#RAREPAIR SUMMARIES

[dominote]

omg... please may I know more abt bb playing L in ur tv show au 🫴 (no pressure, I just saw ur tags and I'm so intriguied :3)

aaaa yes!! i'm not gonna give away the WHOLE THING yet (i have over a thousand words of pre-planning notes that WILL magically be turned into a fic sooner or later), but i can definitely tell you about the premise!

so, basically - a few establishing notes:

BB survives. he's let out on probation post-canon for being on good behaviour; near pulls some strings and makes sure he's kept a close eye on.

he does this by putting him with mello and matt, who also survive the events of death note. don't worry about how. the important part is that mello's the only one left who heard about BB directly from L himself, and mello can't really argue with that logic, especially with near saying mello is better suited for something than him.

mello publishes a book about the kira case because he strongly disagrees with near about keeping things under wraps. letting light yagami be remembered as a good boy and kira as a martyr to his followers? nahhh. let the world see the man behind the "divine justice" for the charming snake he was, and let kira's followers see exactly how human their god was. some details are edited, of course, but it's largely a factual account of the case where it's clearly stated when aliases are used to protect the privacy of affected people. even a lot of details about L are released, because mello wants the original L to be remembered properly, not be tucked under light's and near's asses as though there was never a difference. near doesn't agree with mello, but he doesn't stop him, either, as long as he gets to approve the final draft before release.

the book becomes an absolute bestseller, obviously. everyone wants to know the real story of the battle between kira and L. before long, directors and movie studios clamor for mello's attention, wanting to sign deals for the rights to make a movie or tv show based on his retelling of events.

obviously, they need actors for the tv show mello agrees to sign with. hideki ryuga's the director's top choice for light, not just because of the resemblance, but the fact that he's local to tokyo and the bonus of his name coming up as an alias used by L himself - it's perfect. recognizing that mello is really, really picky about the casting for L, though, the director lets mello sit in on the casting for that role.

no force in the world (matt) could possibly have kept BB from making it to the audition.

mello has little choice but to admit that yeah, okay, going for accuracy, applicant rue ryuzaki is unfortunately the best casting choice among the options. he is also one of mello's roommates and a nightmare to work with-- yeah, the director's already got him signing the contracts, sure, whatever.

BB is absolutely gleeful.

he is also, in fact, a nightmare to work with.

hideki ryuga, his co-star, puts up with him. so does misa amane (playing the role of misa amane). everyone else is desperately unsettled by his method acting ass.

in an attempt to bond, hideki takes BB out to party. while the night is a bit of a mess, they do at least get absolutely schwasted in the end. sensing weakness, BB pounces to ask the question that's been burning in his mind ever since he heard about hideki ryuga being an alias of L's.

L doesn't just use other people's names. he takes them as trophies. he defeats them first.

oh, yeah, a very drunk hideki ryuga confirms. yeah, i did encounter the guy, actually.

hideki ryuga does not realize in the slightest at this point that the perpetrator of the los angeles BB killings has just decided he is now the most interesting person around he can hyperfocus on.

[crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer]

Stay Cool (It's Just A Kiss) - Chapter 1 - Girly411 - 美男高校地球防衛部LOVE! | Binan Koukou Chikyuu Bouei-bu LOVE! [Archive of Our Own]

Pairing: Itsumo Ichiban/Zaou Ryuu

Rating: G

Summary: The lingering effects of the Screw Monster incident have taken a toll on Ichiban. Namely, his infatuation with Zaou.

As for Ryuu… well, he had always been a romantic at heart. If only they would both stop thinking so much and learn to enjoy the moment.

Read on AO3.

First Kiss prompt for @rarepair-week

[lamentfulwarbler]

Bingo! (Parts 3 & 4)

My third and fourth bingos from @feedthefandomfest ‘s original bingo card!

Links to Parts 1 and 2

-

THE BINGO FICS (PART 3):

Leave a comment that is half emojis was linked in Part 2 (1)

Promote a fic on tumblr and/or discord and tell the author so and comment on a fic posted today were linked in Part 1 (2)(3)

-

Comment on a fic featuring a rarepair: above them all for splendour by justadino

Leave a LONG comment: Melodies of the Fated by SandgrassBagel

-

THE BINGO FICS (PART FOUR):

Theorise about world, character and/or theme and Comment on a WIP were both linked in Part 1 (4)(5)

-

Comment that is AT LEAST half keysmash: He’s My Emotional Support Rescue Dog by avengersasssemble

Comment on a fic with under 50 hits: Words never to be said by GeegeeS (6)

(1) Leave a comment that is half emojis: Birds of a feather (we should stick together, I know) by athenacykesss

(2) Promote fic on tumblr and/or discord and tell the author so: The person that you’d take a bullet for is behind the trigger by Seito

(3) Comment on a fic posted TODAY: my love is mine all mine by huntersserenity (🔞)

(4) Theorise about world, character and/or theme: Petrichor by huntersserenity

(5) Comment on a WIP: skk socmed au by TW1NDARKNESS

(6) Fic had 45 hits at time of commenting

[thetimetravellercat]

So I wrote a little prequel to my Bellhands fix-it fic, this is quite sad but also beautiful and revisits familiar headcanons about Izzy's tattoos by switching things up a bit

Tags:

Tragedy, Love, Tattoos, Lost Love, Long lost love, Painting, toes mentioned, cross tattoo, wrist tattoo, Elspeth - Freeform, pre Bellhands/Elspeth, Pre-Poly, Elspeth is the name of the OFC, inspired by a famous painting, inspired by the girl with a pearl earring, Lucius Spriggs Lives in the Walls of the Revenge, no one dies

Summary:

Elspeth brushed Sam’s cheek with her thumb, gently, softly.

