#an ao3 is great but it's literally just an archive it is *not* meant to be a gathering place

[surrexi]

kids these days are so weird, in my day we got into fandom specifically to make friends with people by sharing and interacting with the fanworks we made

Basically, I realized that when people recommend fics, they are often tagging the author's Tumblr as well.

I haven't been doing this (I do tag the author in the actual tags, though) because frankly it's often hard to track down what the Tumblr handle is if it's not identical to the ao3 username (and they might not be active or take it as spamming). So I was wondering whether authors have a preference. (Based on my blog, I am primarily interested in writers who publish codywan fics, but anyone can vote!)

Please feel free to elaborate on your answers in the replies/reblogs!

[olderthannetfic]

I used to think books with "bestseller" labels must be great and that they're the books I should try reading but now that people are getting popular through social media first before their books even release made me think otherwise. People seem to be buying the book like it's celebrity merch. The books could still be good but I now read multiple reviews especially negative ones which has lists of what they think is not good about the books. When I see "bestseller" now I just think "A lot of people bought this." but also ask "Did they like it though?".

Question though: you think "bestseller" label in published books is equivalent to kudos or hits on fics? I mean there's a filter to see items listed that way and there are people who base their fic reading list to it.

--

*snickering*

Okay, the thing you have to understand about 'bestseller' as a term is that it's time-dependent.

It's not just kudos: it's kudos in the first 24 hours. It's movie profits on opening weekend.

This shit means literally nothing if you're consuming the art even six months later, never mind after a decade.

--

I think it's stupid as fuck to sort AO3 by kudos unless you're just researching what gets a lot of kudos. I think having this as a default behavior encourages bullies to force targets into archive-locking (which almost invariably reduces kudos and hits) and penalizes authors who don't waste a lot of time trying to game the system. I also don't think it's actually effective for finding good fic.

But buying books based on bestseller status is even dumber because all it means is that a book was marketed correctly to have all its sales in the same week.

Here's someone's attempt to explain. He estimates that you need to sell only 5,000-10,000 copies in a single week to make it on one of the NYT lists.

There are a few other quirks to it, but... yeah... 5k copies in a slow week. Nationwide in the US. For something released by a big publisher with reach. Counting pre-orders if it's the very first week.

And then you get to put "NYT Bestseller" on the cover forever even if it never sold more than those 5k preorders.

Forget booktok promoting garbage: if the numbers are really this low, then "bestseller" meant absolutely nothing for years and years before modern social media.

It's not even cumulative like kudos are. If they mean that, they label it with "Over blahdy-blah million copies sold", not "bestseller".

Like with kudos, the only time this is really useful is if you're chasing buzz. If you want to know what other people are making noise about this week, then yes, you should check out the current bestseller.

It is okay to chase buzz, especially if you are a book blogger and trying to keep your audience up to date on what's going on in publishing! Just be aware that that's what you're doing.

If you want a book that will be culturally relevant for longer than five minutes or a book that is well-written or a book that is to your taste, you should look for some other method of book discovery.

And hey, you might end up with that very same bestseller! It might be a great book, actually. It's just that the "bestseller" status isn't what tells you that.

[gentil-minou]

AO3 has gotten hit with AI data scraping programs already, it’s possible that any fic you’ve posted that isn’t locked has already been trained on, it’s why there’s been several people who would’ve never done it otherwise archive locking their stuff recently

Oh yeah I know that I still have to lock my fics but this last reblog about a reader putting a story in chatgpt themselves to generate a fake ending is waaaaaaay worse in my opinion.

Like look, I know when I put anything out on the internet that someone somewhere is gonna take it and pretend its theres or share it without my permission. It's already happened to me with my analyses in the past. When I heard about the software being scrubbed I was sad but not surprised, it really was only a matter of time but there was little I or any other writer could do to stop that (whether AO3 could have is an entirely different matter)

But to me a person reading my unfinished fic and going "wow this is great but I want more I'll put this in chatgpt to get more instantly!" is actually SOOOOOOOO fucking insulting. That person is bascially saying they don't view me as another being but as a person meant to entertain. They're saying that the hours and tears and all that time spent writing was not actually that valuable because look a machine can do it just as well and faster!

That person is so egregiously wrong and selfish. They are no better than the dudebros who scrubbed the internet in the first place. They're worse because they KNOW it's not okay and yet choose to ignore that. They're worse because they're taking something that is very obviously very personal to the author and then saying "nah i want a machine to finish it cause im too impatient or don't care what the author thinks'

Writing is so goddamn hard but writers write for a reason. We write for you and for us and for the fandom and fic writers do it for FREE and yet that isnt enough? How are people who use chatgpt to write fic any different from people who steal art and feed artificial art generators? What's the point of me writing any more or ever why should anyone write if a machine is more valuable than me, a human being.

There's no excuse that makes this okay. NONE. If you do this unfollow me and do yourself and literally everyone else in the world a favor and DO LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE. GOD.

[scrypticmetal]

Rebuilt

Chapter 1

Synopsis: You are the current owner of Fazbear Entertainment and founder of Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex. After finally striking gold and basking in your success, a new location, Fredbear’s Frights, pops up. As more rumors spread of your affiliation with the sorry excuse for a horror attraction, you set off to sabotage the buisness before it can even open its doors.

(Warning: Alternate Universe, the timeline is ALL OVER THE PLACE.)

Reader is a 43 year old trans man but the gender is left relatively open for the most part

Also posted on ao3!:

You jammed the crowbar into the window, cramming it open. The window creaked in defiance, giving you a damn hard time. You had to kick the thing open. Finally, you opened it enough to squeeze yourself into the building.

This stupid horror attraction has done nothing but cause you trouble since it opened. You promised the public since day one you weren’t here to make fun of the lives lost and this fucker was screwing it up for you COMPLETELY. News reporters somehow mistaking this as one of your projects even though this place wasn’t even affiliated with Fazbear Entertainment!

TWO MONTHS AGO

You sat at your long desk, cluttered with notepads and sticky notes reminding you of everything that’s due. You procrastinated paying most of the buisness expenses and now you were paying the price… Literally and figuratively. All the tiny numbers on the computer screen were practically making you go crosseyed.

A knock at the door disturbs you from your work. One more minor inconvenience and you’re going to go ballistic, you groan internally.

“Come in!” you yell.

In steps Brandon. He’s a college student who’s been interning down at the workshop, watching the work that gets done on the animatronics. However, he doesn’t do any of the real repairs. All maintenance employees go through very strict training before being allowed to handle the animatronics.

You wheel your desk chair away from the monitor, “Brandon, what a surprise! What’s up?”

“I don’t mean to bother you Mr. Bossman, but I’ve got a wicked idea. What you got goin on here is great, but the people itch for more! I think we can make a totally wicked haunted house type thing. It’ll have all the old relics and-”

“No.” You cut him off before he keeps going.

“Whaatt? I thought you were all about innovation and new ideas man?”

“Fazbear Entertainment™️ is not going to capitalize on the death of others.”

“That’s not- that’s not what I’m trying to do man” he holds his hands up in protest.

