#a scrap of a fic i was writing more than a decade ago

[keepingtrackoflosttime]

After her set, she got a beer and took a seat next to him. Casually, "So what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

He gave a sudden snort of laughter, caught off guard. So far so good.  "What kind of guy am I like?"

"Good looking. Generous." She waved a paper plane at him.  "Not a grabby asshole like some of these dudes."  She took a swig of beer. "Don't even try to tell me you can't get a date."

He was looking at her, amused, and looking right into her face, too, not at her breasts. "Can't get a date with the right woman."

She laughed. "Well, I don't think you're going to find her here. Most of the girls don't date customers."

[dilf-docs]

Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (cause we have a small daddy kink going on here.. hence the blog name BUT I DO HAVE A GOOD DAD), smut, this reeks of corruption kink for no reason other than me being a virgin whore, like he gets stalker-ish for a second but its logan howlett so we forgive him<3 ya está viejito, brief mention of suicide, sub logan edging on praising kink (if u squint), no protection but u gotta put the hat on the cowboy to ride the horse alr, riding, breeding kink??? angst (the depressing vibes are there cause they follow my writing like a shadow ijbol)

word count: 33,577 words (at the v crack of dawn.. i think i've gone insane FR it's 02:07 am and my brain its eating itself like im gonna start seeing logan in the corner of my room)

side note: newbie here after reading so many fanfics on tumblr but never publishing my own!! its hugh's birthday (well, its past midnight so no more but still!!! it was a couple hours ago) so i figured i should give it a try today cause that man does things to me ESPECIALLY as old man logan i can't lie and say the thought of him fucking me good and slow hasn't crossed my mind too many times 😩 we love sad hot old people in here so naturally my inaguration fic had to be done by him. also, i'm tired of scrapping for votes, comments, and interactions on wattpad so please treat me well during our first:// it's me moving to tumblr it's me hi i'm the problem it's me. i'm a feedback whore so pls leave tons of those!! also, english isn't my first language so if i make a grammar mistake pls do not tell me bc i have no respect for this language ―it just makes me cringe less to write smut on a language that isn't mine lol<3 but if there's any other mistake yes pls do tell me thank u OKAY BYE i needa quit yapping ENJOY dilf town<3

So it started something like this.

It was another simple nightshift for Logan. The weather humid, uncomfortably sticking the fabric of his white button shirt onto his skin. Even with the windows down. Those nights that the driving dragged on for long, like those cigarettes that now made him cough more than relax. The roads felt too long; his eyes too heavy.

Nothing new. Just about what to expect: money short, clients and traffic equally annoying. But that was the problem; nothing was new anymore.

He'd just finish dropping a customer close by, and since the tiring feeling didn't seem to leave his body just yet, a coffee wouldn't hurt. As a matter of fact, the need for a boost to make it home makes him get out of the car and limp his way into the first place his tired vision sees.

The rim of his recently adquired reading glasses slips as he climbs the stairs into the decades old diner, the decoration outdated. He understands; he feels the same way.

Neon lights flash his face when he enters the place and sits in the farthest booth he can find. The air is impregnated in grease and cheap coffee, but he waits at least fifty minutes to order, giving his body some time to rest. In the meanwhile, he tries to distract himself with the newspaper resting on the table, but God knows his eyes are too tired and his mind drifts every two words.

He hopes he doesn't get kicked out, judging from the attentive look he's receiving by a waitress resting on the bar. She looks as bored and tired as he does.

Maybe that's why he chooses her, raising his hand with order in mind. A black coffee. The waitress slides from her position and takes some steps to where he sits.

Her voice is sweet when she introduces herself, and Logan finds himself asking her again what her name is, pretending he's half deaf just to listen to it again.

"It's y/n" you repeat, oh so sickeningly sweet, he might have to skip on asking for sugar.

"Y/n" he savours the name on his lips, trying the tender sound, his eyes darting to the name tag, like he's confirming it. Testing to see if the young woman in front of him is real. Maybe his eyes linger a little too long, and the tip of your ears start to heat. Its the way he examines every feature on your face, like memorizing it in a sense, that makes you squirm. But maybe, just maybe, it's the small―brief, peak he gives to your exposed cleavage, pushing itself against the tight fabric of your uniform what truly gets your heart beating fast.

He looks like what your parents would warn you to stay away and your friends would talk behind your back. Rugged in a way that screams heartbreak, rough around edges your kind nature wishes to soften. It's unresonable to feel this way about a client you just met, but his aloof demeanor peaks your interest, so different from your usual costumers and familiar faces that pop up at the diner.

"Can I order you, darling?" his voice comes out deep, almost passing as a grunt. Just what you imagined it to sound. Why he's acting as his past self so effortlessly, after closing himself off to the point of going by entire days without talking more than three words, is concerning. Why the cute waitress who looks at him with doe eyes, expectant to take his order, is making him break the promise he made to himself not to get attached again―just live by enough to make it to the sea and put a bullet in his head.

"Well, that's just about my job" you joke, feeling confident for no reason. "But you can't order me".

"A damn shame" he chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling on his chest. It's been so long since he's laughed like that: carefree, without that pressing weight on his chest, that despite the sinking notion, sometimes feels more like a hole carved where his heart is supposed to be.

"So..." you trail off, unsure where to proceed after that sound that jolted your entire system awake, "what will you take?"

The banter dies, and Logan is dissapointed when she scribbles the dark coffee on her pretty round letter and walks away. He doesn't miss the sway of her hips, and almost calls her back just to hear her voice again. But he stops himself, because it's getting pathetic.

When she returns with her order, he almost regrets the comeback of his enhaced senses, her honeyed perfume mixed with the bitter smell of the freshly brewed coffee, creating an intoxicating mix.

His lips burn when he sips it, but that doesn't stop him from emptying the cup. Again. And again. All in the name for asking for more coffee, a magnetic force pulling him to the ground, making him forget he's a 200 and something year old man begging like a starved man for at least a fraction of her attention. He feels unworthy of your warmth.

He feigns interest on the newspaper when you return again (he's been stuck on the same paragraph ever since he sat down), the pot in your hands. If you've noticed he's emptied the cups faster than a normal person, you don't ask questions. He's thankful, but can see the amusement and confusion laced across your pretty face.

"More?" you ask, but it's unnecesary. He only nods, and you miss the chatter.

The closeness it's a challenge itself, the uniform's neckline practically shoved down his nose while she fills the cup to the brim. He hears his own heartbeat, the sound averting his attention from another "brief" glance at the cleavage. Is it intentional? Is your goodwill and act? Are you this cruel, playing with an old touch starved man like that?

God knows it's been long since he's had a helping hand during his relief hours.

He can't help it; he's a man, after all. So he seizes the moment and steals a glance. But his eyes meet yours, the wary green clashing with the cozy chocolate. There's warmth on your eyes, and he's looking at your tits like an animal. He pulls away, ashamed. The shirt feels a bit suffocating, and there's sweat on his forehead again. Great, you'll think he's a perv.

"Excuse me" you say, leaving his table. Logan is afraid of having fucked it up for thinking with this dick and not with his head. You were messing too much with his head, and now he'll pay the price. Fair, he thinks, for a perverted old man trying to woo a girl younger and far more innocent than him.

There's benevolance on her smile and blood on his hands.

The whole situation is stupid.

But then he's thinking of excuses (like saying it's his failing eyesight's fault) and something close to an apology, as if he cares a little too much about what you think. And then you come back.

"I forgot to bring you a napkin" she lies, leaving the piece of paper in the middle of the table. You laugh, and Logan let's you because 1. He deserves it, and 2. It's a sound as saccharine as the smell the freshly heated pies emit on the table across him.

You leave before he can even open his mouth, so all he's left with is the napkin that seems to have something written on it. Pervert, he reads, on the same calligraphy you scribbled on your bloc. He can't help but laugh, even with your watchful look on him.

That's how it continued.

Even if he had other rides and more energy to drive, he kept coming to the decaying diner just to see you. Almost as if he was forgetting his desperate need for the money, the boat goal further and further.

"You've forgotten about me" complained Charles, although his tone lacked of bite. "But I'm not mad that you've had".

He'd go on, rambling about living life but Logan just laughed. Yet, maybe he was right. Didn't even need his powers to know it.

Now, you? you simply couldn't get enough of your favorite costumer. Of his late stays until you closed, sometimes not muttering more than necessary, yet his company, even if curt, proved to be what you needed to make it through work, giving you a legitimate reason to yearn the before tedious night shifts.

Despite this two month weird relationship, Logan is as a stranger to you as he was the first day, no matter how many times you've tried to get him to talk. In the end, all your conversation efforts feel more of a monologue than a chat.

He knows about your mom and your dad, one strict the other dead. He knows most of your friends names, what you're studying and what you wanted to. Your dreams and your hopes, your aspirations, failures, and some other things you'd never say to anyone else out loud. All and nothing. And he listens, sometimes asking questions, but never about himself. He never takes the lead.

So frustration from the Logan enigma pours into you, the puzzle pieces layed out over your mind, consuming your thoughts. So now you're stubbornly cleaning the same grease spot on a table you've already wipped before, and that, coincidentally, it's the booth in front of Logan, the permanent resident of your head during these past weeks. You might as well make him start paying rent by now, his power and hold over you ridiculous.

"It's not going anywhere. Take it easy" he mocks you.

There's a bit of annoyance when you reply back, although it's mostly superficial. "Don't know what you're talking about" comes out your dry response, earning a low chuckle from him.

"How about you sit for a moment?" he offers, ignoring your apathy. "You're almost done cleaning up".

If his ever changing attitude isn't enough, closing this night's shift is as tiring.

Logan doesn't expect you to obey, but now you're sitting across from him, and a voice in his head says you maybe feel sorry for this lunatic old man.

You're so close, he can see the eye bags and sorrow you are far tired to try to hide.

"I have to finish cleaning" you explain, "we're about to close".

He doesn't know why he says it, or what takes over him when he says:

"I could wait for you"

He surprises himself and surprises you too.

"No need" you assure, and why does he feel so dissapointed. It's stupid. "My friend picks me up".

Ah, yes. The friend with the perfect stupid smile that picks you up every night. Not like he parks his car until you leave and sees the scene unfold each time, his white knuckle grip on the wheel a bit too much when the young boy opens up your door. Makes him see red, knowing he's your age and maybe the breathe of fresh air you need. Not a man far older, who bears too many sins and scars in and out.

"I see" he says after some minutes in silence, retracting his impulsiveness. "I'm sorry if I made you-"

"No!" you clarify hastily, "it doesn't bother me".

He smiles unconsciously in relief.

"Well, me neither. I insist. If you change your mind" he's practically begging, despite his monotone tone.

But you don't.

The place closes and Logan is forced to get in the car. He lights a cigarette, in no hurry to return home. The lighter lights up while the diner's light goes off. You and your boss come out, biding each other goodbye. She leaves and you're is left alone, hugging your body in the early morning cold. 

He sees you wearing particular clothes, for the first time. He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes running up and down your bare legs, the fragile fabric of the skirt fluttering in the wind. He exhales, watching as you dials your phone several times, getting no response, obviously frustrated.

He mutters something under his breath, and maybe there is a God after all. He starts the car, approaching her, who has already noticed it, probably because of the noise of the engine.

She looks scared, but Logan rolls down the window so she can see it's him.

"Need'a ride?"

Just by his reverberant sound you could accept. But you try to play cool for a while, despite your aching bones and need to get home.

"He doesn't answer" he was right, "my friend".

I know, he wishes to say, but he's the same hot headed asshole who walked through the doors of the X mansion for the first time, so his tone will be laced with irony. He doesn't want you to see him as an intense hot blooded mouth.

I could take you. His head pounds but he shuts the emotions down.

He shoves the knot on his throat down and asks as casually as possible, "do you live close?"

The question rings on his ears. It holds more than just the favor. Logan knows they have a certain tension between them that he no longer wants to ignore. For the first time it seems to be reciprocated; palpable, and he is surprised to hear his heart beating loudly, so accustomed to hearing others' with his sharp senses, constantly forgetting what his own sounds like. Yours also beats erratically, despite your calm composure.

"Just around the corner" you answer. A beat, your frame bending so he can see your face from the driver's sit, the cleavage saying hello again. How considerate of you. "Do you really want to do this?"

Do you really want to do this?

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "I can't believe you waited for me. Your family must be worried."

Logan realizes you're trying to test waters. So he raises his hand discreetly and places it on the door, so you can see the lack of a ring. As expected, your eyes travel to his free finger, and he can swear he sees you breathe with relief, which is funny, because in case you hadn't picked up until now, Logan is very much fucking alone.

"In case you changed your mind," he answers. "I have nowhere else to be."

That is enough of an invitation for you to get in the car.

"I was going to open that door for you" he protests.

You only laugh as you buckle the seatbelt. "It's not that big of a deal, really. You've already done enough for me by doing me the favor".

"It's not that big of a deal" he repeats your words, "as long as I'm of help, that's enough for me".

He smiles wistfully, remembering better times. A part of him still aspires to be that hero everyone loved and remembered, something that clearly doesn't happen anymore (or if it does, it's rare), given the lack of recognition of his former identity in El Paso. He shakes his head, focusing back on the street in front of him. It's too late to get fucking sentimental.

"I like to help too…" you confess, meekly. Logan sighs, how could he not know? "My father used to say that I had the kindest heart he'd ever met. I hope it stays that way, and that when he looks down on me, he's proud".

It hurts Logan to see you be so hard on yourself, as if he didn't do the same.

"I bet all the customers in the place would say you're the sweetest thing they've met", he sees you smile from the corner of his eye, and can't help but emulate it. "Believe me, you're their favorite".

"Thank you, Logan" you say sincerely. However, the affliction that he hates to see crosses your face. So gloomy that you don't even seem the same person.

You wipe away an unexpected tear, but Howlett is faster and notices. You turn around, looking towards the window. Then, you catch a glimpse of his license.

"So… you're a driver" you try to break the silence that Logan has put without knowing why. Maybe to give you some space after being sentimental and opening up again to this closed off wall name Logan, but he knows it's a lie. He's scared. After wanting so much to be closer to you, he cowers, not trusting himself and what he would do trapped in a small space with such an attractive woman. Besides, the tension from the previous conversation was still there.

"You judging me now, honey?" the pet name rolls off his tongue before he catches it. He tries to play it cool, continuing the banter, carrying the same tone. "The only thing necessary to make you trust me was to give you a free ride?

"I'm in your car, Logan. I got in without thinking" you laugh. "I believe that's enough trust"

"Then, I'll keep doing you favors. Maybe if I do…" he trails off.

Your voice drops an octave, provocative. "Maybe what?"

His knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white.

"Maybe…" he hesitates, "maybe…"

"It's here" you point out. Shit, Logan curses, braking abruptly without meaning to.

"See you tomorrow" you bid as a goodbye, getting out of the car. Logan misses your smell.

So he sticks his head out the window, like a begging dog.

"How about now?" he says a bit forcefully.

Your face shows surprise and something else.

"You're getting attached" you reply, and he doesn't know why there seems to be sadness in your voice.

"I just keep coming back for the coffee" he defends himself.

You laugh, shaking your head "Now, then. For the coffee, clearly."

"I can leave" he says. Yet, makes no move to leave.

You sigh, giving him one last look. Surrender, he reads.

"You're a driver, right?" he nods, taking in every word coming of your pink plush lips. "Then let's drive off. Anywhere" your voice trails off, and you're just so tired of everything, you'll just let go yourself with the flow. "I'll go wherever you go..."

And this is how it ends.

When you wake up, it's almost dawn.

Logan had suggested you to sleep, claming the road where he was taking you to be long. He had covered you with his jacket, even if your body was burning from nerves.

Why had you agreed? Your mom would probably smack your head in search for some sense, and your reckless friends would encourage you to do it for the sake of a story. But something about Logan makes you feel safe, despite not knowing anything from him. It's sort of a sense of protection―like he would never hurt you, that envelops him. Everyone else would call you crazy; only you can understand that.

When your eyes adjust to the light, you realize you're in a line of cars.

"Did you bring me to the border?" you exclaim groggily, still in a sleepy voice.

"Good morning" he answers instead.

You rub yoou eyes, settling into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to kidnap me, right?" you question, half joking half serious.

Logan laughs, "Not only that. I'm also going to throw your body in a mass grave"

"It's not funny," you pout, although you're laughing too.

Once you've crossed the border, Logan drives a few more minutes, until he reaches a restricted area.

“I live here” he answers before you can ask, “saves rent and questions”

After opening the locks, you can better appreciate the place. Well, appreciate may not be the right word.

“It's an abandoned smelting plant” you voice out loud.

Logan just nods. You realize that he didn't like the comment, so you try not to talk about it anymore.

“Come” he gets out of the car, going to open your door. He offers you a hand, and you fail to hide your smile.

“You didn't miss this time, huh? Quite a gentleman” you praise. Then, add jokingly, “if you choose to kill me, at least I'll die taken care of".

“Stop talking nonsense and go inside” he scolds but smiles.

Inside, the abandoned plant is exactly what you expected.

"We're alone" Logan says, after leaving to check. He opens the door to his room, letting you in. There's not much inside, just a bed and scattered things. A yellowish light begins to filter through the broken glass. "I'mma change. Be right back".

You begin to explore your surroundings, to avoid thinking about the impact of the situation. Two things could happen: leave or stay. Maybe everything was going too fast, but you prided yourself on your spontaneity, often confused with impulsiveness. Others would say it was your naive nature: too innocent for your own good.

What had led you to accept without further ado? Was trust enough, that you had even fallen asleep in his car?

"S'rry for the wait"

You notice that Logan's gotten rid of his formal attire, leaving him in just slacks and an old white tank top. His muscles flex with every movement, making you swallow involuntarily. He still retains his extraordinary physique, despite his greying hair. She can't help but stare at the scars that cover his exposed skin, her fingers itching to trace them.

"Haven't they told ya' t's rude to stare?"

You look away, embarrassed. Logan walks over to the bed, bumping into you in the process, bodies barely touching. Still, an electric shock runs through you. You hug yourself, scared, aware of the effect he has on you.

"Logan" she dares to ask, "what are we doing?"

He finally looks at you. You feel naked under his intense gaze.

"What do you want us to do?"

His voice comes out low, like a growl. You stand in place stiff, unable to form a word.

"Come on, honey", the nickname comes out of his lips so easily, it hurts. "Are ya losing your voice now? Got into my car a while ago without thinkin', what's changed?"

You slowly approach Logan, each stride calculated. He watches you in silence, a silence as hostile as the wind hitting the broken windows, watching you remove your clothes, until all that's left is your bra and that skimpy skirt, as if you knew he liked it.

"Logan…" you whisper his name like a prayer, letting yourself fall on his legs. He holds you with his hard calloused fingers, like a promise.

Don't let me fall. Don't let me go. Don't leave me.

The habit of loneliness settles in between, and the flame they thought in deep slumber rekindles, burning with their long time unattended needs.

"Use your words, sweet thing" the trepidation condenses between, "we're grown up now, aren't we? Use your words"

If by words he meant feeling your lips against his, it's enough to have Logan following his impulses, using his strength to embrace your body until they feel like one, the scars on his hands feeling like your own. Your lips move in sync, and it's almost so casual, so learned, so meant to be, that fear appears in Logan, soon forgotten with the symphony of moans that come from your lips.

"Tell me" he pauses, breaking away from the kiss (something you don't like and express in the form of a pout), "what do you want?"

Logan tastes like cigars and whiskey, a combination you hate and the reason you quit your old job at the bar, but on his lips, it's an intoxicating taste.

"I want you, Logan" you whisper, hot breath against his skin, “you”.

He resumes the kiss, an electric shock of hunger and need between you: lips parted, colliding, teeth almost clashing against each other.