“He is still your love.” And it was simple. She could see it written all over Sam’s face, all over his heart that he was wearing on his sleeve.

“You’re my love.”

“I know that, you silly man.” She let her hand drop. “But you love him too.”

Sam toyed with a thread sticking out of the armchair.

“Elspeth.” He whispered. “There is something I need to tell you.”

“I’m listening.” She said, most seriously.

“I love you.” He started. “My heart bleeds for you when we’re apart, and there isn’t a day where I don’t see myself growing old with you if you’ll allow me.”

“But you’ll never love me as much as you’ve loved him. As much as you still love him.”

“No. I’ll always love you as much as I love him. Do you believe me when I tell you I have as much love for you as I do for him? Do you believe me when I tell you I have enough love for the both of you?”

“I do.” And she did. “Because I believe you would have enough love for most of this world if it let you get away with it.” She kissed his head. “What was his name?”

He buried his face in Elspeth’s neck and breathed in. Elspeth took the portrait back into her hands. Those piercing eyes…

“Israel Hands.” He exhaled.

“Tell me the story.” She asked.

Sam tells the story of his long-lost love, Israel Hands.

~~~~~~~

He was cradling Izzy in his arms. They were both tightly squeezed in his small bunk. Ed had cut another toe. It was the third one. He hadn’t managed to witness it this time. He was used to keeping an eye on Izzy, from behind the walls, but when he had understood what was about to happen, he had chickened out. He couldn’t bear it. He had been there for the first two ones. He remembered the horror that had filled him. He remembered the taste of his own blood as he bit his tongue and then his hand hard enough to bleed.

Izzy hadn’t let him get close the first time. The second time he had been able to hold his hand. The third time… he had wished Izzy hadn’t been so pliant. He hadn’t even tried to push him away.

“If I die, you should know. Someone should know.” Izzy’s hoarse voice broke the silence.

Years later, Israel Hands tells the story of his tattoos, it’s definitely not what his audience expected.

~~~~~~~

This was written for the Izzy Hangs Bingo (@izzyhandsbingo ) for the prompts: original character, inspired by a famous painting, tattoos, long-lost love

[six-demon-bag]

what about your rarepair? 👀 (this is babycupart btw this is my main blog i can’t send asks on my art sideblog 😭)

ahh so first then: i would encourage more rarepair batshittery for you but alas....i dont know anything about star trek so it would be wasted on me 😔

my mcu rarepair is Bucky/John Walker, but there's dozen of us! i think. probably a dozen. god i don't even know. tiny but strong for our poor maligned baby john 🥲

my other self-created monstrosity rarepairs are all my Daniel Brühl Cinematic Universe crossovers that usually have Zemo as my ship hub....so it's kind of cheating to say they're a rarepair when i made them up and also it's a crossover. and the same actor. like yeah, of course its rare smh. why am i like this.

watching db movies is hazardous lest i collect yet another babygirl for my stables

[lit-in-thy-heart]

the urge to drop everything and start an entirely new fic

[aparticularbandit]

We Were Never Friends With Darkness And Would, In Fact, Prefer It Leave Us Alone: Chapter One

Summary: The problem with running from your problems before they become problems is that they don't just disappear. They're still there when you return, and as it so happens, sometimes they've gotten bigger than you can handle (if you could even handle them before).

Or: Kyoko makes good on what she told Yui and runs away before Yui can be used against her by the Victims' Relief Committee. But running away and remaking herself and hiding doesn't fix anything, and coming back later to a class full of people who might want to be friends with her only makes things worse.

Especially when one of those friends might just happen to think that she's kind of cute.

For DR Rarepair Week 2024 Day Five: Gift Giving/Peace, hosted by @dr-rarepair-week-blog.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T.

AO3

next chapter

Kyoko runs.

If asked, she’ll never say that’s what she did.  It’s a tactical action.  When in a fight with a stronger enemy, sometimes it is best to pull back and regroup.

Never mind that Kyoko and Yui have been constantly and consistently winning each of their battles, never mind that right now things seem to be in a bit of a stalemate, never mind that if Yui does fall to their temptations then they can reach Kyoko no matter where she goes throughout the world—

Kyoko runs, and Kyoko determines to never open a single black envelope sent her way, and Kyoko uses her detective skills to hide herself as completely as she can because she would rather run and hide and disappear into the vast darkness of the world than confront the possibility of Yui’s hands being stained.

(Her very identity screams against this.  She’s on a case.  Even if she’s not being paid for it, she’s still tracking down the Victims’ Relief Committee with Yui.  That is the thing that she is doing.  No matter who dies, no matter who gets sacrificed, no matter what happens – this is what she is doing, and it’s shooting her rank in the DSC higher and higher, which means that Hope’s Peak has to notice her, that her dad its headmaster has to acknowledge her existence – but she will literally throw all of that away if it means….)

((It’s harder to run from Yui.  She tells herself that it’s necessary.  She refuses to say it’s because she doesn’t trust her onee-sama.))

Kyoko runs, and she runs, and she doesn’t look back.

~

That black envelope never comes.

Kyoko fulfills cases under another name, stealing from the ideas that Lico laid before her (What’s in a name?  If she leaves behind Kirigiri, then what is she?  Still the same, still the same, still the same), and sends those in months later to the DSC.  Her rank grows, but they cannot know where she is or where she is going, and so her original plan, at least in part, is still fulfilled.

Hope’s Peak still scouts her under that other name because they are better at finding wayward children to fill their coffins than the DSC is (or maybe the Victims’ Relief Committee always could find her and gave up the moment she ran; she doesn’t know what their plans for her were, and so she cannot say, can only guess, and the ache of that hole beats harsh in her chest every now and again, if she allows herself to think on it, which she doesn’t) – and Hope’s Peak still invites her because even under all of her disguises, her dad its headmaster still recognizes her (it makes her sick, he makes her sick, she makes herself sick) – and she hesitates before accepting.