You cross your arms on the table, rolling your eyes. “It’s not what you MEANT to do, but that is what you’re doing. Treating REAL deaths like a cheap horror thrill.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth, man!”

“I’m not going to entertain this conversation any longer, Brandon. Get back to work.” You sigh, sliding your chair back behind the monitor.

“I’m not going back to work because-” You hear a click noise and Brandon’s name tag smacks onto the middle of your keyboard. “I QUIT!!”

You look up at Brandon unamused. Is this supposed to be a threat? As if you’ll actually care that his mediocre ass is headed elsewhere. You had engineering students from just about every state begging for a position at the pizzaplex.

Brandon goes to storm out but then it hits you. You stand up out of your chair, peeking over the monitor, “WAIT!”

Brandon crosses his arms and stops, turning around with a smug look.

“If you use Fazbear Entertainment’s name for anything related to that attraction, I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth.” You glare at him.

Brandon’s face falls and he leaves without another word. The door clicks shut behind him and you sink back into your chair.

“He’s going to get a rude awakening” you laugh quietly to yourself.

From the day you got your hands on this company, everyone was trying to paint you out to be the bad guy. You saw the vision for what Fazbear’s could be! You had nothing to do with murder! But you were only let off the hook for one reason only: you yourself were a victim. You were able to get the news on your side as someone who could understand where the people were coming from. But Brandon doesn’t have any honorable ties to vouch for his cause. They’ll cancel his ass before he can even open for business. Maybe you’ll have to keep your eyes peeled on Twitter for news about this.

CURRENT TIME

"It felt depraved; busting into this sad excuse for a haunted house. You slipped through he window, dropping to the floor with a hard thud.

Groaning, you push yourself up off the dusty ground.

"I'm getting too old for this shit."

You hear your own whining bounce and reverberate off the dusty, cold concrete lining the inside of the complex.

You try to dust off the grime from your face but it sticks to your sweat. You get back up on your feet and wander around. This place is so gross. The first thing you notice about this place is the smell. It’s wet and muggy and smells like pure rot. Everything has this weird greenwash. Sure, the vibes are creepy, but what’s scarier is how much of a health violation this place is. “Aaandd that’s mold” you shine your flashlight at the wall. Black vines of mold reach from the floor up to the ceiling.

You put the flashlight in your back pocket and fish out the latex gloves you brought with you. You are NOT touching anything in here with your bare hands.

Wandering from room to room, you can’t help but stop to check out every artifact Brandon had managed to scrounge up. He had some legit stuff buried among a sea of fakes. You were honestly surprised at the dedication to find this stuff. (And the balls. You tried you very best to stay FAR away from the previous locations)

Something shifts behind you and you whip around to see what the noise was from. You’re greeted with an empty hallway. “Tch, this place probably has rats too.” You mumble, turning back around.

A foxy mask at the opposite end of the hallway stops you in your tracks. You walk up, taking the mask off the light fixture and examining the inside of the head. Yeah, damn it’s official too. “Long time no see bud” you chuckle, twisting the mask to face you.

“I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got bigger fish to fry right now, Captain.”

You wobble on your tippy toes trying to put the foxy head back on the light.

You continue wandering around, the place is pretty lack luster. Actually this place is really boring; the scare factor wore off pretty quickly. Maybe you have nothing to worry about. If Twitter doesn’t get this place shut down, the health department will surely get his ass.

A long ear-piercing clang of metal scraping metal reverberates down the hall. You nearly hurt your neck from how quickly you turn around. A hunched over rabbit animatronic grabs onto the wall, head hung low. Its neck cranes up with a loud creak. He looks like a mangled Bonnie…of sorts? Its shoulder cocks sideways unnaturally as it shifts its weight on the hand grasping at the wall. Before you can react, it dashes towards you at a terrifying speed. You screech, attempting to run from the beast.

His hand yanks you by your arm, crashing you into his metal frame. Everything goes in a blur as you’re whipped around to face him and slammed against the wall. His rough jagged hands contract around your neck, lifting you off the ground. You flail hour legs, trying to kick at his shoulders.

“Wait- WAIT” you plead. You want to say more but you can’t choke another word out.

To your surprise his hands relented their iron grip, but stayed firmly around your neck. He’s cognizant! Maybe you can reason with this thing!

Your cough and wheeze, trying to catch your breath. His putrid stench was overwhelming your senses, suffocating every jagged breath you take. “I can get you out of here” you say in between coughs. God… you can taste the coppery rot in your mouth. Your shoulders shake as you fight back from dry heaving.

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you.

“It’s cruel keeping you here like this. They’re treating you like an animal in a zoo! I can get you away from this trashheap!” He stares at you blankly. No response. Think of something else! “Better yet, I can fix this” you thud your knuckle against his tattered arm.

“New suit, new life, sounds like a steal to me” you feel like you’re in the investment room again, bumbling like an idiot to try to sell your idea.

His left hand lets go of your neck, clanking his knuckles against his torso, “There’s no fixing this” his gravely voice seethes.

“Oh god no!” you laugh nervously. “It’ll be a new suit entirely. New endo, new casing, it’ll have all the bells and whistles you could possibly desire!” Of course, everything comes with a catch, “But you have to promise not to kill me” you claw your nails against the hand still squeezing against your neck. It ain’t much of a catch; he’s getting all the benefits here!What more could he want?!!

His hand still stays firmly planted, scraping against your skin, “Who the fuck are you supposed to be exactly?”

Tough crowd…

“(Y/n) (L/n), Fazbear Entertainment’s current owner and overseeing repairman for the California branch” you slide your hand into your back pocket, slipping your buisness card out of your wallet. You wave the colorful card in front of him. He snatches the paper with his free hand, examining it closely with squinted eyes. You watch the lights of his eyes glide from side to side.

He looks back at you quizzically. “You? You’re the owner?” His face is unreadable but you could hear him holding back laughter.

“Yes” the corner of your mouth twitches in annoyance.

A loud gargled wheeze emits from him, making you jump. He chokes out a booming laugh, losing his composure making his hand slide you down the wall, finally letting you plant your feet back on the ground.

He covers his mouth with his hand, still choking out short laughs. He looks at you again and booms with laughter again. It’s a deep throaty laugh that rattles his shoulders. You sit there watching him in irritation.

“Ok, ok,” he wheezes through stifled laughs, attempting to… catch his breath?… he straightens back up, meeting your eyes again.

“If you’re the owner…” he stops and thinks, “Then why am I here?” He gestures at the building. His hand closes in on your neck again.

“Fredbear’s Frights isn’t affiliated with Fazbear entertainment!” You speak in a panic, trying to reason with him again before he chokes you out again.

“I have nothing to do with this place. This place is barely legal to begin with! He got this place through stupid fucking loopholes in copyright laws!” you blabber.

“If you’re not affiliated, then why are you here?”

Christ, he’s is just like everyone else: painting you out to be the bad guy. HE’S the bad guy here!! He’s fucking psycho!!!!

“Everyone’s trying to blame me for this stupid sorry fucking excuse of a haunted house! Copy-write laws be damned, I need this place GONE.” you wrangle against his grip like a fish out of water. Your patience is running thin. Can’t he just take your offer?!