His fingers hesitate with a delicacy that belies his rough touch, the tips of his worn fingers lifting the fragile cloth of your skirt first, revealing soaking wet panties he goes crazy just at the sight of. The smell is sugary, sicklingly, so now he's hard and pulling at the clasp of your bra first, exposing your nipples, which he rolls and pinches mercilessly. A gasp escapes you—then another, and another as Logan pushes his thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, almost painful against your pulsing center.

His hand firm up his position, securing itself onyour bare legs as you digs her nails into him. His labored moans turn into a guttural growl.

“You think I’m not capable?” he mocks, stealing another moan from her, “that I can’t keep up with you, you pretty young thing?”

You deny it, but Logan takes it upon himself to show you that he can take you like he's in heat, the ghost of his old self taking over in his almost animal way of fucking you, hips arched, muscles flexed and tense, his teeth appearing every time he opens his mouth, reminding you of fangs. They dig into your exposed skin, leaving bruises that will take time to disappear from your shoulders and neck, marking what belongs to him.

The hardness of his skin meets your soft when he grabs you by the waist.

"Look at you" it slips from his tongue, ecstatic. He's a goner, saliva dripping from the messy and sloppy kisses he leaves through your collarbone, "so good and so pure. I bet you're innocent, that you haven't seen what I've seen..."

His pupils darken, a strange mix between torment and desire in his gaze. Hungry and violent.

"Will you let me show you how's a real man s'ppossed to treat a woman?"

He feels shame settle in his belly, the hunger to possess her almost virgin body fueling his dark desire of errasing her sweet smile until she's an unintelligible mess of sobs. To show her what she would complain about, so she'll never slettle for less. So you can feel what it's to be taken care of―handled. And then he'll fill you up with his seed, so no other man will take what's his. His sweet little thing. Oh, he's so going to hell for this.

But maybe he likes pain.

"That's it, honey" he plays with the fabric of your wet panties, pulling at the loose threads in the delicate fabric. "Let me show you".

You take it off, and Logan lies back against the bed, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his belt and pants―a clear invitation to repeat the previous position, except this time, his hands are on top of your hips, squeezing the soft skin. He doesn't take his eyes off you, his gaze reserved only on you. If the adrenaline from before pushed you, now the confidence gained motions you to finish the task. It's just the push you need, remembering that this is what it feels like to be with a real man as you throw a leg over his hips, sitting your ass right on top of the bulge marked on his underwear.

“Right… there…” he barely manages to formulate a coherent train of words, the years of lack of help in attending to his needs leading to overstimulation, “good girl.”

The compliment makes you increase the pace of your hips, his labored breaths a sound so rich and so manly it makes you squirm.

You need it desperately, rubbing your increasingly wet clit against him, riding the fabric. His scruffy beard barely hides the smug smile that graces his lips.

“Like this?” she whispers, and Logan can no longer contain himself, staring at his sweaty, ripped body failing to please her completely. It feels so good it aches, and he can't believe this is how he's ended. But if that means having your pretty face on top of him, covered in his marks, dripping on your joint sweats, well maybe it isn't so bad.

“How can I repay you, honey?” he pleads. He'll try he's best. He just wants to give you a glimpse of the way his whole world has light up ever since he stumbled in that greasy diner.

“You said you were going to show me” it comes out almost as a purr, expectant, “and I’m waiting”.

Logan takes it as his cue, pulling down his underwear until his member is exposed, chuckling darkly when you swallow at the sight.

"Don't tell me you're scared already" he teases, "look how you have me… you can't leave me like this…"

You stifle a scream as you feel every inch of his thick cock enter your sensible walls, trying to fit his member inside of your needy body.

"So tight for me" he stammers, using his hands to keep you in place, on top of him. The only sound in the silence of that place that smells of death is that of their skin colliding―vulgar, the obscenity highlighted by being the only thing that can be heard in the small room.

Even though his stamina has dropped over the years, he thrusts into you relentlessly. Logan fucks you senseless, his balls buried deep in your dripping pussy, a constant rhythm of avid suction with each entry to your walls.

He takes a moment to see you as you take something from the nighstand he doesn't remember putting there.

"Look what I found" you whisper in the middle of your moans. Logan recognizes the shine of metal in front of his eyes, "so Wolverine?"

You say it so easily, like it's not the first time. With acceptance; it scares him.

Do you recognize him? Are you not scared? Why haven't your eyes go from curiosity and kindness to cold and rejection?

He should panic, rip off his dog tags from your hands and pretend he doesn't know who he used to be, but he's so deep inside you and so enraptured, he can only manage to gently take them from between your fingers and put them around your neck, the cold metal against your warm, bare skin creating an electric shock.

"I want to see them on you"

He likes to watch it hang over his face while you're on top, panting heavily as she repeats his name, slurring her words. It dangles with every thrust, the silver glistens in the seeping sun, just like the sweat that adorns her skin.

"Are you that needy of your old man? " he teases, caressing her. He smacks the curve of his ass, “You want more?”

His veiny length makes quick work of your needy hole, more moans escaping your lips.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at the pain that begins to increase. “Yes, Logan. Just like that. Nobody ever treated me like that, nobody's made me feel like this-”

He moans, pleased with the praise, seeing he isn't as lacking as he thought. Making you feel good is his priority, but he won't lie and say he doesn't want to feel it too.

In an attempt to distract yourself, your eyes try to focus on him: searching his features, memorizing every scar, every wrinkle, every little grey hair.

“You’re perfect, Logan,” you mumble through a moan, the confession hiding more than you want to say and more than he cares to admit.

Before he can process it though, the fire in his stomach signals the arrival of his impending orgasm.

There's something delightful about the way you can barely speak, a mess of moans that sound like his name, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen alongside your messy hair.

He feels almost sick to be consuming something that doesn't and shouldn't belong to him. He doesn't deserve to have such a beautiful, young woman riding him while she clings to him like he's the last thing in this world, him: a worn, old man who can't keep up with her.

His member spasms, and it's got you feeling it all inside your walls, causing him to close his eyes in the process as well.

It's too soon, Logan thinks in shame, but it's been so long and you feels so good, he let's it go:

Thick whips of his cum shoot out of his member, drawing out more than you would've imagined. You don't have much time to think about it, for the orgasm hits you immediately, fingers curling and eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Logan feels his tip getting wetter, and the extra lubrication is a nice finishing touch.

“God,” he gasps, “what a mess…”

You avoid looking at him, taking one of his hands in yours, kissing the red and violet painted knuckles. If you do, you'll give away what you feel, the same way her memory burns in Logan's chest, more now than ever, as his mouth tastes just like you.

Dependency.

Devotion. Absolute. Sick.

Maybe that was what he felt. This weird feeling. That abyss piercing his chest but never killing him (so much for regenerating...), pressing his heart with a crushing force whenever it threathened to beat again. Logan was content with rather nothing, always a man who didn't ask for much, and since the death of his family―the X-men, less.

"You should go" he mutters in defeat, the shame washing over. Even if he'll miss your warmth, even if he doesn't want you to leave at all. "It's for your own good, y/n. Pretend you don't know me and turn around. Go away" he insists yet gets stuck on his words, "you're not stupid. Then you'll know it's good for you and you'll never speak to me again"

He looks at the ground, cowardly, because he wants your lust filled warm look to be the last memory he remembers. Not whatever look you're giving him now.

So Logan closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, you'll be gone. It'll be a dream, something too good to be true. Short lived, like every good thing in his life.

"Logan..." you calls his name. So softly it seems like a breath.

You're still here.

"Logan" you call again, more firmly.

"Logan" you don't give up, cupping with one hand his face gently, "look at me".

When he looks up, he comes across a heartbreaking vision. You cry, tears falling like waterfalls down your cheeks. But that's not the most devastating thing, no: it's the look in your eyes, as if you've shared his pain. As if you've had suffered the same things he had suffered; a twisted reflection of him.

"Of course I understand you" you take his hands, and Logan feels that same strange warmth he felt the first time when your hands brushed his with the diner's menu. "I've also lost people… people I loved. Don't you think it hurts me to see the world go on as if nothing happened? Everyone forgets, Logan. But I can't; there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about them"

For a moment, you stop crying, and the hidden internal turmoil he tried so hard to decipher finally makes sense.

"I don't know what you've been through either, but I can promise you, that I understand you more than you think…" it seems like you'll say something else, but you stop and say instead. "Think, Lo: would these people want to see you like this?"

"It's what I deserve" he murmurs barely, his voice constipated but without shedding a single tear.

"It's not what we want, Logan. Please" you sniff, pained "stop being so hard on yourself".

"I'm not who you think I am" he insists. You're still naked on his bed, and he feels dirty for having you like this. For taking you to his home and fucking you raw out of your innocence. "I'm not a good person."

"No, Logan" you seem hurt by that statement. You trace one of his most recent scars with a touch so compassionate, that he feels your fingertips burn, "you are a hero".

Your words were so sweet, so comforting. He wanted to sink into your lap, which smelled like flowers and tasted like safety. A home; a life that had been taken from him. He wanted to believe everything you said―feel who you believed he was. Not this pathetic, tired and apathetic version of himself, but the old version: the version that inspired respect, that despite his tough exterior, had a family he loved. Because he had a heart. Now he feels like he has no soul: no purpose, nothing.

But maybe you are the answer.

Before he can change his mind, you blurt out “can I stay?”

That morning, in that old bed that creaks under his weight, Logan discovers that feeling alive again isn't so bad.

[crusherthedoctor]

2, 5, 12, 21 for Eggman :)

2. Favourite canon thing about this character?

How am I supposed to choose? D: There's how funny he is, how evil he is, how clever he is, how creative he is, how persistent he is...

I do especially love how hands-on he is with his schemes. It's one aspect of many that sets him apart from other villains, and when you think about it, his eager dedication to his work ties-in to how his (evil) willpower in general is comparable to Sonic's own. I think it's one of those things that, while not as immediately apparent as some of his other traits, is nonetheless equally important to maintain.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Boss themes and level themes are an impossible one for me to pin down thanks to the sheer number of bangers associated with him over the years, and how they're great and iconic for different reasons depending on which one we're talking about.

Leitmotifs, on the other hand...

Make no mistake, E.G.G.M.A.N. and the '06 theme are both great, but this one really makes you feel like he's about to bust your windows and break your back like Bane broke Batman. It's so goddamn loud and intrusive, which means it's perfect for him. Not to mention there still remains a sinister undertone, since it usually signified that he was about to make things worse for our heroes.

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

1. The dart one. Where he has a dartboard with Sonic's face on it in every single base. Including each ship that makes up the Egg Fleet. Just in case he's there and needs to unwind.

2. He doesn't remember much about his parents... and largely doesn't care.

3. He used some of Gerald's inheritance money just to quickly get himself off the ground when he began scheming, but this wasn't for long. Once he had some solid footing, he began earning all his money and resources through his own means, be it mining operations, entertainment facilities...

4. He has a list of all the times he tricked Knuckles. He also has a list of all the evildoers who attempted to usurp him that are coincidentally no longer with us.

5. While Eggman was disappointed in Metal Sonic for betraying and impersonating him in Heroes, he was even more disappointed that he wasn't even that good at it. If you're going to impersonate the world's most brilliant genius, you better not make an arse of it.

6. By the time Infinite made his "decades" remark, Eggman was already planning on getting rid of him, because the moment someone shows him disrespect, they're on his shitlist. One blunder too many from Infinite was simply a convenient excuse that the doctor wasted no time in taking advantage of. That's why it happened so quickly and casually: he already made up his mind on Infinite's fate ages ago.

7. To this day, Eggman feels a sense of possessiveness over Shadow, and would still prefer to have Gerald's magnum opus under his thumb. He knows that's not likely at this point though, so he remains unbothered about killing him if need be.

8. The first robot he ever made was a prototype Motobug.

9. And on the subject of Badniks, one reason why so many of them are based on animals and foliage is because it's his way of trying to one-up Mother Nature. What's better than dinosaurs? Dinosaurs with machine guns.

10. He scrapped SA-55 for grating on him too much with his snarky backtalk, and replaced him with Orbot, whose comments he can tolerate more because they tend to be said with a tone of fear.

11. While his taste for theme parks is genuine, he also makes them as a way to mock Sonic, by creating something full of cheer and laughter as Sonic is consistently seconds away from death.

12. Eggman likes to accuse Sonic of being a horsefucker.

There's actually even more I have, but I'd be here all day. What do you expect, he's my favourite character of all time. XP

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favourite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

I could take the easy way out and say all of it is my favourite part and none of it is my least favourite, because he's just that fun and diabolical. But if I have to single out something that doesn't get brought up that often, I like to emphasize - sometimes blatantly, sometimes subtly - how uncanny he can be.

You see, it's known at this point that I don't exactly love it when Sonic and Co are given ridiculous meme faces and other over-exaggerated qualities (not counting unintentional examples like SA1's animation, which remain endearing in part because they're unintentional). Yes, they are cartoon characters, and yes, they can show a cartoony side, but they're not deranged off-the-wall loonies doped up on heroin, and it's more than possible to let them react to things in a dignified way that remains in-character.

But then there's Eggman. He's the exception. He can get away with all the goofy faces and abstract gestures he wants, because that's already who Eggman is. I just think the idea of the guy without powers being the one who has all this insane energy and ability to borderline distort his face really goes a long way to establishing how eerily off he is compared to everyone else, and serves as a low-key reminder that his human status and lack of traditional superpowers is not a limitation for him.

[spurious]

🥺, 🤡, 🛒, ✨, 🛠, ⛔, 💖, ❌, 🤗, 🎉, 🤯, and 🤭, please?

fic writer asks!

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

PINING 🥹

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Another Twenty Questions bit because, again, personally think it’s hilarious:

Rodney still looks puzzled, and John rolls his eyes.

"There's, like, a whole lot of ground to cover between Ronon and twinks, McKay."

"Wait, what?" Rodney says, eyes wide. "Are there twinkies here?!"

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Vulnerability and insecurity are probably the big ones?

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

UGH DO I HAVE TO?

Edit: I wrote that and then went to another question, intending to return to this later. I did not.

Um okay. I think I write nice sentences. They flow in a pleasant rhythmic way.

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

I have some fics that are merely resting but have been doing so for multiple years, so.

💖 What made you start writing?

God as if I fucking remember??? I always loved to read and liked scribbling little stories. I think I was maybe 13 when I wrote my first fic while actually knowing what fic was, and that was over two decades ago ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

I’m a never-say-never type but I cannot see myself writing omegaverse, it does absolutely nothing for me.

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

Just have fun I guess? Don’t spell come with the u spelling especially if you’re using it as a verb?

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

I answered this before and I stand by what I said which is “did I tell the story I wanted to tell/am I happy with it” but I won’t lie and say getting comments doesn’t make me feel real good ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Ensemble stories. I struggle with scenes that have more than two people, and also with plots that go more complex than simple romantic contrivances?

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

“Special appearance by the inherent sadness of John Sheppard” because I personally think that is a very funny tag

[milkyetoile]

why are there not enough fics about Lapin Cadbury? preferably Theopin, but honestly, I love platonic shit too. do I need to start trying to write for this fandom??? 🤔🤔🤔

jk I still have fics and podfics on my growing to-do list. and I still need to actually work lmao if only I can earn from just doing fandom stuff 🤣

anyway, one of my zine deadlines is coming up. and my ADHD brain, instead of letting me just finish the fic I'm already 70% done with, is convincing me to write a whole new fic with a crack idea inspired by friends from one of the servers I'm in. w h y ??

also, thanks to something work-related, I picked back up a Howl's Moving Castle fic I started more than ten years ago. and now I want to re-read the book since I set it in bookverse. but like?? I haven't thought of how to continue this for more than a decade and now?? I have the part I put up on my LiveJournal in my AO3 drafts now, waiting to be edited as chapter 1.

plus, there's this rather long Merlin fic I originally recorded months ago. I thought I just need to edit it then post...but now I want to just scrap my original recording and re-record it....

I was gonna ask why my brain's so all over the place lately, then I remembered, my ADHD meds is out of stock again on top of my inconsistent work sched lmaoooooo

eh whatever. I'll think about all of these again tomorrow 🙃

[ormspryde]

May I get 9 and 19 for the writers asks?

Absolutely!

9. what's your writing process like?

The amount of words I put out in a day can vary wildly, from a few hundred words to up to 3000 if I'm really motivated. However, the process is pretty similar in all cases.

For my current 'big thing', Seer of the Dead, I started by writing a very loose outline. I scrapped the majority of it partway through, but it was a jumping off point, and my second outline is much more secure. Either way, it was a jumping off point, and I have found outlines to be absolutely essential.

When I go to write, I try to think if there's a scene or maybe even a side story that jumps out at me. Like many other AuDHD people I know, I have difficult getting started; and working up something specific, even if it's going to be heavily edited later, helps to 'break the seal' on the day's writing, so to speak. If nothing appeals, sometimes I'll read through and do some editing, and that also helps get me started.

Editing for me happens in two or more passes - usually at least three, but up to five if I'm feeling insecure about my writing that day. The first pass or couple of passes, dealing with the roughest of rough drafts, I'll go through and look for consistency mistakes, places where I could stand to add more detail (I suck at describing stuff tbh, so I try to add more description at this point). Sometimes I'll find a place where the transition between one paragraph and another seems abrupt and write more to put there, or a good place to put some foreshadowing. Basically anywhere the story needs something more. Sometimes I'll find something that needs to be cut during this part; usually I like to take that and save it in my notes folder.

The last few passes, I use to check for spelling or grammatical errors. That's not to say that I don't correct those if I see them, they're just not my focus until I get to the end of this process. A lot of the time, my very last read through is just to satisfy myself that the writing's as good as I can make it and to appease the anxiety demons before I send my baby out into the cold, cruel world.

19. If you could write an ideal fic, what would it include?

You know, it's really hard to say. Right now, I think Seer of the Dead is the closest I could get to an ideal fic for me; I'm getting a ton of very enjoyable practice with description, worldbuilding, giving characters backstories, and just generally writing something that's a bit lengthier and heftier in plot than the 1k-2k character exploration fics that I've been writing since I started writing fanfiction in college over twenty years ago. (I'm old, yes) Tbh I wish I'd realized the power of outlines decades ago, but I'm realizing it now.

As well as being great practice, I'm enjoying a lot of self-indulgent moments with this fic; putting in references to things that please me, still writing those character explorations but putting them in the middle of actual plot...it's really really great. Not too long ago I wrote up a 3000 word chapter that included great detail of one of the characters going to an open-air market in Zaphias and I enjoyed the hell out of it too.

So there's that; something that allows me to improve my craft AND be self-indulgent.

[canonical-transformation]

the Sages, the woman in the lab coat, and the fifth sin: untitled extract

I needed this out of my system. One of those rare times I write characters being cruel. Possibly getting used as part of a larger fic like Seven Prayers 2, possibly going in the scrap heap.

Characters: Grand Sage Azar, Setaria, a bunch of other Sages I couldn't be bothered looking up the names for, Lord Kusanali

CW: horror, body horror, cruelty, existential horror, etc. (Body horror is primarily contained to a single paragraph, beginning with "[She] had lived. The General Mahamatra had found her[...]".) (Existential horror is... idk, the same as the Sabzeruz Samsara but worse?)

Context: The Sages have been running a Dream Harvest experiment. Things have been going wrong. And in the middle of it, one of them realises:

-----

Azar had retired. Decades ago.

He couldn't possibly be here in the Akademiya, overseeing an experiment.

"This isn't real," he whispered.

The lights went out, plunging them all into darkness.

All of them, that is, save the woman in the lab coat. A brilliant moonbeam pierced through the ceiling above, illuminating her like a spotlight.

"And there we have it," she said. She didn't sound particularly upset, just... mildly interested.

We've reached quorum lucidity, my teacher, said the same sourceless voice as before. And now final host lucid, accounting for my interference.