It’s been years.

If Yui was going to do anything, she would have done it already, and either she did and the Victims’ Relief Committee never tried to break Kyoko’s heart by forcing her to return and confront her fall or she didn’t and the time away, maybe, saved her.

Yui’s an adult now.  She’s likely in college somewhere.  If she’s smart, she’s somewhere far, far away.  Somewhere safe.

(Kyoko knows better.  Yui would throw herself away to save someone else – anyone else – not because she thinks so lowly of herself, but because that’s her duty as a detective.  Not to find the truth, like Kyoko does, but to save people.

Yui would make a good Super Sentai or magical girl – the hero of the story.  She has so much hope and so much guilt and—

(The Victims’ Relief Committee tempted people of a variety of ages.  They could still tempt Yui as an adult.  But if she’s survived this long without giving in, then Kyoko likes to believe she will survive just a little while longer.))

Kyoko hesitates, and Kyoko accepts, and Kyoko puts herself in a place where the Victims’ Relief Committee could find her again, if they wanted.

(Kyoko runs her fingers along the black ribbons she’s never stopped wearing and wonders if she’s just giving in.)

~

At school, they call her Hibiki Haruko.

The name is as fake as Junko Enoshima’s smile (or Sayaka Maizono’s – both Ultimates chosen for their ability to fake a personality to the population on a large scale – or even Celeste’s entire everything – because from her name to her accent to her hair to her supposed heritage, everything about that girl is fake), but outside of their headmaster (and perhaps his scout), no one seems to know.  She’s learned, in her time away, to be gentle with people, to put on an air that makes her seem both trustworthy and forgettable, and she knows – she knows – that a few of them catch her out (Junko, again, who seems carefully curated to catch out those who don’t want to be caught, with those piercing eyes that cut right through her; but Sakura, too, who notes when she doesn’t go on donut runs with Hina, who tells her that if she ever needs anything (even if that means protection or a bodyguard) to just ask, and Mukuro, who looks at her like she’s someone familiar, like she’s seen her before, even if it isn’t Kyoko that she’s seen).  Sometimes Makoto gives her a curious look, sometimes it seems like he’s going to ask her a question, but either he gives up or he forgets before he asks.

The thing about running away once is that Kyoko – Hibiki – keeps running.

If they could use Yui, then they could use any of her classmates, provided she gets close enough to them.  It doesn’t matter that, in the end, they hadn’t used Yui, just like it doesn’t matter that there’s no proof that they would use one of her classmates. It’s that they could, and once she believed that enough to flee the literal country, that belief was never really going to die.

Sure, it’s lonely when the rest of her classmates pair up – or group up – and she’s left on the outside of the fish tank, one hand pressed against the glass, as she looks in on the rest of them.

But it’s safer.

For her them.

~

Junko drunkenly kisses her exactly once.

“Hibiki,” she’d slurs, “you’re so….”  Her voice trails off, and she falls forward until her forehead rests on Kyoko’s shoulder.  “So cute.”

Kyoko stays still, straight, as though that will do anything.  “Junko, you’re drunk.”  (But she can’t smell the alcohol, so maybe Junko is only pretending.  If she is, she’s doing a very good job of it.)

“No, I’m not.”  Junko brushes her nose along Kyoko’s neck, which makes it a lot harder to stand still, but she does it anyway.  “I’m just—”  She chokes back a sob. “You’re so pretty.  You’re like a ghost.”

How did Junko even get alcohol anyway?

(One of the upper classmen is literally the Ultimate Yakuza, and one of their own classmates is old enough to drink, and Kyoko’s asking how Junko got drunk.  She’d been talking about a huge party she wanted to go to earlier.  That was probably it.  Kyoko never goes to their parties.  At least, not for long enough to be more than an appearance just so that no one questions why she never goes – they can’t say she never goes when they’ve seen her there, even if only briefly.)

“You should…you should let me dress you up, Hibiki-chan,” Junko purrs soft in her ear.  “Celeste thinks she’s so pretty, but put you in deep violets, and you’d…you’d be….”

Kyoko flinches.

“No, no, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you.”  Junko wraps an arm around Kyoko’s waist and burrows her head into Kyoko’s collarbone.  “I’d never hurt you—”

“I didn’t say you would.”

But Junko pulls back just enough to search Kyoko’s face with those bloodshot eyes.  “You’re scared of me?”

“No­—”

“You’re scared of all of us.”  Junko’s eyes narrow, and she sways a bit, even though she sounds more sure of herself when she speaks.  “You don’t need to be,” she whines, drawing that last word out as her face grows redder.

Kyoko sighs.  “I already told you, I’m not.”

Junko takes Kyoko’s face in both of her hands, the tips of her deep red nails sharp against her skin, and she pulls Kyoko closer to her.  “Did I tell you you’re pretty?  Because you’re sooooooo pretty, Hibiki-chan.”

“Junko.  You’re drunk.  You need to go—”

Then Junko kisses her.

It is sloppy and uncomfortable (and doesn’t taste of alcohol, which means Junko’s definitely pretending) and then, suddenly, it isn’t, and it doesn’t matter because Junko should not be kissing her, no one should be kissing her, they will see—

Kyoko pushes her away, ignores the pain in Junko’s face (and even more ignores the whining “Hibiki-chaaaaaaan!” behind her), and runs away.

It’s an instinct.  A necessity.

And it doesn’t matter.

The next morning, Junko is gone, and a black envelope waits in Kyoko’s mailbox.

(At least they addressed it to Hibiki Haruko and not to Kyoko Kirigiri, but at this point, does it really even matter?)

