh by MellytheHun - ~9,000 words, mature - Teenage Eddie has to deal with some serious jealousy when a new friend enters their group. This one has a good, slow realization on Eddie’s part.

The boy is in their grade, though not part of their social sphere; he’s nearly as tall as Richie, with light eyes, and walnut colored hair. Eddie recognizes him from his AP bio class, but can’t inwardly recall his name.

The boy nods toward Stanley while keeping eye-contact with Richie, and informs him, “alligators - they can grow up to twenty feet.”

Richie opens his mouth to argue with the new kid, but he’s cut off.

“Which is weird, cause they usually only grow four.”

Eddie watches in abject bewilderment as a hearty, genuine laugh is startled out of Richie.

8. Richie Tozier: Pray Away the Gay by QueerOnTilMorning - ~4,500 words, teen - The official transcript of Richie Tozier’s comeback Netflix special. A lot of writers try to do Richie’s stand-up routine, but not many can nail it. This one feels realistic and contains actual, like, jokes and stuff.

Because I grew up in this little town called Derry, Maine--nope, absolutely not, do not cheer for that. Fuck Derry! I had this friend, for years he thought I was lactose intolerant, because he'd mention dairy and I'd be like "fuck Derry! Derry tried to fucking kill me!" No, I can eat cheese, I just hate my hometown. They did not fuck with the gays, in Derry. That's probably why I dress so shitty. It's a survival thing. I was already super into dudes. If I had developed fashion sense on top of that? No. Oh my God. It was so--I was so fucking scared all the time.

And like, to put this in perspective, has anyone ever heard of Henry Bowers? Any true crime fans in the house? Henry Bowers, the baby serial killer? Yeah, you listened to that podcast! My friend Bill was on that podcast, doesn't he have a sexy voice? Anyway, Henry Bowers, also known very creatively as The Derry Killer, murdered a bunch of kids the summer we were thirteen. I say we, because that dude was in my fucking class. There was an active serial killer in Derry during my childhood and still, still my greatest fear was that someone would find out I was gay.

9. RICHIE TOZIER IS...THE COMEBACK CLOWN by owlinaminor & tinypersonhotel - ~11,500, teen - An excellent multimedia fic about Richie’s life with Eddie post-movie.

While Richie Tozier never stops talking, Eddie Kaspbrak never stops moving. Listening to a conversation between the two men is akin to watching a pinball machine with two balls going at once, slamming into each other and the walls and the levers and each other, lighting up their surroundings in a trance as mesmerizing as it is chaotic. (Kaspbrack laughed when I told him this metaphor—apparently Tozier spent many an afternoon at the town arcade when they were kids.)

Over the course of one twenty-minute walk with their dog, a beagle named Stanley, through their L.A. neighborhood, they manage to call off their engagement, call it back on, invite me, uninvite me, call the engagement off again, debate eloping, call the whole thing back on but disinvite everyone except me, and finally agree on what color napkins to have at the reception.

10. ** The Jenga Dream Date by stitchy - ~15,000 words, explicit - Richie and Eddie domestic fluff that starts at Ben and Bev’s wedding. It feels so sweet, and you can just see the happiness radiating off the screen. This is truly the ending they deserve.

Then a seriously, unbearably cute thought occurs to Richie. A thought he can’t immediately share with Eddie, because Bill and Mike each independently cornered him and made him swear not to steal Bev and Ben’s thunder.

Ah, fuck it.

“I can’t think why we would possibly be in another situation in the near future where there’s dancing but also my mother is there for some reason, but holy shit, Eds! I have got to see you dance with Mom. During this very special situation. For which I will make hand calligraphed invitations and hire a photographer and-”

Eddie’s eyes dart in either direction before he lets out a short, slightly hysterical laugh. “Uhhh, I also have no idea when or why that would happen, or what sort of event that would be appropriate for.”

11. Bad Parts In by 50artists - ~9,000 words, not rated - It’s Richie that ends up in the hospital after it all goes down, and Eddie who has the crisis. And also some serious misapprehensions.