As the voice spoke, the entire room flickered again, and the walls were suddenly bare of any adornments or architecture.

The woman in the lab coat nodded. "Yes, I can see that from inside," she told the phonograph. "Have the numbers ready for me when we reset. Deltas?"

"...what are you doing? Where are we?" said one Sage.

"How can we be here?" said another. "The Dream Harvest technology was decommissioned..."

The woman covered the receiver and gave them a stern look. "One question at a time, class. If you can't decide who goes first, perhaps raise your hands."

The sourceless voice said: Comparable variance to last cycle, my teacher, with less left-skew. Density flipped to platykurtic, not that that matters, um...

Wait.

He knew that voice, Azar realised with a start.

Oh, Heavens and Abyss, he knew that voice.

A strict monotone improvement from last cycle modulo permutations, the voice continued. Projections are looking positive.

"Thank you," the woman in the lab coat said to the phonograph.

"Who are you people?" said another Sage.

The woman in the lab coat straightened up. Even as she moved, the moonbeam shining through the crack in the ceiling followed her, like a personal spotlight.

"Who are we?" she said. "Yes, let's start with that."

As she spoke, she gathered her hair into an over-the-shoulder ponytail, long enough that it draped well past her left breast. The moonlight played off of her locks, which seemed more silvery than gray now. She began braiding.

"Once," she continued, "there was a great sun that scorched the lands it was meant to give life to. And there lived a star, cowering in its corona, too scared to remember why it had embarked on its journey from the night sky in the first place."

A star, was it? Yes, it was Setaria's voice coming from outside the room, Azar was sure of it.

"Setaria doesn't have the skill to—" he began.

"One day, that star found a little courage within herself," the woman in the lab coat continued, her voice projecting over Azar's words despite its softness. "She acknowledged that she didn't want to help the heartless sun scorch the lands any longer. And so she took a first, faltering step towards reclaiming her autonomy."

The woman's met Azar's eyes.

Hers were, he noticed, toxin green.

"Do you remember what happened next?" she asked.

Grand Sage, echoed a voice Azar would sooner rather forget, your little assistant, the one with the circlet, has forgotten her loyalties. My men caught her trying to leak project files to that traveller. Don't you worry. I've arranged for some... remedial training for her.

"The Fatui came for her," said Azar. "We... I let it happen."

He'd felt horrible in that moment, but he'd let the Harbinger take Setaria as a live specimen for his entertainment. They couldn't afford distractions at such a late stage.

"It's okay, Azar," said the woman in the lab coat gently. "She survived, remember?"

It was all beginning to come back, now. The Mass Dream Harvest, the Artificial God project, and then... the failure. The reckoning.

Setaria had lived. The General Mahamatra had found her anaesthetised in an abandoned lab, an feeding tube shoved down her throat, and—Azar felt bile rising in his throat—everything below her navel removed, with the lower chassis of a Ruin Sentinel grafted in the place of the missing pelvis and legs, welded so tightly no amount of healers could figure out how to cut the parts out of her. Of the two dozen missing whistleblowers, she was one of five found alive, and one of two who didn't succumb to infected wounds in the subsequent months.

"He was a monster," said Azar, his voice unsteady, "and... knowing now what he was capable—"

"You already knew he was a monster. You, all of you, fed people to him when it seemed convenient," said the woman in the lab coat. "I rather think that makes you monsters too."

Azar wanted to throw up, but the simulation seemed to think his stomach was empty.

"She forgave you, though. Do you remember that?"

She... that was right, Setaria had. He remembered her—now the city Vizier, after decades as Sumeru's most beloved Grand Sage in centuries, systematically rooting out all the little unfairnesses in the entrance exams, bringing in thousands of brilliant students from the desert and the rest of Teyvat—he remembered Setaria speaking to him at the hospice, holding his hand in hers, saying that for all his evils, Azar had been only human, she wouldn't let those grievances follow him here at his...

...at his deathbed?

At his deathbed?

"I died," he said, incredulous but certain of the memory. "I died. How can I be in a simulation?"

"Oh, all of you died," said the woman. She finished her braid, letting it fall over her left collarbone. "(SAGE) was the first, twenty years ago, and (SAGE) just last year. Your consciousnesses should have, by all rights, dissipated, returned to the leylines, to be broken into their constituent parts. Forgotten, in time. As far as everyone else knows, that is the case. But your minds are so brilliant. I needed your help."

"What is this?"

"This simulation—" The woman paused, then crossed her arms. "I did say one question at a time, didn't I?"

"Why are you doing this?" said Azar.

"One question at a time, class. Now, where were we before I got sidetracked...? Ah, (SAGE) asked who we are." The woman folded her arms. "Setaria is my assistant for today's shift, one of a dozen proteges of mine who were willing to lend me a hand. As far as she knows, you're all long dead, and I've sourced some brave but anonymous volunteers from the Adventurers Guild..."

Proteges. Then—

"As for me? Hmm. A question for a question: do you remember the six cardinal sins, laid down by the first Sages?"

"To tamper with life and death," said the Amurta Sage. "You're... one of the Harbingers?"

"No," said Azar. "No. She means... number five."

To worship gods without a hint of devotion.

"Perhaps you Sages started out with a love for Rukkhadevata," the woman said, "for everything she had gifted you. By all accounts you served her well for thousands of years. But when she passed on, you forgot your devotion... or perhaps you'd forgotten what devotion meant to her, to the first Sages. Rukkhadevata's ideal of devotion was a simple kind, the boring, everyday love between brothers and sisters, between a child and a pet, between two colleagues who trusted each other. Her devotion wasn't about obsession, it was about comradeship, about mutual trust, about creating things together.

"And instead, your God died, and all you remembered was what she gave you. You forgot that you were symbiotes, not parasites. You saw the small, terrified thing she had left behind, and you asked what blessings it could bestow upon you, what gifts it had for you." She laughed, sounding far more amused than bitter. "And so you found that thing wanting, because you saw it could not help you, because you did not ask, how must the ecosystem change so that we can help one another?"

The woman smiled with nothing but kindness in her eyes, and said:

"Last question for now:

"Who am I?"

"We never hurt you," said one sage, falling to his knees. "We... Why are you doing this? We kept you safe."

"Even were that true," said the woman, striding forward, the moonbeam following her, "you hurt people. My people. Your people. They looked to you like flowers turning to face the sun, and you hurt them. Your schemes, your heartlessness... Setaria's suffering was the least of it; turning Sumeru's people into chattel was the most egregious part... but your sins didn't end there, did they? I could fill books with the sins of you and your predecessors over these past few centuries... Hmm. Perhaps one day I will."

"We couldn't have realised," said one Sage.

Azar shook his head. Pointless. There would be no arguing this.

"We were just building on the work of our predecessors," said another Sage.

The woman in the labcoat nodded. "Perhaps so. And had I thought of it at the time, I would have held on to your predecessors' souls, just the same as I did yours."

"Why would you—?" said one Sage.

"How is it possible to—?" said another.

"What are you using us for?" said Azar.

"You all ask so many questions—"

Fuck it. Azar raised his hand.

"Yes, very good!" the woman said. "Go ahead, Azar."

He scowled at her. "What are you using us for?"

"The exact same idea as the Dream Harvest technology, obviously. Computation. Lots of it."

"To what end?"

"I figured out how to do it," she said, genuine pride in her voice. "I can save Irminsul. It took centuries, but I have the framework of a plan, something that can stave off the Abyss's touch."

Her eyes ran between the Sages.

"All I need is a computational substrate."

"You... You can't possibly need our minds for this," said one Sage frantically. "You have access to so much power, so such— You said it yourself— it's treating us like chattel. This... this is..."

"Petty? Vindictive?..." The woman in the lab coat crossed her arms. "Perhaps. The Vahumana—that's your school, (SAGE)!—speculate that unlike your fundamental value systems, which are shaped by a variety of influences, you humans acquire your... virtues?, your meta-strategies for non-zero-sum game theoretic situations... exclusively by virtual osmosis. Mimicking their developmental environments.

"So though I do think my goals are noble, perhaps you're right, perhaps my methods are a little... self-indulgent. Perhaps using you for this is a little unnecessary, a little vengeful, a little cruel... I learned from you, after all. But... I do think it's the pragmatic choice. We need a lot of computation. Your minds will barely undergo wear and tear through the process, just a little fatigue, a little stress. And you six, of all people, I won't hesitate over using for as long as the project requires it."

Trunk lines warm, said Setaria's voice. Secondary cache warm. Ready for your mark, teacher.

"How many cycles have we been through?" said Azar, weakly.

"That's the six hundred and thirteenth time you've asked that question," said the woman. "And... that's all the answer I'm giving."

[fansplaining]

In your opinion, what's the BEST way to post a fic based on another fic on Ao3? I recently wrote a continuation of a fic I love and I'd like to post it, but I have no idea how to attribute it properly (esp since I haven't read the source material, so my source text really is this other fic, first and foremost, not the franchise). It seems like the obvious choice is to use the "this work is a remix or inspired by another work" feature, but I worry that doing so will seem presumptuous somehow? It seems like when you use the "remix" feature, it automatically links your new fic to the original fic, and I could imagine some authors may not be fond of that. (The original author doesn't have any info I could find about remixes of their work, sadly.) I know your stance is that "it's okay to write fic based on fic, just try not to be a jackass about how you do it", and I agree with that - but what are the best practices?

Hello! Elizabeth here. We thought we’d answer this one on Tumblr, in case others have strong/different feelings and want to reblog this or reply. 

So! We last talked about remixes in our most recent AMA episode and you nailed our stance ahaha—you can do whatever you want, though like, rewriting someone else’s story with an ending you prefer or whatever does feel different between fans than, say, a fix-it of a Marvel film. That’s not to say you can’t do it! But yeah, it does sort of feel like a dick move. 

One thing we discussed in that episode was how remix culture used to be really prominent in the fic spaces we were in 10-15 years ago, and that seems to have fallen by the wayside, at least proportionally. A decade ago I would have felt comfortable saying, “Oh, everyone knows remixes are just a part of fandom, even if everyone doesn’t love having their work remixed, just go for it,” but now, with fandom so much larger and more disperate than ever, I truly don’t know how much attitudes vary on this front. That said, I’m sure that a decade ago, people also had different feelings about remixes of their work! 

So there are a few questions here. First off, why not ask the author if they mind? Either on social media, or in the comments of the original story. Worst case scenario: they might say they do mind, and ask you not to post it. Then you have a choice to make: scrap the story, or post against their wishes? You’re obviously allowed to post whatever you want—but do you want to? It’s a tricky one, and I get why folks wouldn’t want to ask, for fear of getting this response.

But! Say they don’t mind: then you can ask if they’re comfortable using the “this work is a remix or inspired by another work” feature, or if they’d rather they weren’t connected that way. You could reference the inspiration in the notes without the link? Or not at all, if that’s what they’d prefer. 

If you don’t hear back at all, I think that you really do need to use the “this work is a remix or inspired by another work” feature*, as a courtesy. Like alternately, you could skip asking and just post this way—if they object, they can reach out to you. But the feature exists for a reason, and while there are differences of opinion about remixes/linked work, using it feels like it falls within the norms of the AO3, at least. 

*ETA: @justaphage & @lokiofsassgaard have been the first to note that when you mark the remix box, the original author gets to approve whether it gets linked back on their work. Thanks so much—I haven’t used the remix feature nor has my work been remixed, only gifts/related works in both directions, which seem to automatically display but that also could be controllabe, don’t quote me lol. Very helpful!! 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, violence and abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of death [other warning to be added throughout series]

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader’s husband brings home an unexpected houseguest.

Note: So i just worked my ass off and retail is always crummy this time of year so I’m gonna escape with some sweet Arvin Russell writing. 

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The spring air was warm as the breeze swept over the low fence and fluttered the tails of shirts hung across the line. You grabbed two pegs and a swathe of damp fabric and stretched it over the cord, pinning it in place before moving along. Your old machine had taken much of the day to wrangle and had even received a kick. It was decades old, an heirloom inherited with the old country house and much more clunky than the modern machines. Not many in the county had anything more than the old wringing machines.

Roy would be home soon. Your husband hated to hear about how the wringer jammed so easily and the fear that your fingers might again be bruised by the mechanism. Even so, you were certain it wouldn't last for much longer. It's rattles foretold its imminent fate. You'd be back to a bucket and board soon enough.

As you hung the last piece, Roy's oil stained overalls, you heard the putter of the truck. You picked up the woven basket and headed for the gate along the front of the house. You waved as he pulled up, tires loudly mulching the dirt, and you stopped short as he came to a jagged halt. He wasn't alone and you were stillwearing your grimy and wet apron.

Roy pushed his door open so roughly it creaked. He stepped out and gave an exaggerated stretch as he glanced across the roof of the truck and slammed the door.

"Don't forget your bag, boy," he growled at the other man as he felt around the chest pocket of his overall for his smokes. "Looks like you're too late for laundry day."

"Roy?" You unclasped the gate and opened it as Roy stomped across the gravel and lit up a smoke, "How was your day?" 

You peeked over at the other man who climbed out of the truck. He wore similar overall, though they were unbuttoned over a greasy white shirt, and he was shorter and thinner than your husband. He reached back into the truck and grabbed a long military style duffel before he swung the door shut. 

Your husband grumbled and blew out a mouthful of smoke.

"We have a guest?" You asked as you stayed by the gate.

"Arvin Russell," Roy flicked the ash away, "You remember I was talkin' 'bout renting out the attic."

"Um, yes," you blinked as the other man, Arvin, neared meekly. Roy had mentioned the idea once when he noticed the way his truck had started rumbling.  "It'll need a good dusting."

"So you better get on that." Roy coughed. "What's for dinner?"

"Meatloaf," you answered and turned back to smile at the other man as he bowed his head and passed through the gate.

"Hello, missus," he said kindly, "Nice to meet ya. I work with your husband, says you're a fine cook."

"The one thing she can do," Roy muttered as he ambled up the steps of the porch and dropped onto the bench sat by the window. "You go grab us some bottles."

You closed the gate behind Arvin but he waited for you to precede him before going any further. He was surprisingly polite for any man who worked at the shop. 

"Yes, Roy," you hid your disappointment. Those nights when Roy started drinking before dinner rarely ended well.

"Can I just have some water?" Arvin asked as he followed you onto the porch, "Please. I didn't get to my lunch today so I'm not really feeling like drinking."

"Of course," you said, "If you're hungry, I got a box of crackers and some cheese I can bring out."

"Thank you but I'd hate to spoil dinner." Arvin sat on the end of the bench and kept his bag between his feet as Roy threw away his cigarette. "Thank you both for having me."

You nodded and quickly skirted inside. You were a bit confounded by Roy's sudden burst of generosity. He rarely did anything for anyone else. To think he'd offer a room to a coworker was unlike him.

You went to the old fridge, marked with dings and dents, and wiggled the handle until it opened. You remember the day you Pa had broken the handle, he'd always promised to fix it but had only managed to make it worse. You missed him. It was easy to miss him in this old place. His wedding present to you and Roy. It was too tragic he hadn't lived long enough to see you enjoy it.

You grabbed a brown bottle then filled a tall glass from the tap. You went back to the door and opened it with your elbow. You handed Roy his beer as Arvin stood to accept his glass of water.

"Thank you," he chimed but your husband only popped the cap of his beer with his teeth and glared out at the yard.

"Well dinner is in the oven still. I'll just be finishing that before I get started in the attic." You told Roy but he only shrugged and gulped down the beer. "Let me know if you boys need anything." 

"Peace and quiet," Roy snarled. "S'all I need right now."

Arvin gave a sympathetic look and traced his thumb along the side of the glass. You hid your discomfort and retreated inside. That was just Roy. He was always in a mood after work. An hour or two and he would mellow out. The beer would surely help.

🚬

When you finished supper, you called the men in to eat. Roy started his second beer as Arvin remained quiet and awkward at the table. You didn’t say much as you pondered the work still left to be done. You had to tidy the attic before the night ended and collect the laundry from the line. You would also have to clear the table and clean up the mess of your cooking.

You stood before the men finished. You scraped your untouched scraps into the dish of leftovers and placed the glass lid on it. You scoured the loaf pan as you listened to the clink of cutlery on plates and set the pots on the drying rack. You returned to the men to gather their empty dishes and Arvin thank you as Roy belched and stood with a satisfied but gruff rumble.

Arvin watched you as you tried to ignore the pity in his face. You knew your husband wasn’t the most loving or vocal, but he was yours and he worked hard. You turned away and went back to the kitchen. You finished washing the last of the glassware and dried it before stacking it in the cupboards.

As you passed through the dining room, Arvin was gone and you could hear the buzz of the radio from the front room. Roy always liked to listen to the game after he ate. Sometimes you sat with him and crocheted or read but not often.

You tiptoed upstairs and found the footstool hidden in the bottom of the linen closet. You climbed onto the step and reached up to unhook the cord of the attic door. It dangled down and you pulled it carefully as you backed off the stool and kicked it away. The steps unfolded and you barely stepped out of the way of their descent as the heavy wood thumped against the carpet.

It had been a while since you ventured up to the third floor. There was only dust and forgotten memories up there. You slowly made your way up and sneezed as you reached the top. A wall of boxes blocked the window along the front of the house and shrouded furniture sat beneath grimy sheets.

You started with the boxes. You took one and peeked under the flaps. Some old oil lamps hoarded by your father from his own parents. You awkwardly made your way back down to the second floor and placed the box at the bottom. When you had them all down, you’d take them into your father’s old room to store. Perhaps you should sort through them at last and get rid of the unneeded artifacts.

You were six boxes deep when you were startled by a shadow in the open hatch. You exclaimed and nearly dropped your armful as Arvin poked his head through and peered over at you.

“Arvin,” you gasped. “My apologies, this place is a mess.”

“Not so bad,” he climbed up and stood, “You need some help?”

“Don’t be silly, I can manage--”

“You’re right. It’s a mess,” he insisted, “A lot for just one person.”

You stared at him and gave a small smile. He was funny. He neared you and reached out for the box in your arms.

“How about this, I’ll stay on the ladder and you bring the boxes to me and I’ll take ‘em down.” He took the box gently from you, “It’ll be much quicker.”

You looked into his soft brown eyes and let him. He backed away and cautiously made his way down the ladder. You turned and grabbed another box and he reappeared through the hatch. You handed him the box of figurines and he retreated once more. You carried on and soon, the boxes were stacked high on the lower floor.

“Alright,” Arvin climbed up and dusted off his hands, “Already lookin’ better.”

He neared the old sofa against the wall and pulled off the sheet. He coughed as the dust was kicked up and it soon turned into a chuck as he waved away the cloud.

“We can keep this here,” he draped the sheet over his arm and pulled the next from the tall lamp with the glass shade, “Move this into the corner,” he continued on and peeked under a sheet before unveiling the tall shelf, “If you don’t mind, of course?”

“Not at all. We should’ve sold all this years ago.” You teetered on your heels anxiously. Every piece reminded you of your father. “There’s a cot folded up over there,” you pointed behind a hidden end table, “But that wouldn’t be much better than the floor.”

“It’ll do,” he assured you and turned to sit on the sofa. He bounced as he hugged the sheets. “This isn’t too bad.”

“Well, there’s a bed down in my pa’s room. We could try to bring it up tomorrow. If you don’t mind offerin’ a little more help.” You wrung your hands. You were never very good with strangers and Roy’s friends often weren’t much nicer than him. You were tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I think I could do that,” he stood and wiggled his nose as a sneeze threatened. “You got a broom? Maybe a duster?”

“You’ve done enough, I can finish it--”

“Ma’am, I’m a guest in your home. I might be paying for the room but it doesn’t make you my maid,” he intoned, “You’ve already done more than enough. I don’t think I’ve eaten so well since before my momma died.”