~

Kyoko wonders, idly, what will happen if she never opens the envelope.

Technically, if she doesn’t open it, that’s just putting off the starting time.  It isn’t, strictly speaking, choosing not to play.  That would be opening the envelope and then choosing not to chase the trail.  If she never opens it, then maybe….

(She knows that isn’t how this works, but she wants to pretend.  She wants to pretend for as long as she can.)

Kyoko shoves the envelope into the inside pocket of her tailored jacket, glances at the single bullet mark scar in the center of her hand, and sets off to find the nearest detective agency.

~

In a world where she didn’t run, maybe Kyoko would have ended up working at Samidare Detective Agency.  Perhaps if she had, it wouldn’t look nearly as empty as it does now.  She can imagine more than the single desk in the back of the office, more than the single filing cabinet, more than an old desktop (not even a laptop, but a desktop so thick that she’s honestly surprised it still runs), more than an office that seems so pristine and dustless that it’s clear its single occupant rarely gets any cases at all – or, if she does, certainly doesn’t take any money from her clients to upgrade any of the rundown furniture scattered here and there.  The chairs don’t match.  The bookshelves don’t match, and they’ve barely got a book or two on them.

In that world, Kyoko imagines three desks: hers, Yui’s, and Licorne’s.  (Lico would be here, she’s sure of it.  He would travel back from wherever he’d landed to be part of their little family again, regardless of whether she wanted him there or not.)  Lico’s, of course, would be just as pristine as Yui’s now is, not because he didn’t get any cases but because he didn’t need anything to figure them out.  Yui’s would be covered with papers, the computer would be significantly better, and there would be multiple filing cabinets here, there, and everywhere.

Kyoko cannot imagine what her own desk would look like.  Her brain fails her there.

In this world, Samidare Detective Agency is as it is now.  Empty.  Unadorned.  Hidden in a little spot in an alley where there’s probably just as much crime outside as there is brought in here to be solved.  Kyoko has just enough time to run a finger along Yui’s desk and note the picture before the bell at the front door jingles.

“I thought I locked it.  Hope no one tried to steal the computer—”

“No one’s going to steal that thing, Yui onee-sama.  They’d lose money on it.”

“Well, it’s all I could aff...ord.”  Yui pauses with her right shoe half off, her fingers still curved into it, her other hand pressed to the wall to hold herself steady, and glances up.  She hesitates, the wheels in her head turning, whirring, and finally, she says, “Kyoko?”

Kyoko’s gaze drops.  “I’m sorry for worrying you, onee-sama,” she murmurs, tucking strands of her hair back behind one ear, “but yes.  It’s me.”  She sucks her lower lip between her teeth.  “And I….”  When she glances up, when she meets Yui’s eyes, her heart pounds hopelessly.  “I need your help.”

At her words, Yui softens.  She drops her shoe to the floor with a soft tap and eases, almost.  “Alright,” she says, hiding the smile that threatens to break across her face like the first glimmer of sunlight through a storm cloud.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

[bowldeepfannish]

Surprisingly enough I have finished more pieces than I thought in spite of 2022 really having been even more draining than the two previous. Had to leave out some personal faves including some commissions. But I have to at least include one of the traditional pencil sketches because I adore both the concept behind this Sailor Moon AU and the person who commissioned this to me, @coppercrane2​ :

Furthermore last year fan events and commissions really ended up giving me a very needed external motivation extra push to finish what I had started and also brought some relieving distraction from some harrowing RL circumstances. So thank you to all the event and zine mods, fandom buddies and fellow creators for this too :°). May 2023 be kind to us all and filled with good chances and happy moments.

Art twitter post/thread here

[fumifooms]

Hello! I'm not sure when I'd get to it, but is it ok if I draw some fanart of one of your marchil fics? I was hoping to get it done soon and uploaded during marchil week, but I wanted to make sure you'd be ok with it first. Also thank you for sharing your work/ramblings, it introduced a lot of fun, new and interesting aspects/angles of the dunmeshi characters to me that I wouldve never considered prior (≧▽≦) hope you've been having a great week so far!

Ooh 🥺 I’d be super honored!! No need to even ask me tbh feel free to do fanart of anything of mine ever. I’m glad I could help and entertain!! Super looking forward to your fanart omg omg 💖 And yes the week has been good! Technical issues aside, I’ve been so happy with all the marchil content hehe it’s so nice to see so many people making something for them! Making The Great Marchil Fanfic Flood 2

[canadiankakashi]

🐑 Crossover, Mistaken Identity, Rarepair, Minecraft Respawn Mechanics, someone gets threatened with a spatula

Ohhhhh it's making me think that the traffic series is in a different universe than hermitcraft, someone gets swapped with their traffic counterpart and thus gets treated like their hermitcraft version and then threatened and murdered by a spatula after getting discovered only to go harass a certain admin to fix everything (and nearly getting murdered by said admin's partner for waking him up)

[fagrackham]

no more soulmate aus society has evolved past the need for soulmate aus

[foxstens]

not me spending the entire day writing a google doc with a very detailed summary of a kevin/allison/ichirou au

[crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer]

A Rose's Thorns - Girly411 - 美男高校地球防衛部LOVE! | Binan Koukou Chikyuu Bouei-bu LOVE! [Archive of Our Own]

Pairing: Miss Bara Beach/Hakone Goura

Rating: T (for some suggestive language and innuendo)

Summary: Years had passed since the fallout from the first alien invasion, but their battle wounds had barely begun to heal before news of the second generation had reached them… and that meant it was time for a reunion. Fortunately, that was nothing she couldn’t handle. After all, she was a rose and her thorns were sharp, but perhaps that was what he’d been afraid of.

Read on AO3.

Old Friends prompt for @rarepair-week

[krenenbaker]

Trick or Treat~!