"I feel like Richie might be slightly weirded out," Eddie says dryly. "Like oh, hey, we've not spoken for decades and you're the straightest man I know, but it turns out I have been subconsciously in love with you since we were teenagers. I dunno, might make things a bit awkward."

"I'm sorry," says Beverly, "just to clarify, Richie Tozier is the straightest man you know?"

"Dude, have you seen his comedy? It's all, 'I love fucking chicks while drinking beer and watching football'."

"You mean the material that Richie doesn't write himself?'

12. ** We Found Love in a Chili’s ToGo by Amuly - ~14,000, explicit - Richie confesses his feelings to Eddie in the airport before they both headed back to their own lives. This is such a lovely story about friendship and love and putting yourself back together. And there’s some A+++ phone sex.

“Nah, Eds. It’s because I had a big gay crush and needed Stan to bitch at about it.”

Eddie frowned, then shook his head. “That doesn’t explain why you couldn’t bitch at me about it.”

“Well bitching about your secret crush to your secret crush is generally frowned upon, Eds. Kinda fucks up the ‘secret’ part.”

Eddie, bless his tiny heart, didn’t get it for a second. His expression scrunched up, about to say something stupid back to Richie, when his brain processed Richie’s words. In a second his expression fell open, jaw actually agape.

“Oh look: drinks!” Richie grabbed his marg, licking and drinking without even letting the waitress set it down onto the tabletop. Eddie barely had the courtesy left to let her set his down before he was grabbing at it.

13. ** Ask Me About My New Material by twoseas - ~7,000 words, explicit - I could read 10,000 stories about a confused and horny Eddie jerking it to Richie’s stand up without understanding why before they meet again in Derry. This one has a great Richie, who reacts like he got hit in the face with a bat when the truth comes out.

In the restaurant, as the gong resounded around them, Eddie looked up at a four-eyed, messy, middle aged Trashmouth and suddenly it all clicked.

He had two thoughts.

Oh, he realized, it��s because I’m in love with the dumbass.

And, Aw fuck.

14. No Parenthesis by pineapplecrushface - 13,000 words, explicit - In the deadlights, Stan gives Richie some instructions on how to bring him back. Spoilers: it involves an orgy. And Richie and Eddie dealing with their feelings.

“Okay,” Mike said, holding his hands out to placate him, and honestly Richie was really fucking sick of Mike saying crazy shit and then somehow—somehow!—convincing them to do it anyway. “I’m not saying we have to do it. I’m just saying, the ritual exists and we could do it, and now that it’s out there, I feel like you should all have the choice.”

“Great. I choose no. I’m fucking leaving before I get ritualed into giving all my money to a cult leader and I end up spending the rest of my sad short life on an alpaca farm,” Richie said, standing up too fast and stalking across the room.

“Richie,” Bev said, and she sounded, unbelievably, like she was not thinking this was completely insane.

“Are you fucking serious?” He whirled around to look at them. They were all giving him varying levels of Richie, be reasonable, which was a look he was familiar with, but not when it came to sex rituals, for some fucking reason.

15. ** Stupid Deep series by anonymous - ~50,000 words, explicit - Richie has a huge dick, and Eddie is obsessed with it. Come for the super, super hot sex, stay for the sweet romance, twist of angst and happy ending.

It’s been five months since then, and Eddie has spent at least 40% of that time thinking about Richie’s big fucking dick. He spends about 20% working from home, 20% arguing with Richie about dumb shit, and the remaining 30% sleeping—this adds up to 110%, but that’s because there’s overlap between the sleeping and the thinking about Richie’s huge dick in the form of extremely graphic dreams.

He thinks about Richie’s dick in the shower. He thinks about Richie’s dick when they’re watching TV together. He thinks about Richie’s dick when he’s trying to eat breakfast. He hasn’t even seen it hard. But god, he thinks about it. Thinks about it hot and thick in his hand, thinks about it twitching as Eddie strokes it, thinks about it stretching his lips, thinks about it leaking precum all over Eddie’s fingers and tongue and stomach. And, most importantly—most vividly—he thinks about Richie’s dick inside of him, filling him up, fucking him.