“Oh, I’m… sorry,” you uttered. “I--”

“Now, don’t be sorry,” he cooed, “Nothing to be sorry for. I assume you lost your daddy if his bed is free.” 

You nodded dumbly and blinked.

“Well, at least let me take these,” you reached for the sheets and he hesitated before he let you take them. You struggled to keep them balled up and hugged them against your hip as you turned back to the hatch. “I’ll bring you the broom.”

“Thank you,” he said behind you and you looked back at him as you took your first step down the ladder, “You let me know when you bring that washin’ in and I’ll help you fold.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I want to. Makes me feel a little better about stealin’ your attic,” he assured you.

You looked down and slowly descended. As your feet met the carpet, you sighed and looked around at the boxes. You couldn’t remember a time Roy had ever offered to help with anything. If it wasn’t to do with his truck, he couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger.

🚬

You were completely drained by the time you retired to your bedroom. You were still on edge, your exhaustion laced with anxiety as you unbuttoned your blouse. You sat on the side of the bed as you slowly undressed. It was still absurd to you that another person, barely more than a stranger, was living in your home. In your father’s house.

It changed your whole routine. You couldn’t help but go over it in your mind. That meant three plates, not two, for every meal, that meant the laundry basket would fill up quicker, than meant the shoes tracks in the front entrance would need to be mopped up more often. That mean you had to act like your marriage was truly happy.

You pulled on your night gown, the short sleeves tickled your upper arms as you dropped your clothes in the wicker basket on your chest of drawers. A framed photo of your parents’ wedding day sat beside it and on the shelf beside the door, was your own wedding portrait.

Three years wasn’t so long but it felt an eternity. You couldn’t quite recall when Roy had changed. When the beer had started to taint his kisses and his words. When all pretense fell away and only the man remained. The brutish country boy with the churlish demeanour.

Maybe the first day of your marriage. Maybe. You were so nervous on your wedding night that it angered him. You’d mend your dress one day, hopefully when you had a daughter of your own so you had something to promise her. 

Or maybe a week after the wedding, when you broke the vase gifted to you upon your nuptials and it shattered across the floor. Roy’s booming voice and his boulder-like fists.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, a month in when the world went black with his hand on your throat and you awoke alone on the kitchen floor.

Maybe a year when your finger was dislocated by a slammed door. Maybe the next year when you couldn’t sit for the pain in your hips. Maybe the one after when he’d grown impatient for a child only to find your sheets soaked in blood. 

Maybe it had always been there, from the first date, but you’d simply refused to accept it. Not you. Not Roy. You loved him and he loved you, didn’t he?

The door slammed and shook you from your sombre recollections. You looked up as Roy stumbled in. He snickered darkly as your eyes met his and his legs wobbled beneath him drunkenly.

You slid off the bed and turned to plant your elbows on the mattress. A prayer before bed, as your grandmother had taught you. Another sarcastic chuckle aimed in your direction as Roy’s stained white tee missed the basket.

“On your knees for me already,” he sat beside your elbow as he unbuckled his belt.

You couldn’t focus on your inner recitation. You could smell the alcohol on him, the stench of oil and his sweat. You clutched your hands together and cleared your throat.

“Why didn’t you call me?” You asked calmly.

He frowned and stood to shove his pants past his knees. He kicked the jeans away and fell heavily back to the bed.

“Call you?” He sneered.

“To let me know about our guest?” You wondered innocently. “I could’ve readied for him better.”

“Workin’,” he growled. “I don’t got time to be callin’ you with my head under an engine. Fuckin’ Christ.”

“There isn’t a bed in the attic.” You said.

“So. Arv’s small enough. I’ve seen him sleep on a stool.” Roy spat. 

You hid your chagrin behind your hands as you pressed them to your lips.

“Why’d you bring him?”

Roy’s nostrils flared and a fist formed atop his hairy thigh. “I gotta explain to you?” He snapped. “He paid me outright and he been sleepin’ at the motel since he started.”

“Mr. Dace has a room--”

“Mr. Dace lives twice as far as we do. I did the kid a favour. He saved my ass his first day.” Roy stomped his foot. “Woulda burned down the whole garage if he hadn’t caught that leak.”

“Kid? He that young?”

“Couple years younger than you, I s’pose, maybe less,” Roy rubbed his cheeks and shook his head, “What’s it matter to you?”

“Curious,” you said quietly and closed your eyes as you rested your chin on your knuckles.

Roy was quiet. He let out a long, thick breath and the bed jolted beneath your arms.

“You finished bleeding?” He asked gruffly. 

“I’m praying, Roy,” you insisted.

“How long’s it take you? I’m sure God’s heard it all before.”

“Don’t talk like that, R--”

You squeaked as he grabbed your wrist and wrenched your arms away. He rose and lifted you with him. Always a strong man, he moved you like a puppet to his will. He took your other wrist and pulled you against him.

“You know, I don’t even care if you’re bleeding.” He turned you and shoved you onto the bed. You cried out as you bounced so hard you bit your tongue.

“Roy, please, I’m tired,” you stared up at him fearfully as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. You could taste blood.

“You’re my wife. You do your duty.” He pushed his underwear down as his cock twitched. “You got energy to wash all them clothes, you can lay on your back for your husband.”

“Roy--”

“Shut up!” He shouted. “We got company. I don’t need ya keepin’ him up with your whining.”

You closed your eyes as he fell onto you. He crushed you beneath him as he tugged your skirt up harshly. He pushed your legs apart with his knee and you braced yourself for his painful intrusion. Even so long into the marriage, you had never grown used to his touch.

He retracted his hand and began to touch himself. He stroked his cock as he swore under his breath.

“Fuck. Come on.” He moved his hand quicker and rubbed his soft tip against your folds. “Open up.” 

He forced his dick against your entrance and tried to push inside. He was still half-flaccid and struggled to get further than an inch. You balled your hands and sank your head into the mattress as he thrust. He fell out of you, softer than before.

You opened your eyes sat up on his knees and looked down at his limp dick. He gritted his teeth as you watched him.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he punched your stomach as hard as he could and you wheezed as you folded in on yourself. “Can’t even keep me hard.”

“Roy--” You hissed. “I’m s--”

“One more word and you’ll be real sorry.” He pushed himself from between your legs, making certain to pinch you as he did.

He stood and turned. You barely moved out of the way before he sprawled over his side of the mattress. You held your stomach, a painful pressure lodge there, and rolled to the edge of the bed. You reached over and pulled the chain on the lamp. 

As you laid back, Roy caught the back of your neck and kept you in a painful limbo.

“On the floor,” he jarred your neck as he tried to throw you off the bed. “Like the dog you are.”

You slid off the side and landed sharply on your knees. You stifled a shameful sob and lowered yourself down onto your side. You bent your knees and cushioned your head on one arm. You stared into the void beneath the bed as the frame groaned beneath Roy’s heavy body.

“Goddamn bitch,” he uttered groggily. “Fuckin’--”

His words turned to snores as he finally drowned in his bellyful of beer. You listened to his jagged, drunken breaths as you shivered on the cold wood. You closed your eyes and recalled the first night you’d slept on the floor. You’d been in much poorer shape and it had been the dead of winter.

At least, you didn’t have to sleep next to him.

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Golden II (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: hello. This is the second part of the Kakashi amnesia fic. I was so conflicted on what to do in this one and admittedly, I am not satisfied with this. Not completely. I really struggle writing the second part of a trio, and it's evident here.

Part three is up!

Word count: 4200

_______

Kakashi struggled to maintain his normal persona after Y/N got into the incident. He just couldn’t shake off that desperate need to be around her. At this point, it was just instinctual to look for her in the crowds, and expect to see her waiting for him each time he got home from a mission. He missed her laugh and her smile, and the people in the village did not help.

His only solace was on missions where he could forget about it all. It was an impossible struggle, especially when everyone and their mother was consoling him every time he stepped outside to do literally anything. He didn’t want people in his business, especially something so sensitive. 

The mornings were now cold and depressing. Each time he rolled over in an attempt to throw his arm around his girlfriend, he was only met with the hollow space where she used to be. He would bury his face in his pillows and shut his eyes, just trying to drown out her voice from his mind. But her scent still lingered on his linens and buried deep into the pillows. 

He imagined her groggy eyes opening just a peek to see if he was awake before her, and he usually was. She would smile and scoot close to his body, curling up and hugging him around the waist, her head resting against his chest. He missed wrapping her up in a cuddly hug, peppering the top of her head with kisses. 

He missed going to get breakfast with her, and her ranting to him about this new novel the store had in shipment, comparing the plot to that of other books she had read and gushing over the character development or the vocabulary or a plot twist she'd never seen. She was always such a nerd, it was adorable.

And he missed meeting up with her each night as she closed the store, her hugging him so tight he could feel her heart beating against his. She'd attack his face with kisses and giggles, pulling down his mask in between the bookshelves where no one could see and gracing his lips with a kiss, or a dozen, depending on the day. 

He just missed her. But he knew it was for the best-not knowing her anymore, not getting attached all over again, or letting her get close to him again. He thought of her amnesia as a fresh start, a way to break up with her without crushing her emotionally. She would never know what she was missing.

He would be the only one suffering, and that was better to him than the other way around.

For Kakashi, it was always hard to imagine he would get to a place in life where he felt comfortable enough with someone to maintain such a relationship. He didn’t think he would grow to have these moments with someone he loved. He worked through so many walls he had built up over the years, fought against all his paranoia and superstitions, and for what? To feel his heart break?

He felt betrayed, by whom, he had no idea. He just felt like the stars had aligned perfectly in favor of screwing him over the moment he was comfortable, the moment someone was able to squeeze into his heart and share their love. It would take time to get over his feelings for her, he knew that. The memories would always linger, but they wouldn’t cut through him like they did now.

For now, the only thing he could do was lie in his bed until his next mission the following day. Without her, he didn’t see any reason to get out of bed anyway.

______

Y/N returned to her apartment after being discharged from the hospital, and did as she was instructed to do. Each day she would look through her belongings, pictures, trinkets, anything that had emotional value, hoping it would bring out some of her old memories. Nothing really changed. Sometimes she could see flashes of people in her head that lived in the village. Kakashi, that guy in the green suit, Yamato, the sweet girl that took care of her all her days in the hospital. All of them appeared in her mind at one point or another,  but nothing strong enough to give her any knowledge.

Tsunade told her to just keep trying and hopefully, something would fix itself. It seemed like a shot in the dark, but anything was worth a try.

It wasn’t until a few hours into the cleaning process, scrapping blood and ink out of carpets and stocking her shelves of the store, that she found something of real importance. Deep in the back of her front counter, hidden in a drawer, sat a small shoebox, filled with stacks of papers.

At first, she assumed they were probably just old receipts, but that was not the case.

Inside she found many things. Photos, notes, letters, and little trinkets all stacked carefully in the box like her previous self took extra special care of them. For this reason, she took the box to the table to sit down and go through everything one by one. Anything was worth a try, and maybe this would propel her recovery in motion..

First she examined the letters. They were very short, but full of information about her past self, and she found herself more intrigued and surprised with every word. Each one was from Kakashi, she noted that immediately. Out of all people, she could not imagine that man sitting and writing out anything nice or thoughtful to her. 

But she was wrong.

They stated things about how he was on missions and wouldn't be back for a month or so at a time. He often stated how badly he wished to come back home and visit her bookstore again. How he was sorry for being gone so long that he couldn’t help around the store. 

 The first few, dated as far back as 7 years, were very friendly, nothing out of the ordinary for a correspondence between friends. It still seemed sketchy to her that Kakashi took time out of his day to send her letters, but not unbelievable.  It wasn’t until they progressed right in front of her eyes that she was taking in every word with awe.

They detailed how much he missed seeing her face, which he often described as beautiful and precious. She was his motivator that kept him going each morning and through the long nights, he said. The man proclaimed his love over and over in the letters starting four years ago until the very last which was from a few months ago. He was never very descriptive or detailed, but he got across what needed to be said and what was on his mind very effectively.

She had no idea Kakashi felt that way about her. He really didn't act like they had any relationship at all. He actually spent most days avoiding her at all costs. Of course, she would see him walking down the street, and wave through the glass panels of her bookstore, not that he ever cared. He would usually take one look over at her, and then walk faster in the opposite direction. 

To say her first impression of him was a bit off putting was an understatement. Where other people like Yamato treated her with kindness and humility, he seemed to think he was too good to try and reconnect. Although, he was certainly a handsome man and very courageous. She could vaguely see why her old self was at least physically attracted to him. Even if he wasn’t acting the nicest now, the letters led her to believe he was possibly a hopeless romantic.

She scanned through the other things in the box. The photos were ones of her with all her friends, but the majority were just Kakashi. The first few photos, the oldest, with the most damage around the frayed edges, were of them when they were much younger. He didn't have on the jounin vest he wore, and she had such a baby face to match a toothy grin. Maybe they were teenagers, 20 somethings? She couldn’t tell for sure.  

The photos were just of them together. Sitting by certain sights or buildings, hugging, eating, on every kind of date you could imagine. It looked like she documented each one. Time stamps on the backs in whatever pen color she had at the time, scribbled details here and there.

It made sense now, why she had a pile of disposable cameras in her room. Dozens of photos of Kakashi, decades of memories all piled up in this box between the pair. It felt surreal, seeing herself in places she couldn’t recognize, in the arms of a man she barely knew.

She must have really loved him before. Their relationship was one of quite a few years from the looks of the things in this box, and obviously she cherished even the little moments. She felt guilt pang in her chest, and her stomach to turn over painfully. How he must have felt when she told him she didn't remember him. How it must feel walking past her in the street and knowing what they had was gone. She couldn't imagine the pain he had to be going through.

And he said that the entire thing was his fault. That day he walked into her hospital room, he apologized for what he did to her, saying that his family was the cause for this, and that he should have come to the store earlier to make sure something like that never happened. He wasn’t a superhero, despite what everyone thought of him. He was merely a man, a shinobi with a love for porn novels and dogs and one girl he desperately wanted to protect. Now that was gone.

Needless to say, she felt awful. It wasn’t her fault for not remembering him, but it sure felt that way.

She set everything back into the box and put it in its place under the counter before flipping the open sign to closed and heading out into the street. She knew where he lived, only because of the return addresses on the envelopes of the letters. She was still quite familiar with Konoha and it's workings, some of the street names hazy but there. She was now determined to make it to his apartment, even if she had to ask everyone in town to help navigate.

If he was on a mission, so be it, but if he was home, she wanted to see the man. 

Thankfully, she realized that he lived only a few streets away from her when a street vendor pointed her in the right direction, but damn,  he lived on the fourth floor and she inwardly cursed him. Her legs were still a bit shaky from the incident, and she hadn't healed completely. Stairs were a pain for her. This entire man seemed like a real pain, honestly.

She finally made it to the fourth floor after hobbling up like an old man, and knocked on the second door. She was going to have a conversation with this man, the same man who was keeping their history a secret this entire time without trying to make a connection again.

No one in this town wanted to explain anything to her. Yamato was nice but he always beat around the bush and left when things started getting informative. Sakura just fawned over her broken limbs and injuries. And the man in the green jumpsuit was too loud, she usually had to kick him out once she felt a headache coming on. Other than that, she didn’t have many friends. They’d told her her family died in a “jinchuriki” attack, whatever that meant, so she didn’t have any family to ask either.

As she waited at the door, she felt her stomach churn. Part of her was genuinely curious how her younger self fell for him and what they were like together. Like, what was the appeal? He seemed kinda strange and distant, and she couldn’t help but want cuddles and love constantly. It seemed like an odd match, and Y/N couldn’t help but question it. 

Opposites attract, I guess.

After a couple seconds, the door opened a crack, and a half dressed man answered the door. She found her face heating up a bit. He wasn’t even exposed in any way, he just wasn’t wearing his headband, nor did he have his jacket on, revealing toned arms and fluffy, messy hair that she had to admit was pretty adorable. Okay, so she could definitely see herself falling for someone so handsome, but regardless, she was on a mission.

He looked startled to see her standing there in all her glory, out of breath and bent over like she’d run the whole way here. She held onto the doorway to balance herself. Perhaps she was just a tiny little bit out of breath from climbing the stairs still. Y/N apologized quickly, “Sorry, give me a second. Going up the stairs is really hard to do and you live on the fourth floor so, yeah.” 

“Who told you where I live?” He questioned, scanning the walkway to make sure no one else was around to be listening. 

“You did, actually,” she answered after taking a deep breath. “I found an old box of letters from you, and I just went to the return address.”

The letters. How could he forget about them? He had tried to rid her place of all signs of him, taking out pictures of the two of them together save for a few with other people included. He took out every single belonging he had. The only thing he missed was the letters, ones he didn’t even know Y/N had kept in the first place. He cursed himself. 

Her reading the letters made him feel violated. Even if the letters were for her, it felt like a stranger had just read some of his deepest and most pathetic thoughts, the ones of love and adoration and depression all piled up in a few letters addressed to a Y/N he used to know.  He felt sick thinking about what this woman now knew. 

“Okay. Well, listen, you really shouldn’t just come to my apartment like this. I’m not fond of drop in visits.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I want, Kakashi Hatake, or should I say, my lover,” she laughed, resting one of her hands on her hip proudly. He felt himself wince at the sound of those words coming from her lips, seeing her childish grin. It reminded him too much of before, how they used to be, and he couldn’t handle that. Suddenly, he felt that familiar sickness rolling in his stomach. “How come you never said anything about it?”

“Because, I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“Why? Obviously you were a very big part of my life and I, yours,” she asked.

He sighed and leant on the doorframe, his eyes never leaving the village over her shoulder, anything other than meeting her eyes. He really did not want to have this conversation with her. He would have talked her ear off about a month before when she actually had her memories and knew who she was, but today, with the way she was, he might as well be speaking to a stranger. 

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

“It’s because I was going to leave you after the accident either way” he confessed, and she could only nod. It wasn’t like she was gonna get offended by his words, she didn’t even know him. He continued, “It makes me sick knowing that all this was my fault in the first place.”

She tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“The reason that man and his lackeys kidnapped you is because of my father’s mistakes,” he sighed, “That bastard wanted to get revenge by hurting you, since you and I were close.”

She nodded, tapping the floor with her foot as she absorbed everything he’d said. That is what he alluded to before when they met in the hospital. She replied calmly, her tone so understanding it made him feel nauseous.“I see. Well, I wouldn’t exactly call that your fault. You definitely didn’t directly cause anything to happen, if anything it was your father. I’m not offended at all.” 

“It doesn’t matter what you think. It doesn’t make this anyone's fault but mine.”

“Really, it’s not your fault. You could have never predicted this,” she tried to say, but he just went on, words flowing out faster than she could argue against them. 

“It doesn’t matter. I knew that it was wrong to let you into my life. You would have lived just as happily if I’d have ignored you and let you meet some son of a baker, get married after a year, have a bunch of kids, shit, I don’t know,” he cursed. She could tell he was breaking down feelings he had been harboring for a while, and she pushed past him into his apartment, walking right under the arm he was resting on. This wasn’t something to talk about in public, out in the open. “I knew that if you were with me that you would never live a normal life, and I still let you fall in love with me, all because I was too selfish to put my own feelings aside.”

“Love shouldn’t be suppressed like that. You did what was natural.”

“Yeah, and look where that got us. Look where that got you, Y/N.” He waved to her bandaged legs. “You’re never going to remember me again, so it doesn’t matter if I rekindle our relationship, does it?”

She took a seat on the edge of his bed to rest her tired legs. He seemed so angry with himself, so much self hate radiating from his person. He was hurting so badly, and she just wished he would let her comfort him. 

For a moment, she wondered if he would let her hold him like before, so he could pretend that things hadn’t gone wrong, even for a short time. Put his mind at ease if only for a short while. Y/N refrained from saying anything, though. Physical touch was probably one of the worst things for him right now, especially from her.