Pairing: Che'nya x Floyd (could be read platonically or romantically)

Summary: It's finally Halloween night, but Floyd is in a bit of a slump. However, the arrival of a curious companion may just make the Halloween party a bit more interesting for him.

Notes: This is my first attempt at something following a prompt - specifically, "Trick or Treat" for the 2023 TWST Rarepair Halloween event. I'm trying to get more comfortable/practiced with writing prose (which is why this wasn't posted on the 30th... oops), and only vaguely ended up following the prompt. I'm fairly happy with how this little piece turned out, though!

Tags: @dove-da-birb, @azulashengrottospiano, @inkybloom-luv, @eynnwwyjth, @officialdaydreamer00 (please let me know if you'd like to be included or excluded from future writing of mine, or only want to be included in specific types of creations)

Floyd wanted to take a break. 

It was Halloween, and all he had done the entire week was work, work, work. Getting costumes ready, decorating, helping with their dorm's presentation, plus cooking and serving at the Lounge, all on top of normal classes? 

Sure, it was fun, especially getting to show off Octavinelle's cool setup, and 'taking care of' those misbehaving visitors. But now? Everything felt draining and boring, and Floyd simply wanted to leave, which sucked because the actual Halloween party had just started!  

Maybe he should just ditch and go back to his dorm; being in a funk when everyone else is having fun around you is not enjoyable.  He slumped down on a bench and unwrapped a sweet he had picked up earlier, before wrapping it up again. Ugh, not even in the mood for that candy he wanted only a few minutes ago. 

As he shoved the sweet back into his pocket and was about to get up from the bench to leave, Floyd heard a rustle behind him. Someone was quietly humming, and… laughing? The sound gradually moved to his side, towards the empty side of the bench.  

“Trick or treat~”

Floyd turned to face the voice. "Listen, man, I'm not in the mood to—” he froze, staring at the figure beside him. “Hang on a second, where's your body!?"

A toothy smile came to the face of the head that currently floated beside Floyd. "Oh, it's here.... or maybe it's there." A pair of hands materialized on either side of this boy's head, followed by the rest of his body. 

“I'm just kidding. Mind if I take a seat? I’d like to rest up before I keep purrowling around and startling people.”

Floyd blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Uh, go for it.” 

This guy was... weird, and it was hard to tell if he'd be annoying, or interesting. "You don't go here, do ya? At least, I’ve never seen you before. And you’re no ghost, either.”

The cat-like boy shook his head, his jewellery jingling softly. "I'm just passing through for the festivities and collecting treats. Scaring some people, too. That’s loads of fun. And it's always nice to see my friends let loose." 

Floyd had a vague memory surface. "Ohh... you must be that RSA boy who's friends with Sea Turtle and Goldfishie." 

"'Sea Turtle' and 'Goldfishie', hey? Those are good names for my green and red friends. Cats are known for liking fish." He leaned forward, his grin growing. “Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Floyd nodded, “Floyd Leech. It's nice to meet you, too.” He looked curiously at the boy beside him, taking in his shaggy hair, piercings, and impish smile.

"You're not what I expected.” Floyd smiled, "But you seem fun, Catfish. I didn't think Goldfishie would get along with someone so... interesting."

Che'nya's eyes lit up slightly. "Catfish? Heh heh heh, most people call me Che'nya, but I guess that works. And I’ve heard some… interesting stories about you, too."

He stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back with his arms behind his head as he sighed. "But yeah, I don't think Riddle could shake me if he tried." 

"I'm almost jealous." Floyd tipped his head slightly. "Most of the time, Goldfishie likes to swim away before I can play with him."

Che'nya laughed, "Well, if you're wondering, he 'swam off' that way." He pointed off to the side. “Just don’t be rough with him. I don’t like people mistreating my friends.”

Floyd looked off into the crowd where he had pointed, and let out a small laugh. “Alright, good to know. Maybe I’ll find him later, if I feel like it”, he smiled and sat back. “And Goldfishie’s stronger than he looks, but I guess you’d know that.”

Che’nya nodded, then leaned closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, I bet we could do something that would really surprise him.” 

Floyd turned slightly towards Che’nya, and flashed a smile. “Yeah, we probably could. I think we should talk more in the future, Catfish. You seem pretty fun.” 

Che’nya grinned, “You seem pretty fun, too.”

"Well,” he stretched his arms above his head. “I think I’m going to go and find some more treats… and play some more tricks tonight. I'll catch you around, Floyd." 

With a haunting giggle echoing in his ears, Floyd watched as the boy beside him faded into nothingness, just the same way he had arrived. 

What a weird guy.

Floyd unwrapped the candy he had pocketed earlier, then popped it into his mouth. Maybe this party was worth staying at after all.

[rhosyn-du]

The Case of the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Dates, chapter 1

Dead Boy Detectives/The Sandman crossover | Jenny Green/Johanna Constantine | Explicit | WIP

Tags for this chapter: Case Fic, Strangers to Lovers, Casual Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Panic Attacks

Link on AO3

For the @sandman-rarepair-fest prompts Strangers to Lovers, AU/Crossover, and Femslash

Summary:

Jenny didn't leave her flat planning to have a semi-public anonymous hookup. She was supposed to be having drinks—and hopefully sex—with a woman she met through a dating app Crystal talked her into downloading—"I'm not saying you should go out looking for your soulmate; I'm just saying maybe you'd feel better if you got laid. Have you even relaxed for five minutes since you got off the plane?"—but Natalya hadn't shown up at the pub she suggested they meet at. But there there was a pretty brunette at the bar with a cocky smirk and a foul mouth who turned out to be every bit as hot as she was annoying and also extremely down for a quick fuck in the restroom and absolutely nothing more than that. Which is probably for the best, Jenny figures. Someone who isn't interested enough to take her home or even ask her name is far less likely to turn out to be a grifter or a control freak or a stalker with homicidal tendencies.