At the same time, Eddie also spent a good amount of time, woven through the rest of his daily activities, falling so deeply in love with his best-friend-cum-roommate that it was disturbing at best. There was pining. There were lingering glances. There was lying on Richie’s bed while he was out just to ease the ache in his chest with Richie’s warm, familiar scent, which is disgusting and Eddie hates to think about it. There were, in Eddie’s darkest moments, daydreams about Richie holding his hand and kissing him and telling Eddie he’s in love with him. Like a fucking sap.

16. I’m quite alright hiding today by remusjohn - ~7,000 words, explicit - Eddie kisses Richie out of the deadlights, but Richie doesn’t know if that means anything.

On the first night they don’t do much of anything. They unpack (well, Eddie unpacks his massive bags while Richie tries to figure out how to sign in to his Netflix account on the tiny TV in the living room), and they order in, and they argue over what to watch while they’re eating, and Eddie falls asleep some hours later with his head tucked into Richie’s shoulder, and Richie tries not to think too much of it.

There’s been a lot of that, the last couple of days. Richie doesn’t know how to say, You kissed me to wake me up from the deadlights and I don’t know if you did it to save my life or if there’s something else too, but it’s kind of killing me, man.

So Richie doesn’t say anything at all.

17. Haunt Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me by Vulcanodon - ~20,000 words, explicit - AU where Eddie and Richie are ghost hunters who get stuck in a very trippy haunted house. This concept really shouldn’t work, and I’m not big on AUs in the fandom, but the relationship between the two of them really sells it. And, obviously, the pining. There’s so much.

The only time Eddie has ever witnessed Richie freaking out was when they had been fucking about in the woods near Montana for their werewolf episode. Eddie had been walking backwards, trying to get Richie and a creepy footprint in frame when he had suddenly felt nothing but air behind him. He had fallen for an impressively long time down the hill, blacking out briefly when a branch caught his head and when he came to Richie had been leaning over him, white and frantic, hands all fisted up in Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie, Eddie, Eds, Richie had said, nearly crying. Are you alright, can you talk?

Is my camera broken? Eddie had managed woozily to say, and for a moment Eddie had thought Richie might do something crazy like slap him or even kiss him.

He hadn’t done either in the end and Eddie remembers the disappointment, even with the haze of a mild concussion.

18. Five Times The Losers Gave Richie Permission by toomuchrootbeer - ~11,000 words, mature - Each loser tries to let Richie know that they know in their own special way.

“No I don’t mind,” Stan says evenly, shrugging his shoulders like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I don’t mind any of it.”

“Cool,” Richie chirps, grabbing his backpack off of the grass and pushing himself to his feet. “Pip pip Edward,” he calls. “Shall we endeavor to find you a cleaner wardrobe?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says back, but there is no venom behind his words.

But then Stan is reaching out, gripping Richie’s arm, “Dude what are you-”

“I don’t mind any of it, Tozier,” he repeats, voice lower and his words somehow more weighty, fixing Richie with an indecipherable look. “And I don’t think any of the other Losers would mind it either. If you wanted to,” he jerks his head in the direction of Eddie, “you know.”

19. String Theory by neverfaraway - ~17,000 words, mature - Richie starts slowly regaining his memories and has a disturbing experience in the deadlights.

The thing is, Richie knows this is a version of himself and Eddie that never existed. He can taste the pretence on the tip of his tongue, but the sticky air seems to sharpen and solidify around him. He can’t remember where he was before this moment, watching his fingers alight on the buckle of Eddie’s hundred-dollar belt.

The Voice wavers and Richie comes pouring through the cracks. It's painful to watch the careful way he places his hands on Eddie’s skin. "Fuck, I missed you," he says. "Even when I couldn't remember, I had a hole right through me, straight through the middle. You left a fucking entry and exit wound."