Instead, she meditated on what he said. She sat there fiddling with her fingers, trying to figure out what to say to him, anything that would make the situation easier for him. All she ever wanted was to make life easier for others, and if her way of doing so was being kind and thoughtful toward these worn shinobi, then that is what she would do. 

She leaned back on her hands and let out a soft sigh, words surfacing in her brain that might just do the trick. “Kakashi, do you want to hear something that might bring you hope?”

“Whatever,” he brushed off, not thinking anything she could say would make the situation better. He’d tried for a month to make things better and nothing was working. 

“I’ve been having dreams. Dreams of the past, dreams of memories that I have forgotten. When I look through photos, new images appear of people that I used to know,” she told him softly. “Tsunade says that means I’ll regain my memories with time, it’s just taking a bit longer than we had hoped. She thinks I can get everything back. The girl that you used to know.” 

He stood there for a moment, just processing what she said. He could feel his heart beat a little faster in his chest, and he lifted his eyes slowly to meet her own. She always had such soft, gentle eyes, even now. “Do you have any dreams of me?” He was hesitant to ask, but she gladly nodded. “What do you remember?”

“Well, it’s mostly just snapshots here and there of you and everyone else. Short little tibbits of what life used to be like. I know Yamato has wood nature jutsu because in one of my dreams he had summoned this ginormous tree. I know there is a younger guy with the most yellow hair I’ve ever seen. I know that you have a red eye under the headband, but I don’t know what it’s for,” she explained, listing off some examples of things shehad dreamed of. 

He hummed. “Firstly, you’re right about Yamato. He’s actually the only one alive who can use that jutsu.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Is that why he’s head of the...uh, that group? The ones with the animal masks?” she asked, feeling foolish at her lack of knowledge.

He let out the tiniest of chuckles, just a hint of one. “It’s actually ANBU, but good on you for knowing about them. And it’s not just because of his wood jutsu, he is also a very skilled and strong shinobi. He is a good team leader,” he explained. For a moment, he almost found it fun to listen to her struggle to remember things and then help her out. He noticed the way her nose crinkled when she was thinking especially hard about something, and god, it reminded him of before. He felt his heart thawing with each look her way. 

Kakashi shut his front door and walked over to the other side of his bed. He took a seat against the wall, kicking out his legs. He was beginning to relax. “And about the yellow haired kid? That’s one of my students, Naruto Uzumaki. He’s a handful, but also a very talented, determined shinobi.”

She mouthed the name to herself a couple times, trying to memorize it. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t be too sure. A lot of things sounded like she should remember them, and she couldn’t exactly figure out which were right.

“And your red eye?”

“It’s a long story, and we won’t go into it. Simply put, this eye is called the sharingan. It’s a special dojutsu that only members of the Uchiha clan possess.”

“So you’re part Uchiha?”

“No. That’s the part I’m not gonna get into,” he brushed off her question. That was something that he really did not want to discuss again. He’d already told her the story once, he didn’t need to do it a second time, even if she had amnesia. When he looked over at her, she looked so familiar. Her eyes were filled with happiness, and he noticed that her lips were curled up into a sweet smile. “What are you happy about?”

She shook her head and turned her head to hide the upward curl of her lips. She was just so glad, her whole body felt warmer because of it. “Because you are being nice to me and explaining things. No one really explains things to me, they just skip around stuff usually,” she confessed as she tapped her heels together. 

He could only shake his head at that. “You deserve to know at least the basic stuff, just until you get your memory back.”

“Hmm? You’ll explain any of my memories? Like any of them?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Oh, yeah, well explain this dream I had.”

“Shoot.”

Her smile took a mischievous turn, and he definitely noticed the change. He could only imagine what she was about to ask. “I’ll give you a hint...I know what you look like completely naked,” she giggled, falling back on the bed and covering her face with her hands. 

“And you call me the pervert…” he sighed, crossing his arms behind his neck. Her laugh, it was like music to his ears. No matter what she could say, he was just relieved to feel her beside him, gleaming with a happiness he missed for nearly a month now. 

“I really had a sex dream about you the other night, but you can imagine my confusion. I was like, what the hell, I don’t even know the guy,” Y/N laughed, “It all makes sense now.”

He rolled his eyes at her sense of humor. Things felt so normal, like before. He felt his chest grow warm at the feeling. Kakashi’s  lips cracked into a grin under his mask, not that it mattered to wear the mask. She already saw his face in a dream, it seemed kinda pointless if they were alone. 

Maybe he would let things go back to normal. Maybe he would talk to her more, and let her visit when he was home. Maybe he could go to her store when she waved to him instead of running away like a coward. Maybe he could let himself be happy, despite his faults, despite what happened to her. The wounds could be mended, he decided. 

He just couldn’t help but be selfish and let her back in.

[jacarandabanyan]

📚for the fanfic plot ask thing!📚

Okay so- plot of one (of many) fanfic I haven't written (because to be honest, I don't have the skill to pull this off yet) but often daydream about:

I would love to write a This-Is-How-You-Loose-The-Time-War-inspired spy-vs-spy KisaIta fic. It would feature baby ANBU Itachi trying desperately to find a solution to the tensions brewing between his family and the village (massacre was still a few years off when he first joined ANBU, I believe). This eventually leads to him hunting down all reports/intelligence related to the night of the Kyuubi Attack and finding a few small scraps of information that hint at the existence of the Masked Man.

(He is a pre-teen, so he doesn't really *get* that finding a different scapegoat/"revealing the truth of what happened that night" probably isn't going to fix issues that are rooted in three generations of Village Policy and History, because he may be a genius at killing people but his education has not emphasized critical thinking)

He eventually tracks what little (extremely scant) evidence he has to Kiri, where he comes to believe the Masked Man is operating.

He gets himself sent on endless missions to the Land of Water in pursuit of his pet project, gaining himself a reputation in the process. There are no shortage of missions- the Land of Water is rapidly devolving into three different simultaneous civil wars, and resentment over the last Great Shinobi War lingers enough that Kiri and Konoha will likely never be friends in Itachi's lifetime.

(This is gonna get really long, so here's a read more)

At the same time, recently-made-ANBU Kisame has been mostly assigned to intelligence-related missions, as in canon. However, over the course of his first few months worth of missions, he comes to suspect that there's a leak in ANBU, and he sets about trying to find it and silence it. He slowly develops a reputation for ruthlessness even among ANBU, a cut above the normal Kiri ruthlessness, as he secretly works to get his fingers into every hidden nook, cranny, and conspiracy until he finds the disloyal one.

(And maybe he's projecting his issues/self-hatred related to killing other Kiri ninha just. a little bit. on this mysterious leaker. How dare this person sell out the Village? How dare they give out the information that gets other Kiri shinobi killed? It's easier to hate the faceless traitor than it is to hate himself. And at least he still *has* values. He killed the Few to protect the Whole.)

Over time, as the two develop their reputations, their respective villages start pitting them against each other in the field. Konoha has an unofficial policy of trying to off Seven Swordsmen hopefuls before they can get powerful enough to actually get a blade, and Kirigakure knows that the unstoppable Konoha operative is a Sharingan-user, and Obito-controlling-the-Mizukage is always down to take down his estranged family members.

Danzo is less eager to have Itachi take care of the Uchiha for good, not out of any particular maneuvering on Itachi's part, but because he also remembers the last Great Shinobi War, and how brutal Kirigakure was during it. He sees their ongoing civil strife and fears that one faction will eventually WIN and turn their attention on their neighbors. Itachi has made himself the best operative at getting into and out of Kirigakure- if he wants to interfere from the shadows and keep the civil strife going, he needs to keep Itachi in the field. (Don't worry, he finds other ways to be awful/keep the pressure on).

Itachi and Kisame are a good match-up. Itachi might be a natural genius with a fancy kekkei-genkai, but Kisame has way more experience than him. Also, unlike laser-focused Itachi, Kisame is actually keyed into the intelligence world, so he always has more information than Itachi.

They clash over and over again over several years, and slowly learn more and more about each other. They mature into seasoned ANBU operatives, have epiphanies about themselves and their villages. And slowly come to like each other.

Itachi has his sexual awakening when he sees Kisame rise up out of an ocean of blood, shirtless, effortlessly hoisting a struggling Jonin one-handed over his shoulder, big tooth-filled grin on his face.

They infiltrate each others' villages and insert themselves into each others' missions in disguise. Itachi genjutsus a Kiri team to think he's one of their teammates, whom Kisame secretly has orders to eliminate. He feels a surge of relief when the teammate he'd known since his Academy days dissolves into a murder of crows moments before his sword pierces their chest- his teammate is still dead, but at least this time they were killed by an enemy, not Kisame himself.

Kisame knows his mysterious counterpart is a Sharingan-user, so he infiltrates the Uchiha compound to tease out what the situation is with the clan in Konoha right now (and maybe see if he can figure out who his counterpart is).

While he's in the village, tracking kekkei-genkai users, he discovers Root and exposes it. This is both a huge win for Kiri Intelligence and put Danzo in a tricky situation, since he supposedly disbanded it.

Eventually Kisame figures out that some of the leaked information is making its way to Danzo, so he goes to kill Danzo and try and figure out who he's getting his information from. This is right around when Danzo's started making threatening noises towards the Uchiha again, since Root was just rediscovered (by foreign intelligence, no less!) and he needs to redirect attention off himself and onto the Uchiha. He's even considering the total elimination plan again- Itachi's work in the Land of Water is valuable, but not more valuable than consolidating control over the Village.

(Or perhaps he doesn't need Itachi for this- Shisui is also a talented ANBU operative, after all. Sasuke was originally supposed to be the spare Uchiha left alive in the village, so they wouldn't loose the precious Sharingan, but it's becoming increasingly clear that while he's good, he's not as good as Itachi. Why keep the subpar tool and throw away the masterwork?)

Itachi develops a humorous problem where he's leading three different fake lives, and is covering up with by genjutsu-wammying anyone who might notice anything suspicious in the timing of his long absences. He's infiltrated Mei's rebellion as a spy who needs to disappear a lot to go do spy stuff, while at the same time pretending to be an official in the Water Daimyo's court, while also posing as a regular Kiri Jounin.

His Regular Kiri Jounin act is so solid, they give him a genin team. One of the genin is related to the civilian official he's impersonating in the Daimyo's court, and she constantly comes to see him and tell him all about her sensei. On of the other genin on the team is related to a the Mizukage, and Mei orders him to kidnap that genin away from their sensei, which is also him, so that he can be used as leverage. The third genin turns out to be a secret kekkei-genkai user, and actually wants to be kidnapped away to the rebellion so that they won't have to live in fear of being discovered, and also because they hate the current government. This genin who wants to be kidnapped is constantly fighting with the genin he's actually supposed to kidnap, and whines that "Sensei, you're not supposed to play favorites! Why do they get to get kidnapped but I don't? They don't even want to get kidnapped!"

(Itachi the Regular Kiri Jounin, who is Unquestionably Loyal and Totally Not a Radical Who Would Join the Rebellion, ends up dating Kisame, whose identity as an ANBU is technically a secret. This relationship runs on willful ignorance.)

Kisame and Itachi would end up taking each others' places at some point to take down each others' mentors- Kisame walks right into Danzo's office looking like Itachi, and no one blinks when they sense the genjutsu because Itachi is always casting genjutsus. No one even realizes anything's wrong until Danzo's dead and "Itachi" is making his getaway.

Itachi would be approached by Fuguki at some point with an offer to sell information, and immediately realizes that this is Kisame's leak. He argues to Danzo's replacement that the value of Kiri's ANBU turning on each other is greater than the value of having someone willing to sell the occasional nugget of info. He has to work not to laugh behind his ANBU mask, because Konoha nin just don't get how down Kiri nin are to turn on each other at the drop of a hat. "Turning Kiri ANBU against each other" please, as if the Seven Swordsmen don't regularly train their own murderers. As if one of the fastest ways to gain cache isn't by offing your superiors. It's like Konoha Intelligence knows nothing.

He wins his case, and reveals what he knows to Kisame, who goes and kills Fuguki like he did in canon. Obito reveals himself, same as in canon, and Kisame immediately knows how he's going to pay Itachi back. He's still disillusioned with the Shinobi world like in canon, but he had his initial Pit of Despair moment years ago, when he figured out there was a leak in ANBU and that truly there were lies everywhere. He's learned how to compartmentalize since then.

He pretends to join Obito so that he can feed Itachi information. Together they take down Obito, revealing his crimes to both Kiri and Konoha.

It should be over then- Kisame found the leak, Itachi cleared his family's name- but it's been around a decade at this point. Both of them have played so many roles as spies that they don't know how to go back to who they were before.

Itachi's almost spent more of his life in the Land of Water than in the Land of Fire at this point, and he certainly knows more people there than in the Land of Fire. He's passed his twentieth birthday by now, and he's no longer a pre-teen with no concept of the world and his place in it outside of Konoha Propaganda/Brainwashing. He doesn't know how to relate to Sasuke's fierce, uncomplicated desire to grow up to be the best Shinobi, because how can he think that's a good thing at this point?

Meanwhile, Kisame still kind of hoped that killing the liars/traitors who had sent so many Kiri-nin to their deaths would make him feel better about all the comrade-killing, but it doesn't. He can't seem to reconcile his absolute loyalty to the Village and its ideals with his disgust at everything they do.

For a brief while, he and Itachi join Mei's rebellion for realsies (Itachi still as one of his undercover roles) and help her topple the Bloody Mist government and install a new one, but it's not enough. What she's proposing is still a Ninja Village. It's better than what there was before, but that's not really a ringing endorsement.

Itachi's the first one to decide to walk away. He lets Kisame "kill" him on a random mission in a way that doesn't lend itself to a body being returned or retrieved, then settles down and builds himself a life as a secret kekkei-genkai child who grew up hidden like Mei, but never learned to be a proper shinobi. He spends his days at a quiet house outside Kiri proper gardening and making jam by the side of a lake Kisame made during one of his fights with Itachi. There's a ghost town near the lake, emptied during the Civil War years. He develops a reputation as a ghost.

Kisame walks away not long after. He can't really leave, of course- unlike Itachi, he has no desire to settle down in a foreign country, and too many people know him here- but he does step away from active duty. He "kills" Itachi The Regular Kiri Jounin-Sensei and takes his genin team for himself. The kids know something's up because their Sensei still visits them sometimes, though he half-heartedly tries to convince them he's a ghost. They help spread the story about the ghost living by the lake anyway, just in case anyone starts investigating.

Kisame quietly moves out of his shitty Kiri apartment to join Itachi by the lake. Some of the seven swordsmen do come investigating then, but when they discover that Kisame's just moving in with his squeeze who he really sexily fake-murdered, they decide not to do anything about it. Besides, they like Itachi and don't want to have to write up a report about how dangerous it is to Kiri security that he lounges around a lake all day, drawing birds and cooking elaborate meals in an attempt to blend the comfort food of his youth with the produce and spices native to Kiri that are honestly more familiar to him at this point than the ones that grow in the Land of Fire.

Itachi sometimes goes and visits Sasuke and Shisui back in Konoha, but mostly he hangs out in his new home and lives out his soft, domestic, non-violent dreams with Kisame and his cute little genin. It's a sappy ending.

[geordiewrites]

Hey i just read exile inspired fic and it is soo good. I think you should write one based on the song tolerate it by ts? With harry plz. The drama, fight, tears.. I think you will reflect the emotion so well omg.

Tolerate It | Harry Potter

A/N: Hi lovely! First off, I adored this request so much and I really hope I’ve done it justice. Tolerate It is such a beautiful song and defo one of my favourites off of Evermore to cry to, there’s just so much detail hidden within the lyrics and I adore that. Harry too!! There’s not enough stuff for Harry, so I hope I’ve done well for you! ( Also this is super short, but I’ve been swamped with coursework xox )

Summary: Y/N is in love with The Boy Who Lived, and due to marry him in the Spring with a beautiful April wedding. Friends to lovers to that engaged couple who are just too in love to function, they share the most perfect story. But when Y/N begins to see their relationship for what it is, her entire world is thrown off key...

Warnings: angst and lots of it, loneliness, sadness, swearing.

~

“You’re coming home tonight, right?” Y/N asks, excitement and anticipation heavy in her tone, cherry red nails clicking against the cold metal of the answerphone.

“Of course, I’ll be back soon, love.” Harry Potter, her beloved fiancé, answered back on the other side from his workplace all the way in central London. His office is almost empty, devoid of any homely photos or colleagues: they had all gone home to their families long ago, and yet he stayed behind. He had no work to finish, no cases glaring to be solved. There was nothing to do but leave, but Harry didn’t.

“You’ve said that before.” Y/N pointed out blandly, her forced smile fading slightly. Many times had Harry said he was on his way home, only to send a letter the next morning apologising for suddenly getting swamped with unavoidable paperwork. “Please come home Harry, I’ve even made your favourite for dinner.”

“That sounds good, I promise I’ll be there soon. I’m just leaving the Ministry now.” Harry replied monotonously, not sounding nearly as happy as Y/N wished he would. Perhaps he had just had a bad day at the office, he must have done. But he had just one too many bad days now, and the reality that he might not want to see her was beginning to sink in.

Shaking off that horrible thought, Y/N inhaled a sharp breath and chewed the edge of her top lip. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.” Harry said shortly before putting the phone down and staring at his office, desperately trying to find a reason to stay at work. He did love Y/N, he did. Heck, he had even asked her to marry him and kissed the edge of her lips as they set the date. And then postponed it. And then postponed it another year after that, all because of some urgent work that Harry had suddenly come across. He was just so young, forced to grow up so quickly he didn’t even have time for a scrap of a childhood. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to see Y/N, why going home to their apartment often felt like a chore.

Back at their cosy flat in the nicer part of Greenwich, Y/N put the phone down after hearing an abrupt beep on the other end that let her know he had hung up. She sighed before walking over to a tall cabinet that stood to the side of their kitchen, taking out a set of nice china plates her Grandmother had left her and crystal wine glasses. It was the lovely cutlery only used for things like Christmas and obligatory dinner parties her family forced her to hold.

After setting it out on the table, Y/N checked the time and supposed that if Harry really had left as he said, he would be back in just a minute through the wonders of apparation. Carefully so she wouldn’t somehow spill the food in her clumsiness, a quality Harry once said he loved about her, Y/N moved the food from the oven, to plates and then through to their front room where the fancy cutlery was set up. A smile made its way onto her face, a beaming, gorgeous smile of confidence that her and Harry would finally have the night she deserved. One where work or his reluctance to put effort into their relationship, even if she did pretend she knew nothing about this, didn’t get in the way.

Alas however, minutes passed and there was no sign of Harry anywhere. The food grew colder and that wonderful, rare smile of hers faded into an all too comfortable frown, the crease between her eyebrows deepening with not only disappointment, but anger. A growing resentment for Harry’s lack of care or even acknowledgement of their engagement. He didn’t seem to give two hoots that she had made a lovely meal; after all, he had only called it ‘good’. Not fabulous or decadent or even something praiseful. Just good.

They hadn’t said ‘I love you’ before they hung up the phones. Harry had only said one word. Y/N’s mind began to spiral, her breathing growing quicker and sharper as the thought that it might be time to confront Harry about the buildup of letdowns over the course of the last few months. A year even, since he had properly spent time at home. At their home, the one in which he had knelt down on one knee and told her he wanted to grow old with her by his side, failing at muggle card games on the front porch as they watched their grandchildren play.

Not knowing exactly what to do, Y/N retreated to grasping at the doorframe to keep her body from tumbling to the ground. Her mind whirred with the usual possibilities to try and chase away his lateness. Got caught at work, perhaps Ron called. But none of it compared to the looming threat that Harry was scraping any old excuse together in order to stay away. That he was lying, something she never thought she would have to think about him doing. Harry had always been such an honest person, even as a child.