“If you’re lying to me. Know that I will find you.” He flicks your buisness card in your face before releasing his grip on your neck. Your knees buckle under the sudden weight. Rubbing your sore neck, you take in a deep breath, savoring the feeling of being able to breathe normally again.

You straighten out your button-up shirt,

“Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?”

He hums and walks toward the direction he crawled out of earlier. You follow carefully behind him.

“I never got a name for you.” You speed up, getting in front of him, walking backwards as you keep talking. “I can’t say I recognize this suit’s model. It looks antique.”

he rolls his eyes, putting on a mocking tone, “Shouldn’t you already know. Since you’re the owner and all”

“Well you’re obviously not Bonnie. He’s purple. And you’re not springbonnie. He’s yellow. Not really sure what other bunny animatronics there are to compare you to.”

“Firstly, Bonnie is not purple. He’s blue.” He corrects. You go to open your mouth but puts his index over your mouth to shush you. Ew ew ewww, his finger touched your tongue. The fur was crusty but damp at the same time.

“But you were almost there. Springbonnie would be correct.” He huffs.

“See, I know what I’m talking abou-“ you trip over stray boxes in the hallway, falling flat on your back with your arms sprawled out.

The animatronic steps into your view. His ear flops as he looks down to face you. That permanent jagged smile on his maw suddenly feels so smug. “Yeah, you seem to know exaaactly what you’re doing” he mocks.

You have to fight yourself from telling him to fuck off. You’re quick to get back up on your feet. All this falling and being thrown around is going to kill you tomorrow…

Finally, you reach the storage room. It’s a bit of a stuffy room. Most of the space is taken up by the metal table in the middle. And on the top left, there’s a squatty window just wide enough that you could squeeze through.

“So,” you sit down on the stool by the table, “Springbonnie —can I call you Springs?”

“Springtrap” he sits down across from you.

“What?”

“I go by springtrap”

“……..caaan I call you Springs?”

“No.” he deadpans.

“Okay, Springtrap. So, I’d like to lay a couple ground rules down first before we begin. I’d like to remind you of our deal that while you get a new body and a life outside of here, you cannot kill me or hurt me in any way.“

“I know”

“Just confirming” you shrug. Better safe than sorry, especially when it’s your own life on the line here.

“So we have a standard endoskeleton model that-”

Springtrap waves his hand to get your attention, “let me stop you there. This isn’t going to be any standard procedure.” He circles his hand around his chest.

“In case you haven’t noticed, hotshot, I’m not a robot. My corpse is part OF the suit.” He continues to talk to you like you’re stupid.

“Well, you sure as hell smell like a dead body, so I already figured.” You grimace.

“Actually, I would like to see what I’m working with, if you don’t mind?”

“Take me out to dinner before you ask to poke around my insides, freak.” He jests.

You bite back a laugh. He’s pissed you off way too many times for you to laugh at his joke.

He’s still chuckling to himself when you get to his side of the table. “Can I?” You point your flashlight down at his chest cavity.

Springtrap hesitantly nods. You flash the light inside the large gash in his chest.

It doesn’t help that your vision here is limited, but you can barely tell where his corpse stops and the endoskeleton begins. You knew the basics about the springlocks but you’d never actually encountered on of these suits in person before. This was total foreign territory to you. In a morbid way, you were intrigued. How fascinating that his body was still somewhat in tact. His chest still rises and falls taking ragged breaths. He breathes.

Your brain starts to pile with questions. How does he function? What all is still in tact? His intestines billow around his hips, hanging loosely. Can he eat? You can’t help but squish one of the intestines lightly. Suddenly, Springtrap grabs at your wrist, yanking it as far up as he can without popping your shoulder out of place. “Did I say you could touch me?” He seethes in your face; his nasty breath clouding up in your nostrils.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to overstep” you yelp.

He drops your wrist. Your body is really taking a beating today huh? It’ll be a miracle if you aren’t bedbound tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow…

“I do have to inform you that unfortunately my time today is limited. I have work tomorrow and it’s quite a drive from here to the Pizzaplex. I hate to cut things so short but I do have a couple more questions before I leave!”

“Pizzaplex?”

“I can explain that tomorrow.” You wave him off. “But, I do need to know what exactly you’re looking for in a remodel. As I was saying before, we have a standard endoskeleton that can fit a variety of body types. You can choose whichever casing you like best. The color choice is of course up to you, and you can even change your animal if you wanna really switch things up!”

“I’ll stick with the yellow rabbit.”

“Suit yourself” you shrug.

“What do you mean by different body types? Do you have examples?” He crosses his legs and leans in closer.

You take out your phone, scrolling through your gallery for a good picture of the fazgang. Finally, you land on a picture from not too long ago. It was one of the work parties held for your assistant repair overseer, Ryan. He’d worked for the company back in the 80s but retired back in early June. You and Ryan are posed in front of the main four. Freddy is hugging both you and Ryan, Monty is throwing up the rock and roll hands with his tongue out, Roxy was slaying, and chica was being her bubbly self.

You show him the phone, watching his reaction. He freezes for a minute but then takes the phone, putting it super close to his face.

“Did you make them?” He asks bewildered.

“Yeah- well. I’ve had some help here and there but yeah, the designs are mine. Pretty cool right?” You give a smile. A genuine smile this time. They were your proudest work.

“where’s the fox?” He quizzes.

“Long story.”

“Where’s Bonnie?”

You cringe, “Even longer story”

“I’m not seeing anything I want personally. Do you have anything a little less…” he motions a very exaggerated version of the glamrock’s dorito shape.

“You’re asking for something custom?”

“Yes.”

You sigh, “you drive a very hard bargain, you know that?”

“I know what I want.” He shrugs.

“What is this thing anyways?” He waves your phone that he still held in his hand.

“That would be my phone.”

“THIS? This is a phone?? You can take pictures on this?”

“It can do a lot more than that.” You laugh.

His absence of technical knowledge was somewhat refreshing actually. Usually, you’re forced into rooms with insufferable tech bros most of the time.

“When did they start making these? What….” He goes quiet for a moment, “What year is it exactly?” He looks at you with genuine concern.

You raise your eyebrows. He’s really never seen anything remotely close to this, huh? You hold your hand out, gesture for him to hand your phone back. He plops it back into your palm. Glancing at the time, 5:25. It’s getting way too late…

“What year do you think it is?”

Springtrap sits, thinking, “I’d guess maybe… 1999?”

“Ohhh you’ve got a lot to catch up on… it’s 2024”

Springtrap’s eyes go wide and his jaw goes slack, revealing what’s left of his skull behind the mask. This is the first time you’ve seen him express an emotion beyond anger and entitlement.

“I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions. Think of all you wanna ask and I’ll have all your answers tomorrow. I do apologize but it really is getting late.” You almost feel bad for leaving him to sit in shell shock like this. Almost…. Actually, he deserves it after how he’s treated you all night.

Before leaving the room, you realize you never asked what time would be best to meet again, “How does 11:00 pm sound for tomorrow?”

“I can only free roam from 12 am to 6 am” he mumbles.

“Damn, that sucks. 12 it is then!” You turn around and leave, waving without looking back at him.