"Damnit, Richie," Eddie mutters, blinking rapidly. "Beep, beep."

20. hoping to be found by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson) - ~25,000 words, mature - Things don’t magically work out after Derry for Eddie. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he goes back to Myra and his depressig life. But at least now he has his friends. He has Richie.

With his memories back now, with all the knowledge of his mother and his placebos and his fake inhaler and his friends, it feels like Eddie has been living the last 27 years in sickly, yellow sepia tones. His memories and even the brief time he spent with everyone at the Chinese restaurant shine in his mind in vivid technicolor, and everything else pales in comparison.

He thought he would die, and now he doesn’t have a plan. His life in New York is miserable and cramped and leaves him feeling small, so he puts it off as long as he can.

The drive isn’t long, even with Eddie taking his time. He takes a detour just to drive along the coast and see the ocean, and stops at any given exit or National Forest along the way that strikes his fancy. He’s still home before nightfall.

21. After Derry series by pineapplecrushface - ~47,000 words, explicit - Richie and Eddie are both pining and miserable disasters post-movie. Until they finally get their shit together and figure some things out.

He woke when Eddie sat on the edge of the bed and touched his back, under his disgusting shirt. “Hey,” he said. “Your turn. I mean, your turn after I wash my hand again. What did you lie down in?”

“Your mom,” he said, sitting up and glaring at Eddie, who was half-naked, a towel wrapped around his waist. “How do you all look so good and I ended up looking like fucking Christopher Lloyd? Like, not young Christopher Lloyd. Present day.”

Eddie’s hand was still tucked under his shirt, rubbing a path across his lower back. “I guess you did grow into your looks.”

“Oh, fuck you, you weirdly muscular little shitweasel,” Richie said, escaping to the shower so he didn’t have to look at the slope of Eddie’s arms. He was weak for that, the line of a man’s shoulders and back. He was weak for all of Eddie, really. After everything he had seen, he guessed it was something he could admit to himself. There was no panic left in it.

22. for better, for worse by kaspbrak_kid - ~26,000 words, not rated - Eddie has just gotten through a messy divorce and is trying to deal with the fact that he’s been in love with Richie for 30 years, and then he has to go to Ben and Bev’s wedding. Not a great combination of things.

Eddie blows out a shaky breath and puts down his phone, then picks it back up again, restless. He scrolls up through his and Richie’s texts.

They’re not that frequent. They talk in the group chat, mostly. Eddie thinks about texting him all the time, several times a day, and then never does. It’s all just stupid shit, anyway. A dream he had or a movie he saw on TV that he remembers Richie used to like, and does he still like it? Some things his therapist tells him he should say, like that he’s been in love with Richie for somewhere between six months and thirty-odd years.

Instead, most of their private texts are just inane bickering, or Richie trying out jokes on him, or Eddie telling Richie how to clean the cut he just accidentally gave himself opening a can. He could have just googled it. But he asked Eddie.

23. feet on the ground, head in the sky by peggyolson - ~21,000 words, teen - I’m kind of a sucker for the slowburn, falling in love over distance trope. This one does it well, with bonus Richie dealing with his issues and figuring shit out.

Mostly, though, it’s just a slight tug at the back of his mind, another part of his day. A mumbled let me call Eddie, like an afterthought, while he’s tapping his foot in line at Whole Foods.

Eddie always, always answers.

“Edward Kaspbrak,” he chirps during business hours, dry and glib, and Richie will respond in a deep, exaggerated baritone with something awful like Mr. Kaspbrak, your test results are in and unfortunately you will keep shrinking at an alarming rate for the rest of your life, something barely funny that he says just to get a reaction.

(It had been such a mistake to give Richie his work number.)

24. it’s about time that you just unwind by fuckener - ~9,500 words, explicit - Eddie finds out that Richie is gay via his stand-up and promptly loses his mind.