Y/N remembered how nervous he was when he first asked her out during their fifth year at Hogwarts. He had been on this disastrous date with some Ravenclaw she couldn’t quite remember the name of, and come back utterly defeated. Feeling sorry for a friend she had always harboured a crush on, Y/N had stayed up all night convincing him something better was around the corner. It occurred to Harry quite quickly after that that Y/N was that somebody. She liked him, and at the time that was enough to make him think he was in love. To some degree he was, but not nearly as much as Y/N had fallen for him.

It was almost midnight when the front door to their apartment clicked with the turn of a key, and Y/N, still standing in the same sad place by the door to their living room, finally saw Harry step into their home. It had been hours since they were supposed to eat the food that Y/N had worked to hard to create. There it still sat however, with the plates and crystal glasses and unopened bottle of wine in the same place, completely untouched.

Y/N had a thousand things to say to him. Usually it would begin with her asking him where he had been galavanting off to, but not tonight. Tonight was the final tear in her elastic heart, just enough to finally make it tear into two broken, hollowed out pieces. She stood, silent and just watched as he took off his shoes and put his coat back in it’s place without saying anything. Harry wasn’t even trying anymore, and that hurt more than him being late to begin with.

“Sorry for the delay, something came up.” Harry said, standing a few metres away from her. There was no affectionate kiss to the forehead like when they were fresh out of Hogwarts with teenage dreams and ambitions. No arm comfortably slung around her waist in a protective manner. Y/N missed that especially out of all the things that had faded away. That simple gesture that showed he wanted to hold her above all else, above everyone else who had ever wanted to touch the Chosen One like she did.

“Something.” Y/N repeated, no emotion in her voice. It sounded almost like a recording being played back to him, just with any tone sucked away. “It’s always something, isn’t it?” She continued, not finding quite the right words to encompass the flummox of emotions seeping into her veins. “Work. Ron called. Hermione called. Work. Work again.”

“There really was something.” Harry pathetically added. It was a lie of course, he had spent the hours at his desk alone and staring aimlessly at a fountain pen as it leaked ink onto the black carpet of his office.

“Do you really think I don’t know you at all? Stop lying to me, Harry, just stop it. I’m done with being lied to.” Y/N says, her voice remaining as monotonous as ever as if she’s already grieving something. “I want to know what was so important that you’ve missed the dinner I made. The last thirty dinners, in fact.”

Harry just runs a hand through his messy hair as he tries desperately to think of something to say. But he can’t. There’s nothing to say that would make him any less guilty.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He manages to whisper.

“You’ve said that already.” Y/N points out without missing a single beat. She’s exhausted of pretending that she doesn’t know what Harry’s been doing, drained of all energy to put in effort anymore.

“Just tell me what the problem is and we can fix it.” He begs, but his voice is shaky and the words sound as though he’s reading them from a script.

“Fine. When did you stop being in love with me?” Y/N asks, sadness seeping into her voice. Tears began to form in her eyes but were quickly blinked away; the last thing she wanted was for Harry to see her as weak. She might be pathetic, pitiful, stupid for not realising earlier... but Y/N was not going to be weak. Not now, not ever.

“Why would you think that? Y/N, I could never stop loving you.” Harry said, trying to wrap her into a hug only for Y/N to quickly wriggle out of his cold grasp. His fingers left icy burns where they had briefly touched her arm, and Harry’s face dropped as he realised she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

“But you have, Harry. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming home at ridiculous times, or avoiding even looking at me like you are now. You don’t love me, you tolerate me because you don’t want to be alone. I feel like I’m begging to be in the footnotes in the story of your life, not a main character anymore.” Y/N explained quietly, neither expecting her to be so frank but once the blunt words were spilling from her lips, not even she could stop them. She watched as Harry’s face crumpled, sadness twisting her gut as she fervently tried not to cry herself.

“Y/N... I don’t know what to say.” Harry trailed off. Y/N used to be so infatuated with him, so desperately in love that she was blind to his flaws, much like his ridiculous fan base. But she had grown up from the teenager with a crush to a young woman with heart and with ambitions, and Harry was no longer apart of what she wanted out of life. She had stopped being a part of his long ago, she just hadn’t realised it then.

“Is this in my head? Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow, Harry. Because please believe me, I could do it. I could leave.”

“I can’t.” Harry finally said. “I did love you once, Y/N. I’m not even sure what happened to us if I’m being completely honest.”

“That’s the problem: you don’t really even want me to stay. But that’s the thing... you built an entire new wizarding world after you defeated You-Know-Who, and where was I? I’m sorry for being dramatic and shit but I’m taking this dagger out and finally going where I need to be.” Y/N continued, not pausing as not to give him any time to ask her to stay, not that he would. Her mind was made up, and even Harry could see that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Harry whispered, his voice trailing off as Y/N went to get her coat from a peg just beside their front door.

“It’s alright, really. I know you don’t hate me, but both of us know this isn’t working anymore. I deserve someone who celebrates me and my love, and that isn’t you. I’m not really sure that it ever was.” Y/N said, a sad smile gracing her delicate features. She looked almost relieved. Utterly broken-hearted, but relieved all the same. “I’ll come back for my stuff tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving me?” Harry said. Even though she had told him why, it still came as a shock. Y/N nodded. “I’m so sorry I didn’t treat you how you deserve.”

“I’m sorry about that too.” Y/N replied, both warmly and coldly at the same time. “Goodbye, Harry Potter. All the best.”

“Goodbye.” It was all Harry could fathom to say as she pressed her engagement ring back into his hand, the final recognition of their relationship officially being over. It was a beautiful piece of jewellery, one she at one point she thought she would never take off her finger. There were no more words exchanged about the gesture for none were needed, all had been said already.

One simple word that locked the door on their relationship, the one that Y/N had finally gained the courage to close in the first place. It had taken her so long, so pathetically long, to realise that something wasn’t right. That Harry was meant to love her, that love shouldn’t and can’t survive while being one sided. It shouldn’t have to be tolerated, and Y/N had finally learned that through all those lonely nights of wondering where Harry was, what he was getting up to at work, if he even was there.

But as Y/N’s grandma used to tell her every Christmas, as one door closes, another always opens.

-

A/N: hoped you liked it anon!!!

Nancy xx

[anderseeds]

Alucard/Anderson fics

It can be hard to track down fics for this pairing, so I thought I’d compile some I’ve read and enjoyed! I’ll add more as I find them.

Title: Singular Summary:  Gratuitous shower scene. Post-canon. Comments: Probably the first Alucard/Anderson fic I read that I really enjoyed. It’s poignant, in character, and hot.

Title: Seventh Year Misfortune (alternative) Summary: A story exploring the possible outcome if Anderson had won the battle against Alucard. Comments: My absolute favourite Alucard/Anderson fic. Wonderful writing, in-character, and the plot keeps you intrigued right through to the end. I highly, highly recommend checking this fic out!

Title: Biting the Bullet Summary: During a fairly routine cleanup of some inexperienced cultists, Father Anderson gets struck with a curse that has some...rather unpleasant side effects. His nemesis, of course, thinks its hilarious, but Anderson is determined to find a way to work around said curse, rather than take the obvious out.

It goes less than spectacularly. Comments: Just... [chefs kiss] it’s perfect, please read.

Title: Kaleidoscope Summary: In touching an activated relic during a fight, Anderson is suddenly yanked into a vision of what seems to be Alucard's past. Unfortunately, while Alucard is there as well, he doesn't seem to remember anything past the 15th century, so Anderson is forced to somehow convince the vampire of who he is. Over, and over, and over again… Comments: This fic just gets better with every re-read, and it’s a whopping 55k words! Amazing work. The author deserves all the kudos.

Title: The Ties That Bind Us Summary: Holy artifacts are known to spark miracles. Ripping the Nail out of Anderson's heart and having him survive was miraculous enough, but the side effects... 

Well, perhaps there's a reason God is said to work in mysterious ways. Comments: HOLY SHIT not only the longest Andercard fic I’ve ever read, also the best!! Just... amazing. Incredible. This fic is a journey.

Title: Alarum Summary:  Alucard captures Anderson (and tentacles happen). Comments: Simply put: it’s hot and well-written. Plus... tentacles. 

Title: Eternally This Summary: After nearly six decades of searching, Alucard finally finds a certain exhiled priest - and there is somewhat left unsettled between them. Comments: As I said when I mentioned this a while back: it’s a sequel fic, but it’s perfectly able to be read independent of what fics it’s based on! I thoroughly enjoy Alucard and Anderson’s dynamic in this.

Title: Inevitable Summary: Alexander Anderson was not a completely changed man yet. Comments: Another steaming hot fic.   

Title: The soul and the body Summary: “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” the voice drifted through the grille. Even with the relative anonymity of the confessional, the brogue was impossible to hide. Comments: Warning for non-con here! Well written, interesting premise.  

Title: Splinters Summary: Alucard recovers Anderson after the disaster of the nail and brings him back to life. Comments: A really interesting fic from start to finish, very well written. This is the same person who wrote Seventh Year Misfortune, so no surprise there! Unfortunately, the author purged their works a long time ago, so I can only find scraps of their wonderful contributions to the pairing. 

Title: Counting Scars Summary: Alucard’s fascinated with Anderson’s scars. Comments: Same author as above. Well-written, well characterised. 

Title: Discipline & Psalms for the Fallen (First | Second) (Alternative) Summary: Alucard brings Anderson back from death by turning him. His childe, predictably, proves a difficult one. Comments: This is one of the longest Andercard fics in the fandom! It’s almost 50k. A very impressive near-50k at that. 

Title: Fall From Grace Summary: Alucard and Anderson face off in a warehouse. Comments: Not gonna lie, I’m 100% here for the gun kink. Warning for non-con.

Title: Gold Lion Summary:  Outside, inside. This is a moon without a tide. We'll build a fire in your eyes. We'll build a fire when the colors getting brighter. Cold desire, makes a moon without a tide. Comments: Warning for OC/Anderson non-con. Interesting fic where Anderson is cursed and ends up rescued by Alucard.

Title: Babylon Summary: A longstanding rivalry, begrudging respect, and eventually love. The progression of Vlad to Alucard, and the love that haunts him, that he is unable to forget. Comments: An interesting take on Alucard and Anderson’s history and rivalry! 

Title: More than Just Monsters Summary: Alucard washes back into the mortal realm, back to Hellsing, to his waiting Master, and at her side, he finds a priest… A priest he watched become a monster, a priest he put down with tears in his eyes. A priest that appeared to be human once more and Alucard would not squander away such a second chance. Comments: A fic that was written for me! Well written, well characterised, and it has some absolutely delightful lines about Alucard being possessive of Anderson. 

Title: Silent Echoes Summary: Anderson has stoked a desire in Alucard that he has not felt for an age. Bored, he seeks out anything to keep him entertained, when he happens across the priest that has enthralled him. Comments: Another fic that was written for me! Just like the previously mentioned one, it’s a quality fic, very enjoyable. 

Title: Vater Unser Summary: Alucard had heard that confession was good for the soul and what better way to spend a Saturday night than to visit his favourite confessor. Comments: Alucard flirting with Anderson in a confessional? We love to see it.

Title: Hail Mary Summary: Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Comments: Just a nice little drabble.

Title: Personal Jesus Summary: A series of oneshots, where Anderson finds himself praying at the altar of his darkest, guilty desire. Comments: Anderson as a masochist! Warning for gore and dub-con.  

Title: Birds of a Feather Summary: Dancing with a ball and chain, through it all we still remain. Butterflies around a flame, till ashes, ashes, we fade away. Just a little wistfulness Comments: An enjoyable look into Alucard’s thoughts on Anderson.   

Archives: 

Anderseeds. Sakurako (note: in Japanese). Catsvsdogscatswin  Numbika ScientistsDoItPeriodically And here’s a bunch of fics I haven’t read/only skimmed, but you might enjoy: Where is thy sting? Confession part 2 A Taste of Darkness To love to hate Beloved Memories + It’s follow up, Divergence Morning Risers, Daytime Sleepers A thin line Alucard's Happy Ending Prisoners Right Here, Right Now Child's Play Drowning with the Devil This Broken Knight Fall From Grace Confession  Is It Really Good for the Soul? Comes the Sun Blood and Chocolate Back and Forth The Movies Towards the End Confession Part 2 Wicked Game No need for words TNIAY (scroll down to number 3) Animal Instinct Celibacy is an Choice  Something has to Give Marionette

Some fics in different languages (mostly German), which can be read through translate if you don’t understand the language in question. Like the above, I’ve only skimmed these:

Who sow wind, will harvest storm Delivered Heaven and Hell The Priest and the Beast The Priest and the Beast II Revenge is Sweet Sacrifice Dark wonder (also a hint of Anderson/Maxwell)

[yamayamawrites]

This December

A/N: Hi friends! Happy (almost) December! As a treat this year, I decided to write a short fic (and by short, I do mean around 40k - so not terribly short) about the Dekusquad spending a week at a winter cabin! The first chapter will officially go up on my AO3 page (you can find it here!) tomorrow, with updates coming out every Tuesday/Friday for the next 4 weeks, but I decided to post a sneak preview of chapter 1 here early!! Hope you enjoy!

Tuesday, December 01, 20XX

It’s been four years since Izuku graduated from U.A. Four years, and he’s moved three times since then – once, to an agency based in Kyoto, where he lived the longest. He worked many of the smaller cases there, the more personal ones – stopping a villain who’d kidnapped a mother’s newborn; keeping a local corner store from being robbed; catching a stray piece of scrap metal dropped from a crane near a construction site, and saving two children playing tag. He accredits most of his fame to Kyoto, and though it’s certainly not a small city, it feels small when he moves two years later to Hiroshima.

It’s in Hiroshima that Izuku takes on his first major case – ends up working beside Eijirou in the process, and both of them (already well-established and in the high twenties in hero rankings) skyrocket to the top ten after busting the case wide open. It’s a child trafficking ring, where children are abducted and sold for their Quirks. And, just following this case, he has perhaps a hundred offers to other agencies that will pay better or get more exposure. After all, Midoriya Izuku is just past twenty and he’s ranked number four, below Suneater and Lemillion from U.A., and, yet to be overthrown at number one, Endeavor. And while he still hasn’t learned Hiroshima’s roads, nor has he unpacked all his boxes yet, he uproots once more, and heads for Tokyo.

The biggest reason he leaves is because of the agency. Tokyo is crawling with them – agencies nearly on every block – but they’re small, full of sidekicks who haven’t broken one hundred yet, even. But there’s one agency in particular whose letter stands out amongst the rest, because the signature on the offer letter is his old friend Hitoshi’s, and Hitoshi knows just whose names to drop to garner Izuku’s attention – “You would be working side by side with Uravity and Ingenium, and perhaps partnering with Shouto and Ground Zero.”

And now, almost seven months since he’s become acquainted with the Tokyo agency, has climbed past Suneater in the latest ranking, he drums his fingers on Ochaco’s office door. She pops her head up from behind her monitor, still wearing her hero costume from her patrol while she types up a final report before lunch. “Oh!” she says, as though she isn’t expecting Izuku, despite the fact that they always go to lunch together on Tuesdays.

“Ready to go?” Izuku asks, hanging off Ochaco’s door, now. “Tenya coming today, too?”

“Tenya got wrapped up in a petty theft case,” Ochaco rolls her eyes. “Seriously. Who tries to steal a dozen watches in the middle of the morning?”

“People who don’t know Tenya exists?” Izuku shrugs, and Ochaco laughs, pushes herself away from her desk on her rolling chair and hops up. “I need to stop and grab my key card before we go. Hold on.”

Ochaco trails after Izuku down the hall to his office, one with arguably the best view in the building. It overlooks the rest of the city, some of the smaller agencies the size of peanuts from way up here. His door is ajar when he walks up, light still on. Along the right wall is a photograph – himself, at graduation, with Ochaco and Tenya to his left, and Shouto to his right. Behind all of them is All Might, having managed his heroic form just for the click of a camera. They all wear navy graduation gowns, though Izuku’s is unzipped and reveals his hero costume underneath. Shouto’s hair is swept back from his face, his graduation cap in his hands, and he’s actually smiling – Izuku thinks it may be the only photograph in his entire collection of pictures of Shouto where he isn’t frowning. And Ochaco and Tenya are leaning into each other, smiles bright and happy, caps on and hands clasped together.

“Can’t believe you still have this hanging in here,” Ochaco muses as she steps into the room, wandering directly to the photograph.

Izuku spares it a second glance before going to his desk and rooting through the drawers for his key card to get back into the building. “It’s my favorite,” he says with a defensive huff, and Ochaco laughs.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she says. “It’s just that my forehead looks huge in this.”

“Shut up,” Izuku chides, “you look fine. You look great, even!”

“I think you hung this one because Shouto is in it,” Ochaco jeers, because she knows it will get a reaction out of Izuku. And it does; Izuku, who had bent down to check under his desk for the key card, thuds his head on the bottom side of it when he tries to sit up too quickly.

“Th-that isn’t it!” Izuku huffs, rubbing his head. “Stop with that, you know I’m over it.”

“How come you’ve been waiting for the opportunity to work a case with him, then?” Ochaco says, and she sounds innocent, but when Izuku looks over he sees mischief in her eyes, the pure evil of a friend who’s been given explicit information to a secret crush that maybe shouldn’t have been told.

“Is it a crime to want to work alongside a friend?” Izuku says back defensively, still searching for his key card. Eventually he finds it atop a stack of reports he’s yet to take down to the accounting department – the longer he waits, the longer it’ll be until his next paycheck, but seriously, he makes way too much as it is.

“Well, no,” Ochaco says, crossing the room and perching herself on Izuku’s cluttered desk. “I mean, that’s how you ended up working here.”

“Exactly,” Izuku says as a means of ending the conversation, grabbing his wallet off his desk as well (he’d forgotten that, too, it seems) and heading for the door. Ochaco follows after him, realizes he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, and thankfully, after being best friends for almost a decade now, she respects that.

The walk down the road to their usual noodle shop is cold. The first snow hit about a week ago, and the temperature has warmed enough and cooled again since then to freeze mounds of slush at the lip of the roads. The sidewalk is clear of snow, busy despite the cold weather with people walking around downtown.

When they step inside the noodle shop, the warmth floods their cheeks and hands. They’re regulars here, and the waitress seats them as though they aren’t the number three and number sixteen heroes – after all, she gets to have this experience every Tuesday. She does, however, comment on Izuku’s latest search-and-rescue, says she’s glad someone like him was there. And it’s the comments like these that always make Izuku proud of his profession, the ones where he’s not being gushed over for his abs or his good looks (though those still make him blush); it’s the gratitude that Izuku’s presence has made a difference on the scene of a crime, or natural disaster, or whatever the occasion. It’s knowing people are glad Izuku was there.

“So,” Ochaco stretches back in her chair after she finishes her noodles. “Tenya and I have been thinking about taking a vacation.”

“Oh?” Izuku says, folding his hands in front of him on the table. He’d finished his noodles a few minutes ago.

“Yeah,” Ochaco hums, twirling her weightless chopsticks around her fingers idly while she speaks. “We were kind of thinking of inviting a few old friends from U.A. to come with.”

“Oh, so not like a romantic getaway then?” Izuku tilts his head to the side, curious. Ochaco and Tenya have been together since their second year of high school, and vacations for the just two of them aren’t anywhere near uncommon.

“More like a, um, reunion?” Ochaco says, dropping the chopsticks now. “What do you think, Izuku? Are you in?”

Izuku blanches. Somehow, even with Ochaco suggesting friends from U.A. accompany them on their vacation, he hadn’t considered that might mean him. Which is absurd, because the three of them have been best friends since high school began – they even chatted on the phone all the time when Izuku was in Kyoto and Hiroshima. “Of course,” he says after he scoops his jaw up from where it dropped, and Ochaco laughs.