12 works better for you, one less hour you have to spend looking at his ugly mug.

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] Also on AO3 and my personal website.

Chapter 3: For once I dreamed of you

The old bat had left her office door unlocked. And more importantly, she’d left her papers out.

Well. Okay. That was a bit of a stretch. The door wasn’t so much unlocked as it was shockingly easy to pick, and the papers hadn’t so much been out as easily eventually located under several empty folders in a drawer that came open with only a little bit of jiggling and finagling. But, come on. For Gertrude Robinson, that was practically leaving the doors wide open with a big sign that said FREE TO A GOOD HOME pointing directly at the papers.

Well…maybe not. Not when nobody came down to the Archives when she wasn’t in except for Gerard, and he’d said he wouldn’t be back until Tuesday.

Not his fault he’d been too keyed up to wait and taken an earlier train back.

Maybe a little his fault.

Gerard hummed to himself as he turned the pages over. They seemed to relate to a statement of some kind; while the actual statement didn’t seem to be anywhere in them, he could kind of piece together the gist of it just based on the research. It was something to do with an eighteenth-century automaton that turned out to be a hoax, and something to do with a Hungarian theater, and something to do with an unremarkable man, probably the statement-giver. All taken together, it suggested something of the Stranger, maybe a previous attempt at the Unknowing. Gertrude had obviously been making notes, highlighting, underlining, scribbling in the margins, but what was unusual—at least as far as he could see—was that she had crossed most of her notes out. The crosses started out neat and precise, but he started to notice that more and more of them were stricken hastily in a vicious, almost excited slash. He had trouble with her handwriting at the best of times, and the edits made it harder.

Nevertheless, he persisted.

One note he could read delighted him. MEM: If he survives, bonus/raise? Gerard didn’t exactly draw a paycheck from the Institute, and Gertrude rarely favored him with more than he paid for any books he acquired for her, and it didn’t feel great to know she had such a low opinion of him that she thought he’d get killed by the idiot that had previously owned this one. But the idea of a bonus was promising. He put a big, cheeky check mark next to the note and went on.

“Excuse me, this part of the Institute isn’t open to the public.”

Gerard did not yelp in surprise. He did not toss the papers in his hand like they were electrified. He did not shove back from Gertrude’s desk so quickly that the chair toppled over backwards, taking him with it to the floor. He did not crack his head so hard on the floor that he saw stars and temporarily lost the ability to breathe.

He couldn’t have done any of those things, because that would have meant that he looked not only highly suspicious but deeply uncool in front of the objectively hot man looking down at him with a combination of bafflement and concern, and surely the universe didn’t hate him that much.

“Then what are you doing here?” he asked as soon as he had enough air to speak, as if he was in any position—literally or metaphorically—to make that kind of challenge.

“I work here.” The man held out a hand to assist him off the floor.

Gerard ignored it, as much as he wanted to take it, and rolled to his feet with as much dignity as he could manage. “Did you need something from Ms. Robinson?”

“Did you?” the man countered. “I don’t think she’s in right now—I’m not entirely sure where she is, actually, just that she’s out—but maybe I can help you with whatever it is?”

“Uh.” Gerard thought fast. Whoever this man was, assuming he did actually work for the Institute, he shouldn’t be down here. Unless this was Elias Bouchard, whom Gerard had never met—with good reason—but he looked awfully young for that. Also, if Gerard had managed to get himself caught by Elias Bouchard, Gertrude would…actually, he didn’t know what she would do to him, but it definitely wouldn’t be pleasant. She didn’t suffer fools gladly and had a low tolerance for failure, and she’d been emphatic about him keeping well away from Elias when he came to the Archives. Still, whoever this was, Gerard would have to have a reason to be here, and a reason to get him out of the Archivist’s office.

He gestured at the papers still scattered over the desk, hoping the man wouldn’t look at them too closely. “I, uh—statement.”

The man glanced briefly at the papers, then up at Gerard with a single raised eyebrow. “You don’t look much like an expert in eighteenth-century Hungarian theater. Or eighteenth-century Hungarian, for that matter. So I’m not sure why you’re helping with this one.”

Shit. Well, time for another lie, one that could probably pass muster. Gerard gave the man what he hoped was a disarming grin. “Look, cards on the table, eh, mate? I’m her grandson. Just back from a trip to the continent, so I thought I’d pop in and see her, say hello, you know? I wasn’t supposed to be back until next week, so I reckoned I’d surprise her. Didn’t expect to find anyone down here.”

The man relaxed, but only marginally. “Been gone a while, have you?”

“Couple months,” Gerard hazarded. It had actually only been about a week and a half he’d been off on this trip, but something told him that wouldn’t be long enough.

“That explains it. I only started working for her in September.” The man held out his hand again. “Tim Stoker. Archival Assistant.”

He smiled. He really did have a nice smile—white teeth and a mischievous dimple and lines around his eyes that suggested he laughed more than frowned. Gerard’s own smile relaxed in response as he accepted the hand and shook it. “Gerard Keay. Rare book dealer.”

“Nice to meet you, Gerard.” Tim ran a hand through his hair and stifled a yawn. “Sorry. Just woke up from a nap…where were you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Germany. Black Forest region. Gentleman there had a collection of rare maps and atlases.” Gerard shrugged. “I got a few, but…not sure what they’re worth. They’re not the kind of rare books I usually deal with.”

“May I see?” Tim asked. “If you don’t mind showing me.”

That…was probably a bad idea. Gerard tried to look skeptical rather than nervous. “Know a lot about German geography?”

“No, but I know books.” Tim gave him a crooked grin. “First in Anthropology. And I worked in publishing before I came to the Institute.”

Curiosity overcame caution. Not completely—Gerard was smart enough not to pull out the book with Leitner’s bookplate carefully affixed to the inside, the title of which he couldn’t interpret—but he did extract the other three and hand them over. Tim took them with the reverence of a bibliophile and handled them with the respect of a historian. He examined the bindings and conditions of the covers, murmuring to himself as he did so. If he was telling the truth about working for Gertrude, and the jury was still out on that, she’d managed to get a good one.

He set the books gently on the desk, then picked up one and opened it carefully. The familiar scent of an old book wafted up from its pages, with none of the stale malice Gerard was accustomed to smelling in Leitners—it might have been his imagination, but he’d smelled it a time or two in books that didn’t have the label and they’d wound up being evil too. Tim studied the inside page for a moment. He frowned slightly, then gave Gerard a sharp look. “How much did you pay for this?”

“About eight thousand pounds for all four. I think.” Gerard was keenly literate but reluctantly numerate, and he’d never been able to hold exchange rates in his head for as long as it took him to turn away from the posted signs at the airport or bank counter.

“You could get twice that for just this one, at a conservative guess. Look.” Tim angled the book towards him. “See this printer’s mark here? This was an experimental printing press that made movable print blocks with geographic features and shorelines and such, then tried to put them together into coherent maps. They weren’t quite as helpful as a hand-drawn one, or a custom-drawn one, but they were pretty damn close, especially for the time. There aren’t a lot of these still surviving.”