“Yeah? Mine was weird, guys, I’m not going to lie. I came up with this really good idea on how to cause total chaos at a family event, you wanna hear it?” There it was - glasses adjustment, not even past the one minute mark. “If you really want to shake up another dull as fuck Thanksgiving with your parents, just wait ‘til you’re in your forties and your elderly father is spooning out his first helping of mashed potatoes for the night and then drop the bomb that you’ve been gay the whole time. Boom, happy Thanksgiving. Pass the sweet corn, I want to fuck the huge green dude on the can.” People laughed. Richie did that thing with his face between a smile and a scowl. “It’s the long game, yeah, but -”

Eddie slammed his laptop shut.

25. feel this burning, love of mine by floatingonthelehigh - 17,000 words, mature - The clown is a bastard. Richie gets a second chance.

“Don’t leave,” Eddie says quietly, and god fucking damn it, it breaks him that Eddie thinks he ever would.

“No, fuck no, Eddie. I’m not going to.” He adjusts his grip on the jacket against Eddie’s stomach, winces when Eddie gasps in pain. Richie’s lip shakes again as he just keeps talking. “Frankly I’m insulted that you’d think I’d leave you, after just remembering you're my best fucking friend in the world, after twenty seven fucking years. My clown-murdering partner in crime! How could I ever leave you? Fuck no, I’m not leaving you, Eds. Idiot,” He laughs emptily, rubbing Eddie’s cheek, and pauses, beginning to nod to himself as a goal flits into his mind. “I’m going to pick you up, I’m going to get you out of here, to a hospital. Right now. And—” Eddie’s grip on his arm tightens, and he stops.

26. hey there demons (it's me, ya boi) by dharmainitiative - 12,000 words, teen - Is this another ghosthunters AU? Why, yes it is. I don’t know why there are two of these, but I enjoyed them both. This one is much lighter, and I really liked the way that the writer creates a very lived-in feeling as soon as you jump into this universe.

As it was, BuzzFeed wasn’t a bad place to work, despite all the shit Richie gave it. He was paid well, there were always a bunch of cushy chairs everywhere, and the food that got brought in for lunch everyday was way better than the shitty grilled cheeses he ate at home for dinner. And despite what Richie expected, his coworkers were actually pretty cool, all things considered. Sure, they were all millenials who thought landing an internship at BuzzFeed was the height of success, but most of them were friendly, and occasionally funny, and like Richie, just excited to get paid to do something that required little to no effort.

Most of them, at least. There was also Eddie Kaspbrak.

Richie met Eddie his first day at BuzzFeed, when he was shown his desk and the incessantly chatty intern that sat at the desk right next to him. Working side by side — literally — let Richie learn a lot of things about Eddie Kaspbrak: he was a neurotic hypochondriac, exclusively owned Polo shirts, and talked faster than Richie could even blink.

27. New Page, Same Old Book by Rend_Herring - 17,000 words, explicit - Post-movie, Eddie divorces his wife, moves across the country and makes himself comfortable in Richie’s home. Richie is totally fine and not freaking out at all.

He clips the wall coming into the foyer, practically crashes over the little table he uses to stack mail—fumbles around with the chain, the deadbolt, before finally wrenching open the door. It doesn’t occur to him until he’s sending it bouncing back against the doorstop, that it might have been a good idea to check the peephole and make sure it actually wasn’t some asshole out for a smash and grab in the middle of the night, or worse — a fan.

Richie would be less dumbfounded by either option.

He squints at the person standing in front of him, blinks.

“I’ve had this dream before,” Richie says, voice still croaky from sleep, “usually you’re wearing less clothes.”

“Jesus christ,” Eddie sighs, and rolls his eyes when Richie jumps back a bit, genuinely startled that it’s not some manufacturing of his sordid imagination. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here.”

28. Drives Me Wild by rustywrites - ~4,000 words, explicit - Eddie and Richie have hotel sex after RIchie wins himself an Emmy.