The last thing Jenny wants or needs is to get dragged into another one of the Dead Boy Detective Agency’s cases. Unfortunately, the universe has it out for her. At least the sex is good?

Public restrooms are nicer in London than in Port Townsend. Jenny's been told with a startling amount of vehemence by multiple people that they're nicer all over the UK than anywhere in the States, but she hasn't exactly done a personal survey of the country. Even with her limited experience of public restrooms—toilets, she thinks inanely; they're called toilets here—she can definitely say she's never been tempted to have sex in the toilet of a sketchy pub before.

"Your jeans are too damned tight," the woman whose name Jenny didn't bother asking complains between heated kisses.

"You seemed plenty happy with them when you were checking out my ass," Jenny points out, pausing in her quest to unfasten the truly stupid number of tiny buttons on the woman's shirt to help unfasten her own jeans.

Jenny didn't leave her flat planning to have a semi-public anonymous hookup. She was supposed to be having drinks—and hopefully sex—with a woman she met through a dating app Crystal talked her into downloading—"I'm not saying you should go out looking for your soulmate; I'm just saying maybe you'd feel better if you got laid. Have you even relaxed for five minutes since you got off the plane?"—but Natalya hadn't shown up at the pub she suggested they meet at. But there there was a pretty brunette at the bar with a cocky smirk and a foul mouth who turned out to be every bit as hot as she was annoying and also extremely down for a quick fuck in the restroom and absolutely nothing more than that. Which is probably for the best, Jenny figures. Someone who isn't interested enough to take her home or even ask her name is far less likely to turn out to be a grifter or a control freak or a stalker with homicidal tendencies.

And it's extremely unlikely Natalya would have been this talented with her fingers, holy fuck. Jenny makes a noise she's not at all proud of, head falling back against the wall of the toilet stall as the woman works her clit with deft fingers that don't seem at all hindered by the tightness of her jeans.

"Knew you'd be loud once I got you going," the woman says smugly, urging one of Jenny's legs up over her hip to give her better access.

Jenny wants to argue, but she's really not in any position for it, so she settles for unceremoniously pulling open the last of the buttons on the woman's shirt and finally getting her hands on her tits while doing her best to bite back the sounds she wants to be making.

The woman pushes into Jenny's touch with a pleased hum. "That wasn't a complaint, to be clear." She leans in, their difference in height being just enough to put her lips against Jenny's throat, over the racing beat of her pulse, as she says, "Let me hear you."

"Are you trying to get us kicked out?" Jenny asks even as she shifts her weight so that her own thigh is pressed firmly between the other woman's, and her thumbs brush over stiff nipples.

"Not gonna happen," the woman gasps, rolling her hips eagerly against Jenny's thigh. "The owner owes me."

Any attempt Jenny might have made to ask what exactly the owner owes is completely derailed by the woman sliding two of those clever fingers inside Jenny's cunt as she scrapes her teeth along Jenny's neck in sharp counterpoint. There's no hope of keeping quiet then, not with the woman's fingers inside her while her thumb works her clit, alternating sloppy kisses and sharp nips and sharper curses against Jenny's throat while she rides Jenny's thigh like it's her fucking job.

It's quick and it's frenzied and it's nothing at all like most of the sex Jenny has had in her life. It's also kind of amazing. She tilts her head down so she can capture that filthy mouth with her own, and then lets herself get lost in the slick slide of fingers and tongues, in the frantic rutting and the desperate, grasping pleasure that rises in her like a tidal wave: inevitable and devastating.

Jenny screams when she comes, not even caring anymore who might hear, especially with the woman gasping a litany of fuck, fuck, fuck as she works Jenny through the aftershocks, her own hips starting to stutter. Jenny has just enough piece of mind to grab the woman by the hips, pulling her tight against her thigh as she shudders through her own orgasm moments later.

They stay like that for a few moments as they catch their breath. Just as Jenny is starting to feel the faintest twinges of awkwardness—Do you kiss after a toilet stall hookup? Is that a thing? Should she say thank you? What's the etiquette here?—the woman pulls back with a soft laugh.

"Fuck, I needed that."

Jenny's agreement turns into a gasp as the woman pulls her fingers from Jenny's cunt, seeming to consider for half a second before popping them into her mouth and sucking them clean.

Jenny realizes she's staring and quickly looks away, busying herself with the process of refastening her jeans and making some vague attempt and straightening her clothes so she doesn't look quite so much like she just got extremely well-fucked by a complete stranger.

When she looks up again, the woman is fastening the last of the buttons on her shirt, looking far less flustered than Jenny feels.

"Right," Jenny says. "I'm gonna—" She gestures toward the exit. "Thanks," she adds, and then she leaves before she can find out if that was entirely the wrong thing to say.

She feels a brief moment of relief when she heads back out into the pub and the woman behind the bar doesn't give her a second glance—maybe she hadn't been quite so loud as she thought?—but then she sees how the three women at the table closest to the restroom are looking at her, and she ducks her head and hightails it out into the comforting blanket of fog that feels almost like home if she doesn't look or listen too closely.

She's halfway back to her flat before she realizes that she really does feel better, and much less tense than she has been since she arrived in London four months ago. Maybe even less tense than she's felt since before she watched the woman trying to kill her die a gruesome death in front of her and got possessed by a literal demon and watched her livelihood go up in flames and, oh yeah, started seeing ghosts.

Dammit.