Despite himself, Gerard was impressed. “Out of curiosity, how lost would you be if you tried to follow them?”

“Today? Extremely. Even back then, you’d probably be better off staying inland. The coastline wouldn’t look right. But not any worse off than most other common maps of the time.” Tim gingerly turned a page. “Your guy didn’t know what he had. Or you’re an amazingly shrewd bargainer.”

“I dress up when I’m dealing with clients.” Fudging the truth a bit. Gerard could clean up well enough, and every once in a while would dust off a nice suit if he needed to, but it was mostly for charity events or the like. Charming old ladies was surprisingly easier the rattier he looked.

Tim tossed him a grin. “Yeah, you look like the tails and opera cloak type.”

“Hey,” Gerard said, starting to be offended. Then he spotted the sincerity—and appreciation—in Tim’s eyes and realized he meant it.

Oh, hell. He was too old to blush like a schoolgirl just because a cute boy paid him a compliment.

Not that he could ever remember a cute boy paying him a compliment. Tim was actually probably the youngest person he’d ever had a sustained conversation with. Gerard mostly lusted after hot men, women, and people of indeterminate gender from a distance, even more so since he’d got out of prison, and satisfied his needs and desires with nameless, faceless partners at clubs that catered to such things. Low lights, loud music, and the kind of silent communication that was really, really easy to willfully misinterpret. He’d been hurt badly a time or two, but at least he never needed to see who did the hurting.

Tim set the rare tome aside and picked up another, and Gerard took the opportunity to study him more closely. He looked like a pretty typical academic, understandable if he’d been in publishing before stepping into the ivory tower of the Institute, but there was something…fun about him. Something that spoke of farmers’ markets and swap meets and bazaars, but also of forest tracks and river paths and mountain trails. He was an explorer, but not an adventurer—not usually a risk-taker—which made it all the odder he was in the Archives. If he’d come down here thinking it was safe…Gerard got a bit of a sinking feeling. He probably didn’t know about the Fourteen.

Which didn’t make sense. Surely Gertrude wouldn’t have kept him in the dark. Surely she wasn’t that cruel.

And—no, there it was, so faint he’d almost missed it. It wasn’t the mark of something following him, necessarily, more of a shadow, but Tim had racked up at least one encounter with the Stranger, maybe more. But a contract from the Institute, while it didn’t guarantee safety, at least afforded him a measure of the Eye’s protection. If nothing else, it would keep him under observation and let Gertrude, or someone, know if the Stranger came for him again. That was good.

Beyond that, his observations confirmed his initial assessment. Tall, or at least close to Gerard’s height, good-looking in a way that wasn’t at all self-conscious, with a ready smile and very sharp eyes. Gerard had never been good at any kind of casual conversation, let alone making actual friends, but something about Tim made him want to try.

“These are both late nineteenth century,” Tim said, bringing Gerard back to reality. “At least I can confidently say you didn’t overpay for them if you bought them with this other one, but honestly, they’re the Edwardian equivalent of pulp. They’re in good enough condition, but you’d have to find a pretty specialized collector to get more than a couple hundred pounds for both.” He set them down. “You said you bought four?”

“I did?” Gerard panicked slightly. Oh, there was no way he’d let a pair of sapphire eyes and a dimple he could lose his finger in charm him into tipping his hand, was there? If there was a God, a supreme head of the universe, He was definitely laughing at Gerard right about then.

On the other hand…well, he was Gertrude’s assistant. He had to know what Leitners were, right? He’d be careful. Gerard reached for his bag again.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Gerard?”

For the second time that day, Gerard almost leaped out of his skin. At least this voice was one he was expecting…kind of…but that didn’t mean it didn’t startle him. He managed to keep the guilty look off his face as he blinked up at Gertrude Robinson’s unimpressed expression.

Before he could come up with a glib answer, though, Tim gave her a wry smile. “Lying through his teeth, and badly at that. But if you do actually know him, I won’t go looking for security unless you want me to.”

“No need for that. Yet.” Gertrude shot Gerard a warning glance before turning back to Tim. “Are you rested?”

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me use the cot.” Tim moved towards the door. “If you don’t need me, I’m going to go pack that up before I get started for the day.”

“It’s Saturday, but the library should be open. Diana usually has someone helping her with cataloging on Saturday mornings. Find out what they have on the Circus of the Other,” Gertrude instructed, then, uncharacteristically, tacked on, “Please.”

Tim looked momentarily disorientated, but nodded. “Do you need them in English?”

“Unless you read Russian.”

“Only the basics, really.”

“Well, that’s better than I can. If there are any in Russian, do see what you can do with them.”

“I will. Thanks.” Tim gave Gerard a wink and a cheeky grin. “Nice to meet you, Gerard. Try not to scream too loud.” He rapped twice on the frame of the door and was gone.

Gertrude waited a few minutes, arms crossed over her chest, then raised an eyebrow disapprovingly at Gerard. “What did you tell him?”

“Told him I was your grandson.” Gerard suppressed a smirk at the small harrumph she made at that. “And that I’m a book dealer who was meeting a client with rare atlases. I did try at first to say I was doing a statement, before I knew who he was, but—”

“He’s far more perceptive than he appears,” Gertrude said. “And he has a talent for this kind of work.”

“How long’s he been with you?” Gerard, despite himself, was curious.

Gertrude’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Since the beginning of September. Ordinarily when I know you are coming, I come up with a reason to get him out of the Archives.”

The censure in her voice was palpable. Gerard shifted slightly uneasily. “I got what I went for. Waiting around another three days didn’t make much sense to me, so I grabbed an express train early. I didn’t expect anyone to be here on a Saturday.”

“Then why come here? Why not wait until Monday?”

“Well, you’re not anyone. You’re always here, I just thought—”

“And my office?” Gertrude interrupted. She scowled at the papers scattered on the desk. “Did you find anything interesting?”

“Yeah. I found your assistant,” Gerard said pointedly. “Or he found me, anyway. I figured it would be better than waiting in the middle of the Archives.”

Gertrude’s eyes narrowed further. “He’s right. You are a terrible liar.”

“I am a fantastic liar,” Gerard said, offended. “You just know too much.”

“Gerard.” Gertrude pinched the bridge of her nose briefly.

“Why’s he here, anyway?” Gerard asked, trying to redirect her from blessing him out and distract her into revealing her nefarious plan. “Thought you didn’t have anyone officially helping you anymore.” He was a little vague on what had happened to her previous assistants, but they’d all been gone well before she took care of his annoying little problem and he started helping her. She’d been adamant about not putting him on the payroll, and he��d assumed it was so she had more leeway about what to do with him, but…

“He works here,” Gertrude said pointedly.

“Yeah, but it’s Saturday,” Gerard shot back. “Like I said, nobody works on Saturdays but you. And more to the point, why does he work here? I thought you didn’t have the budget for an assistant.”

“No, I didn’t have the budget for two, which is why I couldn’t hire internally. Elias instituted a policy that any department accepting a transfer from another department must also take Martin Blackwood. And I had no interest in posting an external advertisement and risking the sorts of people who might apply.” Gertrude strode over to her desk and began gathering the paperwork. “Tim came to the Institute for a job interview. I ran into him at the door and assumed he had come to give a statement. After I had taken it…well, it seemed safer to have him where I could keep an eye on him.”