"I thought I told you no more jokes about how much you love my dick," Eddie says, shifting to straddle Richie's waist in earnest, rolling his hips downward just to emphasize his point, no doubt. His hands are braced on both of Richie's shoulders, pinning him back with his bodyweight, while Richie's hands are on his waist, holding him in place. It's not the most comfortable position, all things considered--Richie's knees are bent over the end of the mattress, his feet still on the floor, and they're both still in their fucking monkey suits.

Richie had tried to make the case with his agent and his manager that he should be allowed to attend the Emmys in the same clothes he always wore (jeans, a shitty t-shirt, a semi-fashionable jacket, you know, the works.) They were good enough for his specials, one of which had earned him the nomination to begin with, but both Anna and Johnathan had pushed back hard, and when Eddie had not-so-subtly sided with them, well. Suit and tie it was.

29. Rewrite by sachi_sama - ~13,000 words, mature - Stan is dead, but somehow only Eddie can see him as they race to beat It. That’s...probably not a good sign. (note: Stan stays dead in this fic.)

“Whoa. Hey, Eds, you being a weepy drunk over there?” Richie asks, and he scoots over into Stan's seemingly empty chair, and Stan vanishes as Richie's hand is suddenly on Eddie's shoulder.

“I just—I saw...” Eddie pauses, and he wipes his hands over his eyes, sniffling. When's the last time he cried? It makes his head hurt every time. “Fuck. I'm sorry, guys.” He stands abruptly. “I'm gonna go splash some water on my face.” He hurriedly exits the room and he hears Mike asking what he saw, but Eddie is already power-walking across the restaurant to the bathroom, aware Dead Stan is hot on his heels.

“Lucky. The bathroom is empty,” Stan says as he leans against the wall. Eddie looks at him, really looks, and he sees the blood on Stan's wrists.

30. ** we are all going forward, none of us are going back series by theappliepielifestyle - ~21,000 words, teen - Richie gets stuck in a time loop and forced to repeat their last stand at Neibolt over and over until he gets it right.

Richie hears himself finish saying Let’s kill this clown and it’s only when he finishes forming the n that reality sets in. What the fuck -

He whirls around. Everyone’s standing around him, just like they were last night - they’re in front of the fucking house, it’s standing again.

“What the fuck,” Richie croaks. “No, come on - what’s going on? Ohhhh fuck.”

He only lets himself stare at it for a few seconds of unbridled hate before he keeps looking at the others, who are now staring at him, pausing from where they’d all taken a step towards the house before looking back and stopping to watch Richie’s nervous breakdown.

31. ** keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. by theapplepielifestyle - 16,000 words, teen - Eddie dies, sort of, and meets Stan in the afterlife. The two of them realize that they can communicate with their friends in their dreams. Eddie has to watch Richie slowly breakdown in his absence.

32. ** happily ever afters all the way around series by theapplepielifestyle - ~35,000 words, teen - I have so much appreciation for this author’s desire to fix the ending by any means necessary. In this one, that good old turtle lends a hand and sends Richie back in time to fix everything. It’s...a lot.

Then it smooths out into an actual scene, if jumpy: a sigil on wooden boards that look a lot like the floor of Richie’s apartment. The sigil is probably drawn in blood, but it could also be red paint. Although Richie’s being very optimistic about that. Anyway, the dream is mostly that: the sigil being drawn, slow and precise, by Richie. It’s dark in the dream, and the sigil being drawn is overcut with more fleeting images, chased with sounds: Stan’s bloody hand dangling out of a bath. Stan as a kid, on the tail end of saying something as he walks home in the evening. Eddie with blank eyed, slumped in IT’s lair. Eddie as a kid, in mid-argument in the clubhouse. A voice so deep and impossible that it hurts, a voice that reminds him of the turtle’s gaze: come back come back you can change the -

At the end of the dream, the scene will stabilize. Dream-Richie will say some shit he can't make out. Then he'll say the one thing he can make out, which is: I’m coming.

And then he’ll wake up.

LINK TO REDDIE FIC REC LIST PART TWO

#it #reddie #reddie fic #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #fic recs #ao3 #rec list #damn this took so long #i hope someone gets some use out of it

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