Crystal is going to be so fucking smug when she finds out she was right.

~~~

"I take it the date went well?”

Briana is usually Jenny's favorite coworker, partly because she mixes a better drink than any other bartender Jenny's met, and partly because she doesn't usually ask about Jenny's personal life.

"It wasn't a date," Jenny says, reaching for her apron. "And anyway, she didn't show."

Briana studies her. "But you did have a good time last night." It's not a question.

"A better time than I'm having right now," Jenny tells her, pulling on her hair net.

Jenny is extremely grateful when Briana's questioning is interrupted by the arrival of their boss, who greets them with his ever-friendly smile.

"Ah, Jenny, do you have a minute before you start? I wanted to talk some scheduling with you."

"Sure thing," Jenny says, happily abandoning Briana and her prying in favor of following Rob back to the office.

When the insurance rep told Jenny exactly how long it was likely to take before she saw any money from the destruction of her butcher shop, she'd been livid. That lasted about an hour, until she realized she was in an unfamiliar city—an unfamiliar country—with no money to start fresh like she planned and exactly no experience working for anyone other than herself and before that her parents, at which point it turned to mild panic. When Edwin mentioned that the agency's landlord also owned a pub and had mentioned something about needing to hire new back of house staff, Jenny was extremely dubious. Not only was working a kitchen very different from running a butcher shop, but she was more than a little wary about working for the kind of guy who rented office space to a couple of teenage ghosts.

But Rob turned out to be a decent guy, and almost freakishly normal from everything Jenny's seen. He inherited the New Inn along with the building Charles and Edwin—and now Crystal—work out of and a few other properties from his favorite uncle, but that's the most remarkable thing about him other than the whole seeing and talking to ghosts thing, and she's hardly going to hold nearly drowning as a child against him. The man is a part-time history lecturer at City University and wears loafers, so Jenny figures he's pretty low on the list of people likely to drag her into more supernatural weirdness or attempted homicide, and he pays her better than she's probably worth given her lack of experience.

All in all, it's a pretty good deal, especially since Rob knows she'll be gone as soon as her insurance money comes through and she can find a decent shop space to rent.

Jenny stops dead in her tracks when she sees the two people already waiting in Rob's office.

"No," she says flatly, addressing the two ghosts—one leaning against the office wall and the other perched on the edge of Rob's desk—before turning on her boss. "What the hell, Rob? You said you wanted to talk about scheduling."

It's not that she has anything against Charles and Edwin, but Crystal's two ghost friends are private detectives who take jobs for other ghosts, and the fact that they're ambushing her at work suggests this isn't a social call. The last thing she wants is to get caught up in one of their cases. Again.

"This is about scheduling," Edwin says, "in part."

"We need an assist on our latest case and Robbie's got a friend with the right kind of skills," Charles adds.

"I figure it'll be safer for everyone involved if I make the introduction at the Inn." Rob's tone is apologetic. "You're the only one on staff unlikely to get freaked out if anyone gets shouty about things, so I was wondering if you'd mind closing up tonight so I can invite her over and make the introduction after close. I know you're only scheduled until ten, but I'm happy to pay you double for the extra hours."

"I don't mind closing," Jenny says, "but what's the catch?"

"No catch, I swear," Rob says, holding up his hands. "I wouldn't even ask, but I've got an early lecture tomorrow and would rather not be up prepping the kitchen by myself after I introduce the boys to my friend."

Despite the revelation that Rob apparently has a friend with skills to help Charles and Edwin on one of their cases, Jenny doesn't get the sense that he's trying to deceive her in any way.

She looks at Edwin. "You said 'in part.' So what's the catch."

"Ah," Edwin says, sliding off the desk. "It's not a catch, per se."

"Eds," Charles chides softly. "What he means is, we've got a message for you. From our client."

Jenny feels the bottom of her stomach drop out. "Your client?" she repeats. Their client can only mean another ghost. Someone who died.

"Natalya Mesi," Edwin says. "She wants you to know that she's very sorry for missing your appointment last night, but she was quite dead by then."

~~~

Rob is nice enough to give Jenny some privacy and a very stiff drink—on the house—after Charles and Edwin leave. She goes through the remainder of her shift in a daze, glad that the dinner rush doesn't prove to be too much for her distracted mind to handle and that Eoin doesn't comment on her much more frequent than usual minor fuckups. Jenny decides he's her new favorite coworker.

Crystal arrives just before closing, slipping back to the kitchen to give Jenny a quick, fierce hug.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, and Jenny knows she's apologizing as much for pushing Jenny to download the dating app in the first place as expressing condolences for the death of a non-quite-acquaintance.

"I didn't even know her," Jenny says when Crystal releases her. "Not really."

"I'm still sorry," Crystal insists. "You didn't want to be involved in any of our cases, and I got you involved, sort of, so I'm sorry."

"If I were that worried about it, I would have stayed in Port Townsend," Jenny points out, as if staying in Port Townsend with the memories of Niko and Maxine and her parents and her shop and every person and every dream she's ever lost wouldn't have been a complete nightmare. But. She didn't have to come to London.

Crystal squeezes her arms and offers her a weak smile. "I'm glad you're here."

It's a slow enough night that there are no stragglers by the time closing rolls around, and Eoin is out the door in time for Rob to lock up behind him. Rob says something about his friend running late, and Jenny tries to ignore the two living humans and two ghosts talking quietly at a table in the corner while she cleans the grill and wipes down the counters and refills the condiment bottles, but her eyes keep drifting over to the only people who know the answer to the question that's been plaguing her since that afternoon. The question she didn't have the courage to ask at the time.

She makes it halfway through refilling the salt shakers before stalking over to the table and demanding, "How did Natalya die?"

The four at the table look up at her and then exchange uneasy glances with each other.

"We aren't exactly sure about that yet," Charles says. "That's sort of what we're investigating."

"But you know something," Jenny presses. "That's why you're here to meet Rob's friend, right? Because you found something you need help with?"