“You seriously thought I wouldn’t extend the invitation to you?”

“That’s not what—”

“Come on, Deku,” she giggles, rolling her eyes. “You can’t lie to me. I know all.”

He laughs, shakes his head. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting it, sorry.”

“Well, you’re obviously the first person on the guest list. Tenya and I have already found a place, too! There’s this beautiful vacation lodge for rent on the edge of the Kiso Mountain chain.”

“That’s almost four hours from here,” Izuku says, suddenly a bit afraid of what might happen being so far from Tokyo. “What if a big villain or something finds out we’re all gone on vacation?”

“You act like our class from high school are the only competent heroes around anymore,” Ochaco rolls her eyes. “C’mon, if anything happened Suneater and Lemillion alone could take them, not to mention Nejire-chan and that wind hero guy.”

Izuku exhales, forcing himself to nod and agree. “I guess you’re right,” he sighs, his smile a tad nervous still.

“What, worried the public will forget about their favorite hero Deku after a week?” Ochaco reaches across the table and pokes at Izuku’s cheek. “Have some faith! And learn to take a vacation! Seriously, when’s the last time you took a break? Never?”

“Never,” Izuku affirms, though in the past he’s been proud of the fact; now he’s a little embarrassed. “How much would I owe you?”

But Ochaco waves off the question, and she grabs for the bill on the table – Izuku doesn’t even remember the waitress dropping it off. “You know more than any of us that money isn’t a factor,” she says, shrugging. “Tenya and I can cover it.”

“Shut up,” Izuku rolls his eyes. “You guys shouldn’t have to pay for everything. At least let me cover gas and groceries?”

It takes a bit of coaxing, but eventually Izuku convinces Ochaco to let him cover grocery costs; the two of them make plans to visit the grocery store together the night before they leave. Ochaco doesn’t reveal the guest list, nor does Izuku even think to ask about it until after they’re walking back to the office, bumping shoulders and laughing over inside jokes from their high school days. And as they ascend the staircase side by side, Izuku finally does ask, and Ochaco laughs, and that’s the most of an answer he gets.

[januarywren]

Hi if you don’t mind can I request a Snamione fic where he witness hermione’s mental breakdown upon knowing the death of her parents? Hehehe we are going angst today!

EEEEP, I’m really sorry - I’ve been feeling awful the past week, and I mixed up your prompt!! I thought that you wanted a sevmione scene about Hermione Obliviating her parents, not their death. 

The fic that I wrote is an Epilogue AU and takes place ten years after Voldemort’s death, but I’m sorry for the mix-up!! If I have time, I’ll write something that fits your prompt entirely. I’m posting the fic below, as well as linking it here! I appreciate you sending in a request, and I’m sorry again. 

-

“Hermione – “

It had been weeks of silence, with his lover hiding away in their rooms. There was more to the former golden girl of Gryffindor than anyone knew, and Severus watched, and he worried, as her cheeks grew pale and her words became fewer and fewer.

He felt the distance growing between them, even at night when he wrapped his arms around her, and she nestled close against his chest. Sleep was beyond them, yet they enjoyed the intimacy of it still – at least they had until she'd turned from him.

(Why? What had he done?)

���Trust me,” Severus ached to say. “Please, Hermione, let me in again.”

But he didn’t.

Couldn’t.

For underneath it all, Severus knew that he was a coward still, regardless of his duplicitous role at the Dark Lord’s side. The Ministry had given him a medal – a scrap of worthless tin – as if that could make his hands clean again.

He’d witnessed horrific things, things beyond anyone witch or wizard’s imagination, aside from Voldemort himself, and perhaps, Dumbledore. The later was hailed as the guiding mentor of the wizarding world, but above all others, Severus knew his true nature: Dumbledore willingly accepted what others would have cringed at, as long as it would aid his efforts during the war.

It was right, and it was wrong, and Severus –

He wanted little part of it.

His own Change was because of the Dark Lord after Voldemort explored the nature of vampires. Severus acted as his servant and was changed first – he'd burned in agony for days until his heart stilled, and he burned anew, his throat aching with thirst. He was a creature without morals, or limits, and had slaughtered as other Death Eaters had, and was privy to horrors that only those closest to the Dark Lord were allowed. There were so many innocents that suffered, regardless of their bloodline or their nature -

He never raised a finger to stop them, nor spared the unfortunate a single word, and he knew that he would burn for it –

Something that Hermione knew as well, for he’d wept in her arms, and confessed his sins to her. The world would never know the weight of his heart nor the true workings of his soul, but she alone would always know.

“Don’t.”

Severus flinched as his lover turned away from him, his heart thudding inside his chest. "It's over then?" he asked, forcing himself to swallow nausea that rose in his throat.

He’d always known he wasn’t good enough for Hermione, the same way he wasn’t good enough for Lily. (What had he told Hermione at the start of their relationship? “I’m less of a man than I am a creature, Hermione”? It was an understatement by far.)

And yet, Hermione had stayed by his side, freely and wholly of her own will. She’d accepted him when his nature became clear; his fangs grazing her wrist when he kissed her there, and his dark eyes had bored into hers. Her blood was ambrosia on his tongue, her nature as enthralling as a siren’s call.

And when they had reached the point of no return, she had done more than accept him –

She’d chosen him, as her Sire.

Her Mate.

They knew each other as no one else did, as they brewed countless potions together, in their little nest that was hidden from the world. They lived in muggle London, a place where they could live as they wished, and where no one noticed if a petty criminal or two went missing. (In fact, their formerly crime-ridden neighborhood was grateful for the dramatic reduction in crime, as stolen items were returned, and doors were left unlocked once more.)

He withdrew from her, as his familiar friend, anger, found him once again. “Have you realized what I am?” Severus asked, “A foul creature, a sniveling beast – “

It was easy to slip into his former skin, as the greasy-haired and embittered potions master. He knew what the students thought of him and remembered how the staff had avoided him. He reveled in their distance, as it fueled his bitterness; something he had ceased to feel in his life with Hermione. But he was weak then, and exposed, and wanted to hide away where she wouldn't see how he lived for her.

If she left him –

No, Severus thought grimly. When she left him, he would be the creature the world knew before, the one who snapped and snarled without remorse. He wasn’t meant to have others near, he was his father’s heir.

“Stop it,” Hermione said, closing the space between them.

“Why should I, Ms. Granger – “Severus sneered, stilling as her hand rose to cup his cheek.

"Severus," Hermione said as if his name meant something to her still. "This – this isn't about you, or us. I'm not," she hesitated, searching for the right words to say. "I know that I haven't been myself lately. I…”

“You haven’t,” Severus croaked, his tangled feelings exposed. He felt as anxiety entwined with his simmering anger, and his hand covered hers. “Please Hermione, let me in.”

“I did something a decade ago,” Hermione whispered, “something during the war that I cannot let go of. It…it happened next month, and I – I can’t stop thinking of it.”

Severus’s brow furrowed, as he rested his temple against hers. “You were a child during the war,” he said, his tone as gentle as his words were overused. “Dumbledore used you as a soldier – whatever you did is not yours to blame yourself for.”

“But it is,” Hermione replied, with a sad, little smile. “I wanted to keep my parents safe, and I…I took their lives away from them, Severus. I Obliviated them and sent them away to Australia, where they would be safe.”

He kissed away the tears that slid down her cheeks, as shame pooled through his veins. It was his nature to interpret his mate’s hurt as because of him, with his father’s words ringing in his ears – feelings of worthlessness and self-loathing always seemed just below the surface, as if he were a child still.

He wanted to be better for her.

He had to be.

She hadn’t made the decision for him to change her lightly, no, and it was entirely her decision alone. The cursed knife that Bellatrix had used to carve the horrid word into her skin was slowly killing her, the dark magic imbued within her wound leeching her very life from her. Hermione told him she wasn’t afraid to die, after cure after cure had resulted in little change.

Nor had Hermione proposed it at first, after Severus confessed his love for her. She asked for nothing from him but stayed at his side, faithfully stirring his potions, and spending her nights awake with him, even before he changed her. They kept the world at bay outside their door, and wanted nothing but privacy, above all.

She wrote letters frequently to Harry and his wife, as well as his godson, Draco Malfoy who sought redemption after the war and he apologized for his treatment of her. She wrote letters too, to George Weasley who mourned for the loss of his twin, and she wrote to Ron, who struggled to find his stride as an Auror still. Hermione had a longing for the outside world that Severus lacked, though he never sought to prevent her from having friendships.

Yet it was Severus who held her during the Change, allowing her to weep in his arms, as she writhed, and she burned. It was an experience that bonded them closer to one another, the fury of the Change driving the Dark Magic from her soul. It fled her body, but Severus never left her, nor did he want to.

“I’m sorry,” Severus whispered, before kissing the tip of her nose. “So very sorry, Hermione.”

She had always taken comfort in his voice, and like a purring cat, rubbed her cheek against his. “I can’t help but think they are safe but not whole,” Hermione confessed, “Or maybe it’s too painful to think of them as being happy and whole, without remembering me at all – “

His arms circled around her waist, as he pulled her flush against him. “I understand,” Severus said, having once felt the same about Lily, as she burned with life when she was married to James Potter. Yet his feelings for Lily were nothing like how he felt towards Hermione, the only soul to ever accept him wholly, and unflinchingly.

He never would regret the rainy night that he'd come across her, when she'd sat alone at a train station, with her beaded purse in her arms. She'd broken up with Ron and fled from the wizarding world – straight into his arms after they left the train station to eat at his favorite curry place instead. The dull flavor of human food had seemed spicy and danced across his tongue when he sat across from her, and they had simply never parted afterward.

Nor would they if Severus had his wish, and Hermione truly wanted to stay.

“I miss them,” Hermione murmured, “Every night and every day, even though I never forget that I’m the one to blame. I chose to send them away, without a memory of the child they had, or…or anything of their former lives. Their true lives,” her voice cracked at that, and she moved to bury her head against his shoulder. “I don’t have a right to feel this way.”

“You do,” Severus said, his hands resting on the small of her back.

She was a mess of contradictions; her small frame holding a soul that was far stronger, and bolder than his own. He wanted to curse himself for leaving her to the wolves during the war, though they weren’t lovers, nor friends then. His focus then was consumed with thoughts of Lily and twisted bitterness about protecting her son.

“Merlin, Hermione, you did the only thing that you could. The Dark Lord would have never allowed your parents to live. The things that he did to muggles – the things that I did to them – “ he dragged a ragged breath in.

He wanted her closer still as if he could hold on to her, so she never let go of him.

“You saved them, my love,” Severus said softly, though they were the only ones in their room. There would never be another between them, nor a child born from her womb, as their kind was unchanging.

There was only the low purr of her familiar, Crookshanks, who chose then to wind about their legs and rub his face against Severus' foot. With a little blood magic, he would live out his immortal days with them. "My love, my life - believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He wouldn’t.  

“Promise?” Hermione asked, quieter than he’d ever heard her.

He prayed that she would believe him, as truth dripped from his words. No one would have helped his mate and her parents, not even him. Dumbledore had cared only for Harry, zealously arranging his pawns so his king was protected, and at the forefront of the chessboard. Harry was the one that mattered – Harry was the only one that truly mattered and was needed in the war against Voldemort.

“I swear it,” Severus whispered. "I'll take a Vow if you wish."

He wanted to free her from her pain, her guilt, even as he knew that it couldn't be undone. It was an ache inside of her soul that wouldn't leave her, yet he wanted to try as he never had for any other. Offers rose to his tongue, ones of finding a reversal to the spell, and finding her parents once again.

Severus held his tongue still, knowing that wasn’t what his mate needed, not then. Later, perhaps, when her tears had dried and she nestled close to him, and she knew that he would listen to all that she wanted to share.

She pressed closer against him and grasped the fabric of his robes with her hand. “I wish that I didn’t remember,” Hermione confessed, “over and over again. I see their eyes glaze over and I…I just can’t – I want to forget but I never want to let them go.”

It was all that she could give him then, the wound too raw, and exposed as it was. (Yet she didn't turn her heart away, no – it turned toward him, as she sought the comfort of his hold and the honesty of his soul.)

“I know, sweetheart,” Severus said, knowing more than most how she felt. There were memories that haunted him once, a tangle of faces and a mesh of names that were engraved across his skin. “I know.”

They held each other close, saying nothing then.

[ryttu3k]

I want to have them all on Tumblr, so. Here are my reaction posts, in order, for Resolution of the Daleks and season 12, part 1!

Resolution of the Daleks

Thoughts on Doctor Who - Resolution! Spoilers, obviously!

Okay, negative first, just to get it out of the way. Doctor Who, I really appreciate that you consistently have queer minor characters and queer couples. Just super casual and all, as it should be. Now can you please stop killing off half of said couples? Angstrom's wife, Frankie, now this young guy? It's really not cool.

Don't think the voiceover worked. I feel the prologue would have worked better with just visuals.

Again, Yaz didn't have much to do. The Doctor got a ton of action, Ryan and Graham both had significant interactions with Aaron, Yaz was... just kind of there. I'm hoping that when the show comes back in a year, now that Ryan has largely dealt with his issues, Yaz will get more attention?

UNIT was killed by Brexit?! Fuckin' rude!

Okay, on to the positive!

The Dalek was, frankly, fucking scary. Despite knowing that the Doctor would beat it, obviously, it caused huge swathes of damage and racked up a... rather high body count. Like it felt like a proper threat. Also, its ability to stop the TARDIS tracking it and stuff. Lin's terror felt extremely genuine and it was just nice and horrific overall, like - if it wasn't for the Doctor, it would feel like a genuine threat to the entire Earth.

(Also, it shut down the wifi. On New Years Day. What a monster!)

Oh man that Dalek laughter. Creepy as fuck. The Doctor dragging it in via hologram to dare it to laugh in her face? Fucking iconic.

"I've learned to think like a Dalek." Oof.

Doctor vs Dalek. Not just the physical aspect, but the mental part - the Doctor recognising the seriousness of it, but also having that element of cockiness ("Oh, mate") because, frankly, she's dealt with bigger threats. She's right when she points out that the biggest problem will be if regular humans try to engage it!

Elements of Dark!Doctor when she asks the team - almost desperately - if she gave it enough chances, if she was nice enough. Because the Doctor can get fucking scary around Daleks and she knows it. She's nice. She's friendly. But she's also the Doctor, and the Doctor has done some really damn questionable things to stop the Daleks, and she knows that. Fantastically done and I still desperately want some proper Dark!Doctor.

Really liked the parallels between the Doctor using scrap to make her sonic screwdriver, vs the Dalek using scrap to make its armour. The Doctor makes a tool, the Dalek makes items of war. Of course, well, the Doctor is probably more dangerous just with a swiss army sonic than a Dalek blaster...

I love how the whole, "Dads are complicated... so I've heard" bit could refer to either the loom thing or the Doctor having actual parents or the Doctor being a shitty dad themself XD

Graham was so excited to show off the TARDIS! Like he's just going, "How cool is this?!"

There were some legitimately funny moments! Graham's chair, "I suppose... we'll have to have a... conversation?", "Junkyard chic"... UNIT was killed by Brexit like that's so awful but. But in a kind of funny way.

Okay, now the unsure. Ryan, Graham, and Aaron. Ryan and Graham have sorted out their issues - but Aaron is still such a big overshadowing part of it that it's a bit of a shock when he comes back in. As someone with a similarly shit biological father, I was completely empathising with Ryan in the coffee shop conversation. And I do understand why they wanted reconciliation, so they showed Aaron as acknowledging his bullshit and Ryan ultimately choosing to forgive and save him.

But it's just... not that easy. It's not all going to be perfect just because they stopped a Dalek together. Aaron's neglect hurt Ryan really badly, and it just felt... too easy? Like it helped that Aaron was genuinely contrite, and that he had that good stepfather talk with Graham, but just... yeah, not sure how I feel about it, honestly.

The Doctor's first words to him being, "You weren't at Grace's funeral. Ryan waited for you, you let him down" were so, so good. Like the Doctor is just going "fuck you I'm his father now". Like tbh I think she was 100% prepared to yeet him off the TARDIS and be done with it. Like damn don't emotionally hurt one of her crew.

Some wonderfully savage lines, though. The Doctor's, "You're almost making up for your parenting deficit!"; Aaron and Ryan's, "Is that how you talk to your dad?" "I don't know, he's not been around"; Graham's fucking smirk when Ryan pointedly calls him 'Gramps'.

I did see a suggestion that would have made it much better - instead of the Dalek capturing Aaron, it captures Ryan. First, it ups the threat in the mind of the Doctor and Team TARDIS - this isn't some dickhead, this is one of them. And instead, it's Aaron who reaches out to Ryan, Aaron who risks his life, Aaron who has to come through for Ryan, instead of the other way around. Also would have tied in beautifully with, "Family isn't about DNA, or a name. It's about what you do, and you haven't done enough."

Also, 'srs tech skillz'. With a Z. Doctor why.

In conclusion, I am going to fight Nigel Farage for killing UNIT.

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Spyfall part 1

Current response to Doctor Who: making a near-literal SDKFJHGSDASDKFH sound, grabbing a cushion, nearly throWING THE CUSHION.

More intelligent commentary when my brain comes back online.

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Okay. Am calm. Am good! We're good.

MAJOR SPOILERS for Doctor Who: Spyfall, part 1!

So yeah I actually literally screamed (kind of... scream-laugh-holy-shit-yes). Like, even before Dhawan finished speaking the, "Or should I say spy... Master?" line because of the way he had said 'spymaster' in full in the line before and there's nothing that grabs my brain like that one word in that one context. It wasn't quite as mindblowing as the Utopia reveal, since, let's face it, it's only been a season since we last saw that magnificant arsehole, but still.

(Actually, since I didn't watch Twelve's run, the last time I saw them was exactly a decade ago in The End of Time, broadcast New Years Day 2010. And I still fucking cry over, "Get out of the way." So. That may have been why I literally screamed lmao)

I mean. It's the Master. I can't not. They're my favourite jerk. This is probably slightly concerning.

Anyway. Comments!

The good

Episode was just flat-out exciting. It reminded me both of the Three and Ten eras, a bit? Fun gadgets, fancy suits, and what ends up being a giant game! Did start wondering when they were talking about spies and codes and stuff. It's basically a puzzle that's been set up for the Doctor to solve. Plus, the way she was pretty much enlisted into it! Thirteen and Dhawan!Master might end up having a more Pertwee-Delgado-esque dynamic, maybe? I would be down for that!

(My introductory episode to the Master was The Mind of Evil. Let's just put it that way XD)

"I'm her best enemy." <3

I mean, in retrospect, isolated house full of high-tech stuff and a wall full of books about the Doctor... oh honey. Long, looong game of playing Spies and Conspiracies just for, apparently, the sheer funsies of it. Oh, honey. They're such a disaster and I love them.

The reveal scene, Jodie's acting. The way she just... freezes and hunches in on herself. She's been hiding her past more than other Doctors have in the past, and suddenly, here is her past!! Right here!! Laughing and joking and right there in front of her! And she's just like, "Ohhh shit, I was not ready to have this conversation again..."

Yasmin and Ryan's dynamic. I do like that they split up the usual combos of Thirteen-Yasmin and Graham-Ryan for once, because I do like seeing the way they play off each other! It makes them feel more cohesive as a group. I liked Ryan trying to comfort Yasmin after her experience.

Post-reveal, I'm now wondering if the weird zappy forest thing is the Master's TARDIS? Something to do with changing and processing DNA into something else? Something based around neurons, with the electric travelling system? Am also wondering what happened to Yasmin while in there, since she seemed to be processed in some way, and I'm wondering if she had part of her DNA rewritten as well - or maybe if she's been replaced entirely, like she's currently piloting an alien version of her own body while her actual self is still in there. They did already do that with Flesh!Amy, though.