“Because of his encounter with the Stranger?”

“Yes.” Gertrude looked troubled for just a moment. “Not just the Stranger. His brother was taken by the Circus.”

Gerard’s stomach clenched. “This would be the Circus of the Other that you just sent him to do research on?”

“Indeed. A way for the Stranger to collect its victims. For the most part, it no longer exists, but in its day it traveled over much of Europe, especially Russia.”

“So why’s it here? What does it want him for?” Gerard didn’t know why he was suddenly so worried about a guy he’d only just met. Sure, he was hot, but he was still a complete, well, stranger. It would suck if anything happened to him, in the same way it would suck if anything happened to anybody, but there was no reason to be that particular. “Has it been following him since he was a kid?”

Gertrude raised an eyebrow, but said only, “Unlikely. His brother’s encounter was only a few days before I met him.”

“Then I ask again. Why is a circus—excuse me, the Circus—so important? And what does it want with Tim?”

“What it wants with everyone else,” Gertrude said calmly. “To use him to remake the world in its own image. To bring about the apotheosis of the Stranger.”

Gerard hadn’t realized he had sat down, but the fact that he stood up fast enough to knock over Gertrude’s chair again told him otherwise. “To bring about the what?”

“Apotheosis. The emergence of—”

“I know what apotheosis is, dammit. What the fuck do you mean the Circus is trying to bring forth the Stranger?”

Gertrude sighed heavily. She came around her desk, righted her chair firmly, and sat in it. “Take a seat, Gerard.”

Gerard wanted to argue, wanted to demand that she stop with the cryptic bullshit and just tell him already, but the part of him that had grown up with Mary Keay and knew the price of disappointing her bent his knees without his consent. Fortunately there was a chair behind him. He clenched his hands tightly in his lap to keep them from shaking and waited.

Gertrude folded her hands on her desktop and peered at him over the rims of her glasses. “Please understand that my reasons for keeping this from you have nothing to do with trust. I have full confidence in you. It’s simply that, once you have this knowledge, you will not be able to walk away. You’ve dealt with quite enough in your life. Leave now, and you can leave this life behind.”

Gerard doubted that. For one thing, he didn’t believe for a second that Gertrude had kept it from him to give him the choice of walking away, otherwise she wouldn’t have answered his question about Tim. Whatever her reasoning, it wasn’t that. For another thing, he’d been marked by too many Fears; his mother may not have wanted to bind herself to one in particular, or so she had always claimed, but she’d skewed too close to Terminus not to scar him with it, and he’d literally etched the Eye into his skin. Between that and the Leitners, he might walk away from the Institute, but something would kill him or claim him before he got too far.

Besides. He thought he might have just made his first actual friend, or at least be on the way to making one. If he walked away now, he’d lose that chance.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “Like I’m going to leave you to deal with whatever this is on your own. Tell me what’s going on.”

Gertrude nodded. “Right. Let’s start at the beginning, then.”

[overheadforecast]

"pulling me every which way"

rating: teen and up audiences

archive warnings: graphic depictions of violence

category: gen

fandoms: honkai star rail, honkai impact 3rd

relationships: welt yang & march 7th & boothill

characters that speak: welt yang, march 7th, boothill, caelus

characters mentioned: otto apocalypse, stelle, welt joyce, tesla hi3

wc: 1.8k

link to the ao3 post of this

! not beta read !

Welt let out a yell of pain as he slammed into a wall, having been thrown by a mechanical dinosaur. Distantly, he searched his brain for the creature's name and classification, but the pain in his ribs made it nearly impossible to focus. For fuck's sake, the thing had targeted him, of course. Even though there were other people in the memory zone, it'd chosen to attack him specifically. And as Welt sunk down against the wall, he noted with great dismay that the monster had summoned companions, the dreamjolt troupe dog creations.

He hadn't meant to get into a fight, really. He was trying to follow Caelus' directions to the bar he'd ranted and raved about. The drinks were apparently top quality, and by using memoria techniques, they could quite literally make a drink of your dreams. Ever since the day he'd crossed into this world, he'd been missing the tea his wife used to make him. So, when he heard about the technique, he had practically begged Caelus to tell him where it was. Sue him, he was a man of wordly desires!

But he'd gotten lost in a memory zone. A memory zone infested with monsters. Hence, fighting.

Welt held up the Star of Eden to create a barrier of Honkai particles, catching a blow one of the hounds had aimed at him. He couldn't do shit, he was stuck where he was. He was 80% sure he had broken multiple ribs, not to mention his shattered glasses. He couldn't see. He was at such a great disadvantage that he mused in grim humour that the last time he'd been this challenged was Otto, who'd damn near killed him. Maybe the creature would finish the job?

Welt tugged his phone from his pocket, opening the messenger app, and entering the "Astral Express Family (+ BS&BH)" chat.

[Mr.Yang] 22:07:13

> Need help. In the dreamscape Reverie, got lost, can't fight enemies. In the foyer room memory zone. Help.

[Trash Panda Male Edition] 22:07:26

> fufkc stelland i are on herrtas space station

> marhc & bh should be at tbe bar, theyll be closest

[cold capture] 22:08:03

> on my way!

> i'll bring hilly with me

> hang on, mr yang!

With that, Welt turned his phone off and tucked it into his pocket, focusing all his strength and attention onto the Honkai shield he was maintaining. The telltale purple had begun to creep up his arm - he wouldn't be able to keep this up for long without dipping into his Herrscher Core. Well, half of it. The Bronya he'd once known still held the other half, as she was the active Herrscher of Reason.

Welt gripped the Star of Eden tighter, ignoring the pain shooting up his arm. Just a few moments more, and March and Boothill would be here to help. Those two were reliable, March could shield them all and taunt the enemies, and he and Boothill could chip away at the enemies' toughness to defeat them. He thought, at least. The pain through his body made it tough to remember what these damn things were weak to.

Welt's eyes shot up as he saw an arrow shoot through the air, sticking itself into the main robot's hat. He followed the path, and layed his eyes on both March and Boothill standing on the railing of the stairs. His fatherly instinct screamed at him to get them down, but he had other things to think about.

Boothill jumped off the railing and aimed his gun between his legs, propelling himself forward with the blast to stand next to the barrier Welt had made. The man's stance as Welt looked up at his back reminded him of that man that had saved him all those years ago, his Hero. And, well, he was playing the role of Welt's hero in this situation.

March slid down the railing, surrounding the three with a wall of six-phased ice as a shield. Welt let out an audible sigh of relief, sealing the Honkai power within his cane and smiling up at her. "Thanks, you two."

Boothill made a noncommital noise of acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on the enemies he could still see through the ice. "What's the plan, strategizer?"

Welt was silent for a moment, before he realised March was looking at him. "Am I the strategizer?"

March scoffed and raised an eyebrow at him, tilting her head. "Who else would be?"

At that, Welt paused and thought for a moment. Usually, he did come up with battle plans... "Fair point. March, do you think you could alter your shield to give RES-PEN? It would play to both mine and Boothill's strength."