"We could be wrong, though," Crystal says. "And it's not anything you need to worry about—"

"All signs point to demonic activity," Rob interrupts, and Jenny is grateful to him for saying it even as the room starts to go fuzzy around the edges.

"The woman I was supposed to meet for drinks was murdered by a demon?" Jenny hardly recognizes her own voice, high-pitched and squeaky as it is.

"We don't know that a demon did the actual killing," Edwin explains, "but we're fairly certain a demon was involved. Your friend is actually quite lucky. A demon could have done far worse than kill her."

"She wasn't my friend," Jenny says faintly, grabbing for a nearby chair to keep herself upright before her knees give out completely.

She misses, and only Rob's quick reflexes save her from falling on her ass.

"I got you," he says as he hoists her with surprising strength into the chair she'd failed to grab onto. "Just breathe. You're safe. No demons here, I promise."

Jenny does her best to follow his instruction to breathe, trying to force her lungs to expand and contract in some sort of regular rhythm. It's not the first panic attack she's had in the past six months. It's not the tenth. But every one is as awful as the last.

She has no idea how long she spends struggling to calm her heart, her lungs, her mind, only that she's only just managed to start feeling like an actual person again when she's startled by the sound of the bells over the tavern's entrance. Which makes no sense, because didn't Rob lock the door?

Dazedly, Jenny looks up only to find the very last person she's expecting to see. She blinks her eyes several times, but the image doesn't change.

"Damn exorcism ran long," the woman says, shrugging out of her pale coat.

This time, Jenny notes a little hysterically, the shirt underneath doesn't have any of those absurd tiny buttons.

"Demons are not terribly respectful of your time, are they?" Rob says wryly. "These are the tenants I was telling you about. Charles, Edwin, and Crystal of the Dead Boy Detective Agency. And this is Jenny, who's on staff here at the New Inn.

“Everyone, this is Johanna Constantine. If you've a demon problem, she's the best person I can think of to help you solve it."

[writing-for-life]

Lupē

Finally, finally I manage a Calliope/Morpheus fic (the Sandman Rarepair Fest had to come along to kick me into gear). It’s just a short vignette, but I hope I did them justice because they will always be the OTP to me. The prompt is Hurt/Comfort.

You can read on Ao3 or here. And no matter where you read, your kudos, comments, shares and reblogs are so appreciated and help writers to get their stuff discovered 🖤

Lupē (616 words) by Writing-for-Life Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Calliope/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Calliope/Dream of the Endless, Calliope & Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Reconciliation, Past Relationship(s), Rare Pairings, Canon Compliant, During Canon, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite Summary:

Calliope had wept for him so many times, and she felt the tight grip of grief resurfacing. She had mourned the laughter that would never echo through these halls again, the stories of his father he would never pass on to children of his own, the promise of a future shattered. […] And she was tired of mourning, of a grief that felt like it was hers alone to bear.

Lupē

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow upon the twisted spires of the castle. She had not returned here since that fateful day.

The Gatekeepers stood before her, eyes like onyx reflecting the aeons they had witnessed. Last time, they had been impassive, their voices cold as they denied her entry.

But tonight, something had changed: They recognised her.

"Calliope," the wyvern’s voice echoed through the mist. "You seek the Lord of Dreams."

She nodded, and her throat felt so tight she could barely swallow. "I come to speak to him."

Calliope's fingers trembled. She remembered the bitter words they had exchanged—the accusations, the tears. Later, Oneiros had been unyielding, her attempts to speak to him ignored. She was not even sure what would have happened had he acted differently then; the thought of bringing forth an apology entered her mind and was as quickly dismissed. She felt her hands ball into fists, bitterness resurfacing.

No, this is not the time.

The guardians exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. "Why are you here, muse?" the hippogriff asked.

She hesitated. "Our son's absence binds us, even in sorrow."

There was no more talk, no further interrogation. The gates just creaked open.

Calliope stepped across the threshold, and her footsteps echoed on the stairs and the marble corridors. With every step, her heart picked up pace until it was racing so fast she could hardly catch a breath.

The door was as she remembered—unchanged, the wood dark and polished, etched with symbols whose meaning she understood and yet didn’t.

Just like him.

But that wasn’t true. He had been changed when last they met. Familiar yet different, faint echoes of what once she loved—and hated.

Calliope pushed the door open, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath. For a moment, she wondered what she had expected to find. How she had expected him to greet her. And then she knew that this was exactly it:

His back turned on her, no sign of movement, frozen in space.

She crossed the room, her breath catching in her throat, unable to speak.

She didn’t have to.

"Calliope," he whispered, still not turning. There was a rawness to his voice, even in that whisper, that caught her unaware.

She reached for him, without any hesitation, and while it surprised her, it felt right. As her hand touched his shoulder, he flinched subtly, but he didn't pull away.

When he finally turned, his eyes held galaxies, and their shared history was etched on his face—the pain, the longing—it was all there, laid bare.

And it was hard not to see Orpheus in him. Hard not to remember how he had told him stories, his voice like a melody spun from darkness and light, stardust and moonbeams, while the boy’s laughter would echo through the halls of the castle, and his cries for more brought a moment of happiness to everyone who heard it.

And then it was gone.

Calliope had wept for him so many times, and she felt the tight grip of grief resurfacing. She had mourned the laughter that would never echo through these halls again, the stories of his father he would never pass on to children of his own, the promise of a future shattered.

She had sung dirges and sought solace in memories, but they only deepened the pain.

And she was tired of mourning, of a grief that felt like it was hers alone to bear.

In that moment, his eyes searched hers. “You came.” And perhaps, they were seeking answers and forgiveness.

“You called.”

And perhaps, they were also holding the faint glimmer of hope…