Once this arc is over, I think Thirteen is definitely going to have to sit down and tell the Fam who the hell she actually is. Graham is having some serious questions, and the Master was definitely egging that on, pre-reveal.

How much do I love that even in a tux, the Doctor still has the culottes and boots? A lot, that is how much. Also, how much do I love the Doctor in a suit and on a motorbike? A lot, that is how much.

"I've had an upgrade." <3

Thirteen playing Snap. It's okay, Thirteen, you still win my heart <3

"Worst! Uber! Ever!!"

"Kisses!" Yes, we know ;) They've been texting! Someone write me a WhatsApp chat fic with plenty of subtext and double meaning, I require it. Also, memes. You know it's true. The Master isn't a Time Lord, they're a Meme Lord.

"Everything you think you know is a lie." Season hook? :o

The hmm

Main concern is how they're handling the Master's characterisation? Last we saw, they were so ready to jump the Doctor ship. Now it's back to games. Kind of wondering if that means the Master is just at the point of being resigned that they and the Doctor just don't work and so is going back to games because at least it makes them happy, but I'm happy to wait until next week to see how things play out!

Did see a suggestion that this is the Master from one of the alternate universes (or at least that seems to be the general consensus on why there were multiple maps), so not actually necessarily the same version as Missy. Alternatively, this could actually be a pre-Missy version! Maybe between Simm!Master and Missy, since we never actually see that regeneration?

Actually, if this is the one immediately before Missy and this two-parter ends with the Master regenerating and we actually do get Thirteen and Missy together on screen I may cry.

(Like I'm aro-ace and agender but I'm still so gay for both of them. There is no word other for this emotion other than 'I'm gay'.)

I kind of wish someone had double-checked the name of the company because VOR running the world is. Is. "Right now, VOR is more powerful than most nations." Just. *pinches bridge of nose* Like okay you know how we say 'oh yeah just google it' 'yeah I googled it' are they really gonna say 'yeah I just VO

'I'm going to V

I can't say it. I can't.

Apparently the Australia scenes were filmed in South Africa. Kind of assumed it wasn't really Australia as soon as I saw actually greenery in the background h e h.

Highkey wish I could have seen Missy and Thirteen together. Dhawan!Master is very fun so far but. Missy and Thirteen. See comment above about the Master's characterisation!

...ABC are you really going to keep to Thursday night broadcasts even after the UK switches their Sunday nights / our Monday mornings? Well that's a good way to guarantee I'll be watching them online first! I was happy to wait twelve hours or so so I could watch it with Mum, but like hell I'm going to wait three and a half days!

In conclusion, am dead, send help, is it Monday morning yet?

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Spyfall part 2

Thoughts on Doctor Who: Spyfall, part 2!

GALLIFREY LOOOOORE.

Oh man I'm hyped. We got a teeny teaser to the Timeless Child way back last decade but now we may actually get to see what the fuck is going on. And hell, if nothing else, at least the discovery is being teased to be so devastating it did undo Missy's characterisation. If this incarnation of the Master is after her, at least. Still not necessarily anything to suggest that. The Master will likely be recurring over this season, so we'll find out more, at least!

God, the Master is so fucked up. Like. He's seen something apparently so massively traumatic that he had to destroy his own planet and legitimately does look broken by it? Unless he was acting, but I did not get that impression from the message at the end. And the only way he can think of to get the Doctor's attention is to start his old tricks? Not sure if it's better or worse for him to be pre-Missy tbh.

It's just... such an interesting dynamic. Also I really want to read into the whole... scene where the Master asks the Doctor to kneel and call him 'Master' in front of everyone - then, when she does (defiantly! Stubbornly!), he... kneels to be at the same level as her. Like, "I'm going to play these BDSM-esque power games with you but when it comes down to it, I still consider us equal."

Anyway the Master is def a service top.

This comment from Tumblr user upslapmeal:

"'why would it stop? I mean how else would I get your attention’ what did I say about the Master being like a cat knocking things off shelves"

I mean. Yeah.

"Contact." Old school.

The Companions! They get a capital C because they were rad as hell. I love them all deciding that what they do next is: carry on to save the world. Like they're all heroic af without the Doctor and it's so good.

"Don't make me do a soft-shoe shuffle!"

And questioning at the end, oooh man. There are some Implications there, yeah. They've found out some surface information, yes, but no real hint at the deeper trauma. And given what this coming season is hinting at, I strongly suspect we will indeed be getting that deeper trauma and maybe even Dark!Doctor. Gallifrey does tend to bring it out of them...

The whole on-the-run thing seemed to definitely be a callback to Sound of Drums. Uh, what's that going to do long-term? Send out a worldwide message saying, "Sorry, our bad, they're fine"? I mean, last time that happened... okay, Jack was already with Torchwood and so is used to Not Really Existing, but Martha definitely couldn't go back to fuckin' medical school. She ended up at UNIT and then went independent. They did not return to their normal lives.

Barton: needs a goddamn punch. He killed his mother what the fuck. On the plus side, at least he seems to have thoroughly destroyed his career? Be interesting to see if he reappears later, you don't go from the most powerful person on the planet to massive pariah overnight without Repercussions.

On to our guest characters! I hate to brag but I guessed who Ada was as soon as I heard her first name and saw her outfit. I mean the computers theme was already there, who else would she be? :D And I admittedly didn't know who Noor Inayat Khan was except in passing, but still. Little upset about the erased memories (Donna ;_; ), but I can see why the Doctor did it and like... this way, I'm glad they were able to avoid the implications of, "Ada only developed computing because she had already seen the future." Like people said that with Rosa Parks even though the Doctor said explicitly to only ensure there were enough seats filled and the act itself was all Rosa, so they may have wanted to play it safe.

I... really want to comment on how Ada definitely was crushing on the Doctor (and really, who wouldn't?), but she was a real person so I shall avoid those implications. (But really though!)

Doctor how many times have you been in someone's liver. This is some Magic School Bus Inside The Human Body bullshit and I love it.

Doctor's recording: "First of all, you're not gonna die! Second of all, don't talk back to the screens, obviously I'm a recording and I can't hear ya. Third, don't panic. Especially you, Graham."

Graham, panicking: "I'M NOT PANICKING!"

Doctor's recording: "Yes, you were! And I did just say, don't talk back to the screens!"

Graham: "????!?!!"

I want an entire series of the Master having a really infuriating seventy-seven years on Earth. Please.

Comments on continuity issues regarding that, "It's worse than Jodrell Bank!" "Did I ever apologise for that?" "No." "Good." exchange XD;; Like people are going, "Continuity error!! It was the Pharos Project, not Jodrell Bank!!" and like. Pharos was a project. Jodrell Bank is an observatory. You can do projects at observatories. Also, you can refer to projects by location, too. Am I referring to the Canberra Deep Space Communication Project or Tidbinbilla Station? Both! They refer to the same thing! In the Whoniverse, they likely did the Pharos Project at Jodrell Bank, and just had some lighthearted bantz about that time where the Master killed the Doctor, no biggie.

So, onwards to... an apparently unrelated episode for next week! Also, the Kassavin? Still there. Like. The Master only gave suggestions. They still have all those agents everywhere! They're still ready to act! And yeah, now they have the Master in their hands, so... I wonder if they'll make the Timeless Child a long, ongoing arc, and have the much more immediate threat of the Kassavin as the season finale?

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Orphan 55

Thoughts on Doctor Who - Orphan 55!

...whew.

First thought: anvilicious, but some anvils need to be dropped, because, uh, have you seen the world lately.

It feels like quite a brittle episode? Even beyond the immediate tension of 'there are large angry creatures trying to kill everyone', there's just this sense of... like, tension. There's the tension between Benni and Vilma, which at first is kind of a sweet tension then becomes a life-threatening and sad tension. There's the tension between Roger Parslow Silas and his dad, with Silas not being taken seriously (although I do think him running out while they're in life-threatening danger is a bit much). The obvious and major tension between Bella and Kane that drives the whole episode, yes.

And there's also the tension amongst Team TARDIS! The episode starts with the Doctor still in Some Kinda Way about last week, and I felt a bit of tension between Yaz and Ryan? She seemed rather unimpressed by Bella, at any rate. I do like how organic the relationship between Ryan and Graham feels, at least. "It ain't the aliens that are gonna kill me, it’s worrying about you!"

Set and costume building, I felt, was kind of... eh? I liked how Tranquility itself looked, but the tunnels looked Very Generic, and some of the looks I felt didn't really work. Silas and his dad's green hair just looked very obviously fake, and I saw a description of Hyph3n-with-a-three looking like a cross between a Jellicle Cat and John Candy in Spaceballs (which... yeah, honestly). And I'm not sure about the Dregs, although I did initially have the thought that whatever the original inhabitants of the planet were, they must have been humanoid was amusingly accurate...

"I just pulled this out of a friend of mine! >:("

"Oh! ...We do not make any judgments on our guests and fully support any way you choose to enjoy yourself here at Tranquility Spa! ^_^;;"

"... ... ...It wasn't recreational! o.O"

God you could feel Hyph3n-with-a-three's embarrassment...

"If I had crayons and half a can of Spam, I could build you from scratch!" Excuse me I am at least Tofurky.

Also a logical issue on the whole journey to find Benni, because frankly, it just wasn't... sensible. Okay, bring a kid. Father of the year right there. Okay, bring an old woman. Granted, she could have insisted because it was her man-friend they were looking for, but surely she would have known she would slow them down? Her 'heroic sacrifice' felt very wasted, because dammit, she could have survived if she had stayed in the Dome where it was at least a bit safer!

"At least three eighths of a plan, right here! ...Two eights. I'll be honest, all I've got is the letter 'P'..."

So the Doctor is almost at the point of passing out from oxygen loss but hang on, let her first indulge her curiosity...

The sheer existence of orphan planets is very depressing. The sheer fact that there's at least fifty-five is very depressing.

There's an interesting comment about how straight after discussion of the reveal, the first shot of the preview is the Statue of Liberty. Very Planet of the Apes! (No apes next time, just Tesla vs Edison!) Also feeling a strong connection to Midnight (stunning resort on dangerous planet with a very personal enemy), and I saw a comment about Thirteen unintentionally The-End-Of-The-World-ing the Fam (and making a connection between 'very angry trees' and the Forests of Cheem). Bit of Ravolox. Bit of... fuck what was it... Curse of Fenric.

Although, we know that the Earth will eventually be consumed by the sun, and it was done in a way that was like... it was its time. This was not its time, was a colossal fuck-up on a planetary scale (and the Doctor continues to be 'eat the rich'), but it's also only one potential future. Which is good, because that got dark. Even more than The End of the World, even more than Utopia, even more than fuckin' Frontios, because this is the near-future. The shots we saw of the destruction were modern day! That was the Dome of the Rock you saw getting bombed!

"Be smarter than what made you." PAGING THE GOVERNMENT...

Going to put it on a solid... maybe 7/10? Some really good elements in there, but also some clunkers, and unfortunately not a patch on the same writer's It Takes You Away, which was one of the strongest of the last season.

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Nikola Tesla’s Night of Terror

Thoughts on Doctor Who - Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror!

Opinion before episode: man, Tesla's cool. Opinion after episode: man, Tesla is fuckin' cool! :D That was a well-done personality-based historical, absolutely - I think it's my second-favourite personality-based historical only to Rosa (there are other pseudo-historical based ones set in the past that I love, but they're not personality-based; the Human Nature duology is a good example).

But yeah, Tesla just came across as a really, really cool character. Genius and he knew it, yes, and the real Tesla did have some questionable views (sexism, mostly), but otherwise the archetypal Idealistic Genius who wants to change the world for the better. Contrast with Edison, who was... a businessman. With, like, a really punchable face. Still pretty intelligent, but... very, very punchable. I've read about the Tesla-Edison feud before and always sided with Tesla, and let's face it, so did the writer XD

Good mix of character combinations - with a lot of characters, it's easy for someone to get sidelined, but this managed to handle Thirteen and the Fam, and Tesla, Dorothy, and Edison, pretty well. There were some neat combinations, like Ryan and Dorothy bonding over the sense of adventure, and Graham and Edison's confrontation; I also really loved the whole conversation between Thirteen and Tesla on the joy of just... creating. There's actually a very nice overlap between arts and sciences.

Antagonists - not bad? I feel a lot of people were expecting the Racnoss, and there was such a similarity that I would have liked at least a throwaway line about how the Skithra were related or something. Ooh man she definitely brought out Dark!Doctor, though. Teleporting the queen back to the ship, specifically so she can be fried? I mean, she might have survived it. Might. And just that fantastic little change of expression when the queen asks the Doctor if she's ever seen a dead planet before! Whittaker pulled that one off.

There's a very interesting compare and contrast between the Skithra and Edison, I found. Thirteen has her speech about how once the Skithra are gone, they won't be remembered. Caput. Forgotten. They left nothing behind. Compare and contrast to Edison, who was openly accused of using other people's work, but who's able to learn from his mistakes, end on an even(ish) setting with Tesla, and who does get remembered. Which kind of stings, honestly, if you look at Tesla's actual history.

Like. Apparently that, "The man just didn't understand the American sense of humour," line was an actual historical line, according to Tesla's own records. The absolute main reason for the difference in fame and recognition is that Tesla was a genius who didn't know how to market. Edison was a marketer who could invent a bit. So in conclusion Edison is a dick and Tesla needs more respect, the end.

Favourite lines and scenes:

Tesla: "Is - is this your own design?" Thirteen: "I made it! Mainly out of spoons! :D" Tesla: "You're an inventor! :D" Thirteen: "I have my moments." Tesla: "I knew it! So you... so, you can understand how it feels, you know, when you have an idea, and - and to make it real. I don't think there's any greater thrill!" Thirteen: "I couldn't agree more." Tesla: "You... you spoke of aliens. People here laugh at the very idea." Thirteen: "But not you." Tesla: "Well, apparently I'm not like other people. It can be difficult, you know, to feel no one else sees the world the way you do. It's like you're, uh..." Thirteen: "...out of place."

Graham: "Yeah, still. I bet you'd jump at the chance to have him back working for you, wouldn't ya?" Edison: "Yeah?" Graham: "Yeah!" Edison: "How d'you figure that?" Graham: "'Cause I had a supervisor like you at my old depot. And men like you don't pay a bloke that much attention unless you think there's a payout comin'."

Thirteen: "I wouldn't go killing me and Yaz. 'Cause Yaz... can tell you what this is." Yaz: "It's a camera!" Thirteen: "Bingo!" *FLASH!*

Edison: "I couldn't figure it out either." Tesla: "The internal dimensions transcend the external." Thirteen: *GRIN* Edison: ._.

Thirteen: "You do realise, it's killing Edison that they want you and not him? ;D"

Graham: "Don't worry. This ain't our first rodeo!" Ryan: "We've never been to a rodeo." Graham: "...you're not helping, Ryan..."

Thirteen: "And what are you queen of, exactly? A stolen ship and second-hand guns? A queen of shreds and patches. You're not a ruler, you're a parasite." Queen: "And what are you? So clever, stealing onto my ship, taking what I claim as mine. But where has it got you? No weapons. No armour. No escape. Just the desperate hope you might change my mind." Thirteen: "No, we are way past that. I gave you your chance." Queen: "A chance to be like you?" Thirteen: "A chance to evolve. But you were too stupid to take it. When you die, there'll be nothing left behind - just a trail of blood and other people's brilliance. No one will even know you existed."

(Side note: I love that this speech was actually in front of the companions. They're starting to see that things are Not Okay.)

Thirteen: "Don't give up." Yaz: "Whatever anyone says." Tesla: "Well, let them talk. The present is theirs. I work for the future... and the future is mine."

Favourite incorrect lines:

Thirteen and Tesla, firing at the ship: "VIBE CHECK!"

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Fugitive of the Judoon

I'M GONNA... NEED A HOT MOMENT TO PROCESS THAT...

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WELL I. UH. OKAY.

lmao I'm serious I don't even know where to begin.

Uh, some very disorganised comments on Doctor Who - Fugitive of the Judoon!

I squealed when I heard Jack's voice then saw him in the flesh. I gasped audibly when 'Ruth' broke the glass. I yelped when we saw the buried TARDIS. I MAY HAVE SCREAMED A LITTLE WHEN 'RUTH' INTRODUCED HERSELF.

(Also can we talk about her outfit. That was on point.)

I'm getting a very... very early vibe? She didn't know what the sonic screwdriver was, and that was introduced with Troughton. Since we saw the Hartnell-Troughton regeneration, she must be pre-Hartnell? Maybe a Doctor whose memories were rewritten to the point that they thought the Hartnell incarnation was the earliest? Not to mention that was a pretty old-school-looking TARDIS!

Alternatively, maybe between Troughton and Pertwee? Either option has some inconsistency - if she's post Troughton, she should have known what the sonic was, although it admittedly did look very different. Plus, her TARDIS is already its police box shape, which was implied to have set in the junkyard. Also, we never actually do see the regeneration between Two and Three, and it could explain why Gallifrey was after her - she escaped after her trial after The War Games!

Definitely early, though.

Alternatively alternatively, Thirteen actually does say 'time is swirling around me'. Maybe an alternate timeline. Something to tie back to the Timeless Child?

"I've lived for thousands of years, so long I've lost count. I've had so many faces. How long have you known me? You don't know me. Not even a little bit."

That wasn't just aimed at the companions. I feel that was aimed at the Doctor themself.

(Related: the response from the fam was flat-out beautiful. Doesn't matter who she was or who she'll be. They know her now, and they love her.)

Just. Wow. Wow.

Really cool note from Twitter - disguised name was Ruth Clayton. Ruth = 'friend, companion'. Clayton = 'of the Earth'. She literally named herself 'friend of the Earth'.

"You're probably a bit confused right now."

I mean. Yeah. Confused and intrigued and what.

"Don't do points! I do points! Points are my thing!"

Jack. Jack. Smooching Graham, hitting on all the companions, getting into Shenanigans! The Lone Cyberman - I wonder if that's a totally different crisis that isn't even related to the current Gallifrey-Timeless Child one? The more important part is Jack's presence - the presence of another time traveller with a... unique relationship with the universe. The actual warning could be a red herring, but Jack showing up anywhere in the first place is a sign that something is happening with time?

Orphan 55 had a timeline that may or may not have been the 'real' one. Being only a potential future kind of doesn't work with what we know of established DW continuity, so I'm liking the 'alternate timeline' theory, maybe?

Ryan: "I liked him. Kind of cheesy."

Yaz: "But good cheesy."

Thirteen, smiling: "That's Jack."

Graham just standing there going, "He kissed me tho? ...Wasn't bad, actually."

"Is she safe?" Jack, honestly, is she ever safe?

"When she needs me... I'll be there." Oh yeah, he's so coming back later this season.

Also, Judoon, chameleon arch, the Master, Jack - getting big season 29 vibes here and that's a big thumbs up for me because that's my favourite season. We just need Martha to make an appearance now!

...hehe honestly, between Jodie's entire existence, and now, in the span of five episodes, introducing Dhawan!Master, Gat, and now Jo Martin as the first black female Doctor, and reintroducing Jack, one of the most overtly and openly queer characters on the series, the 'Doctor Who is too PC!' bunch are going to be so mad XD

"A platoon of Judoon... near the moon." / "Look at you, your platoon of Judoon near the... that lagoon..."

Man. The close-up in the very first shot of the watch. Nice tie-in.

"The Doctor never uses weapons!" "I know! Shut up! >.>"

Where do the Kasaavin come into play? Is this something they've done by integrating themselves throughout time and space? Maybe they're fraying the fabric?

My mind is blown. I can't wait for the rest of this season :D

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[Part 2 - Praxeus to The Timeless Children]