March's eyes lit up as she nodded, pointing her finger at Boothill then Welt. Six-phased ice crept across their bodies as the shield took effect, acting as armor. "Yeah! Stelle's been teaching me some of her tricks from when she picked up the Harmony path!"

Boothill turned his head around to look at them, and nodded. "Good. These overcooked fudgers aren't weak to any of our types, so I'll need as much respen as I can get to put them down like the dogs they are."

March looked between the two, narrowing her eyes. "This doesn't play to any of our strengths... Mr. Yang, I think we need a new plan."

With a nod, he looked wistfully at the Star of Eden, closing his mouth as he thought. "...Explosions?"

Both March and Boothill tilted their heads at him, Boothill raising an eyebrow. "And how the heck are we meant to do that?"

Welt paused, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile. "The dogs. Their armor is coated in potassium to allow them to self-destruct as needed. Potassium is highly explosive when it comes into contact with water and air, the water part including ice."

As she listened, March's eyes lit up. "That's brilliant, Mr. Yang!"

Boothill blinked a couple of times, looking between them. "What the heck is the plan? I don't know any of that nerd shirt."

Welt stood, grimacing as he braced himself against the wall. "My cane allows me to make miniature black holes that can group the dogs together and put them in a sort of stasis-bubble, that's weak to physical attacks. March coats them in ice, and then you shoot the static field to break it. Potassium comes into contact with water molecules and air molecules, and..."

March giggled, a strange giddy joy in her eyes. "Boom."

Boothill looked between the two, a mix of confusion and concern gracing his features. "You two are scary as shirt."

In return, both of the Nameless grinned at him.

"Okay, so I take the walls down now? It is taking a lot of energy to continuously keep this barrier up, the monsters are still attacking it." March looked to Welt for guidance, and when he gave her a thumbsup, she let the wall drop. Instantly, the dogs lunged forward, and Welt caught them in a black hole forcefield just an inch away from colliding with Boothill.

Thank fuck he did it, because Boothill's reaction speed was mediocre. He jumped back a breath after the enemies were trapped, yelping as he did so. "Son of a nice lady- fork these motherforkers!"

March brought her hand to her head, frowning. "You- can you two hold them off? Coating the hounds is going to take a bit longer because I'm drained from the wall."

"Course, sugarpie. Old man, got it in you?"

Welt nodded, and thrust the Star of Eden forward. The force of the imaginary tree encircled the large dinosaur mech, trapping and slowing it momentarily. Boothill grinned and pointed up, giving a command; "Black hole up there, pops."

With another movement of his cane, Welt summoned a black hole 2 meters above Boothill's head, to which Boothill jumped and let the gravitational pull elevate him. "Drop!"

The black hole vanished, and Boothill brought the heel of his foot down on the Beyond Overcooked's head. The creature let out a yell and tried to throw him off, but when it did, Welt just summoned another black hole above it. The force pulled Boothill up again, and subsequently dropped him onto the monster again. This time, Boothill brought his foot down on the creatures back, straddling it. He clamped his thighs down around the mech's neck, leaning forward to hook his hands under its chin. He snapped its neck back, and pointed to the floor behind him. At the command, Welt summoned another black hole at the location, and the monster fell backwards. Boothill rolled away at just the right time, barely avoiding being crushed by the enemy. He knelt next to it, pressing his knee onto the place where its sternum would be if it were an actual dinosaur.

March finally spoke, pointing at Boothill. "Shoot."

So, he did. He shot the sphere in the middle of the battlefield, the ball that contained the explosive force of 4 lbs of TNT, and shattered it. A moment of absolute silence passed, then an explosion threw everyone back (except Welt, who was still against the wall). The energy released vaporized the houndlike creatures, leaving only one enemy on the field.

Welt looked at March, frowning deeply. "No more bow, summon your blades."

March complied, closing her eyes for a moment to align herself with the Hunt, before she opened them again and caught the twin blades that had materialized from the ether. Welt pointed to the creature, and summoned a black hole above its thrashing body. March lept forward at the command, and when Welt dropped her onto the creature, she sliced its head clean off. Boothill slid around to shoot inside the thing's neck, activating the self-destruct module.

The force threw both Boothill and March in the air, and Welt sighed heavily as he conjured a black hole to catch each of them and prevent them from slamming into any walls. He'd already done so, and it was rather unpleasant.

Once the impacts were prevented, Welt waved away the summons, dropping both March and Boothill to the ground. Both of them rushed forward towards him, March hugging him. "Ow- March, no, I broke a rib, letgo-"

Boothill grabbed March's hair and yanked, pulling her from the man. "He needs medical attention, not sunshine and glitter and friendship, little plum."

March yelped and nodded, letting herself be pulled from Welt. "Sorry Mr. Yang!"

Welt waved his hand and smiled apologetically at the two. "Sorry for pulling you two away from your drinks."

SMACK!

With a screech, Welt looked at Boothill confusedly. "The fuck was that for?"

"You're much more important than any goshdarn drink, old man. Don't apologize." March nodded along as Boothill spoke, frowning at Welt.

"Plus, that was like, super fun. It was like I was fighting on a trampoline with the black holes pulling us every which way!" Just as March had done when he spoke, Boothill nodded while listening.

"I'm gonna bother you to do that with me again, by the way. It was forking awesome."

Welt looked between the two, then sighed, sliding back down against the wall. "Well fuck."

[ungodly-amounts-of-godly-trauma]

wotw round 1

propaganda under the cut!

leliana:

shes a companion in the first game and a major character in the third. between these games she becomes the spymaster for the girlpope and actively aids in and supports its various atrocities. this is NEVER EVER AKNOWLEDGED BY THE FANDOM. this isnt a bit! i go through her tag on ao3 and tumblr regularly and NO ONE TALKS ABOUT THIS??? all her content about her romance is fluffy and nice (which. Um. Yeah im sure thats not due to lesbophobia at all. (shes bi, but the majority of people who romance her do so as a woman)) EVEN DURING THE TIME PERIOD WHERE SHE IS APART OF THE ORGANIZATION THAT IS DOING LIKE SIX SEPARATE GENOCIDES AT ONCE AND IS ACTIVELY DISENFRANCHISING THE PEOPLES THAT HER LOVER CAN BELONG TO???? HUH??? just because she Says she supports certain things (and to her credit she does later. just way after the helping with genocide) does not erase her active role in furthering the oppression of various peoples in thedas. this isnt even getting into all of her other more minor flaws people erase all the time(i am very tired but otherwise i WOULD) if only because this is enough. Can people please please like women without pretending they dont have flaws come the fuck on

martin blackwood:

listen my memory of this podcast is so loose BUT in canon he's a cunning and competent person, he actively works to sabotage the evil organization he's forced to work for, he gets trapped in a sort of limbo-state version of reality meant to isolate him from the world and decides on his own to try to get out instead of submitting to it, he was literally theorized to be working for the Web by some people and YET everyone just sort of takes the way he was in s1 (in love with the main character, very timid, etc) and ignores all of his character development 👍 there are some major martin soldiers who could explain this better

he's great actually he's committed minor arson. he killed his boyfriend (necessary). he's got incredible mommy issues. he's manipulative. he's angry and wonderful and kind and the fandom has dumbed him down to this uwu chubby tea lover softboi and i HATE IT

Hated by his sick single mother, but still cared for her till she died. Spent two weeks trapped in his apartment by a worm lady and didn't lose his head. Always tries to be kind and give people tea, but beware the nice ones. He will murder you once the apocalypse comes around. Especially if you hurt him or his boyfriend. The fandom may sometimes only remember the tea and the meekness but don't be fooled!

so many things. mainly a shitty mom and Spooky Depression though

[no-psi-nan]

🥺🥺🥺 not 2 be sappy on main but omg I actually started off in Deviantart ages ago, that was the closest thing to social media for me until the tumblr migration lol. But I never really interacted with people on there, and even upon moving to tumblr, never really interacted with people here too often either. At first I had my main blog which was meant to be more professional since I was selling art to get a little college income, so I didn't really make too many irrelevant posts. Then I decided that I wanted to be able to reblog art and support other artists, so I made a side blog where I carefully curated and tagged the posts I reblogged. I made a few original posts but no one ever interacted, and eventually I realized that people only ever sent me asks there if I tagged anything wrong. Also I found out that adding stuff like series and character tags to a reblog on tumblr is basically useless because the op will pretty much always tag those things which makes it searchable on your own blog even if you don't tag it yourself. And if op DIDN'T tag it those things, your tags will make the post searchable on your blog but NOT in the general search, so it doesn't give op any more of a boost than just reblogging it tagless. So I made another sideblog, which I still have today, and I just rapidfire reblog literally anything I find shareworthy lol. Not any interaction there but at least I'm not wasting my time meticulously tagging strangers posts hsfjdlshfks. Since I was best friends with a big name fan in my main fandom (we became friends when I left a long emotional comment on their fanfic btw <3), I helped run some small fandom events and met more people as well. When I switched fandoms, it was a fandom event that gave me a new friend too, my posts never got any traction. Large fandom discords didn't really work for me either. But on this blog I was lucky, and for the first time people started like actually responding to my comments and posts, and get conversations going! And genuinely that's what's kept my brain rot so powerful I think, because bouncing ideas off each other and joking around and shitposting is genuinely the most fun I've ever had online!! I have to thank desta and oatmeal for the fun times especially, and hillbilly---man left really nice comments on my first few fics that really encouraged me, and I always have fun trading ideas with alienn, saikikthoughts, and crookedlyinnernightmare, plus everyone else who's on here, that's too many people to type out. AND I TYPED UP A BUNCH MORE STUFF BUT TUMBLR FUCKING DELETED IT!! Are you shitting me.... Well I think I remember saying that even if it's been getting kinda quiet and boring lately so my attention is starting to wander (I've pretty much posted all of the meta that's not deep fanfic hc at this point and my drawings take me a long time to make), I'll never delete this blog and I'll still be putzing around online until the day I die probably. And I'll always remember these days fondly and hope to find another great community like this one. And also I highly encourage everyone to post, reply, interact, and play with fellow fans! I've made lifelong friendships over blorbos and even if we don't have the same blorbos any more, we're still friends. Obviously stay safe online, never send money to strangers, probably wait like a year to start shipping each other stuff but still, reach out because you never know who you might meet! I've been lonely irl for most of my life for various reasons, and my online friends have been a lifeline honestly, they're all really important to me. Two of my best friends today come from fanfic comment sections!! Also I need to get around to archiving my meta on AO3 lol (yup, it's for meta too!) but that's gonna be a lot of work so -_-U).

[faux-fires]

tagged by @ranilla-bean for the 20 questions meme!

1. how many works do you have on ao3? 35

2. what’s your total ao3 word count? 466,309. Hey, that's not too shabby!

3. what fandoms do you write for? Currently NONE. previously: dragon age, tsubasa chronicle, supernatural, fullmetal alchemist, legend of zelda...

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Your Princess is in Another Castle ("Dragons kidnap princesses, everyone knows this… except sometimes, they get it wrong. Or do they? A story about mistakes, misunderstandings, and flower crowns. Also Kurogane's non-stop never-ending suck of a life, and the idiot that causes all that chaos to begin with.")

For Better or for Worse ("A 'five things' fic, featuring five different times Hawke proposed to Anders.")

The Centre of All Things ("Hawke gave Anders a ring, after their first night together, and never quite told him what it meant. As Kirkwall begins to crumble around them, Anders struggles to strike a balance between love and the needs of the mages.")

Adjustment ("A year after the end of Act 2, Anders comes home late, and Hawke missed him.")

Bound ("Anders receives many gifts from Aggressive!Hawke across the years. He's charmed by most of them, surprised by others.")

most of my fics predate ao3 and while i backloaded the TRC ones on, I can't be bothered doing the same for the FMA fic i wrote 20 years ago. and the SPN stuff, uh, well, AO3 kind of did it for me! i woke up one day and an old archive i forgot my fic was on had been ported to the archive, all my spn fics helpfully attached to my account in the process. when i tell you i orphaned them at something like the speed of light -

5. do you respond to comments? Um.... I MEAN to, but.... i'm not great at remembering...? i really cherish every one i receive and i KNOW it's bad of me, i can only offer apologies.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? i literally just write happy endings i can't answer this

7. what is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? how are defining happy??? look mikke takes the piss out of me ALL THE TIME for my definition of fluff, ever since i entered a fluff vs angst competition on the side of team fluff with a story in which one half of the otp was tortured and murdered (he got better)! *i* define a happy ending as one in which, during the course of the story, a character grows and develops. by that metric, an ending where the character loses everything and everyone they love but gains a mindset enabling them to find peace with the loss is a happy ending, TO ME. a sad ending, by contrast, is one in the character does not grow or change, and stays in the same state (or worse!) than they started the story.

so with that in mind, probably through a forest wilderness. people die! anders and hawke are rejected as monstrous by the people they tried to save! but they gained one (1) feral orphan and solved their relationship issues, d'awwww. <3

8. do you get hate on fics? nope

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind? yes, but not in EVERY story. i find smut to require a lot of effort to write! there's complex choreography and emotions to handle... the only thing harder (HEHEHE) is fight scenes for the exact same reason

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written? i'm not interested in crossovers (blorbos from series a meet blorbos from series b) but i love a good fusion fic, where blorbos from series a have always lived in the world of series b. craziest... probs the trc/wow fusion fic i wrote for an audience of three people? idk i've written a lot! i dreamed of a zukka howl's moving castle fusion a few days ago (probably inspired by chiptrillino's gorgeous illustrations she's been sharing recently) so that was pretty fun, as someone who very, very rarely remembers my dreams.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? nope!

12. have you ever had a fic translated? yeah, to russian!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before? yeah, @mikkeneko and i wrote a whole SPACE OPERA. well. half of one, i guess (oops).

14. what’s your all-time favourite ship? whatever i'm shipping at the moment

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? i plead the fifth

16. what are your writing strengths? EMOTIONS. also i think i write humour well?

17. what are your writing weaknesses? starting, continuing and finishing. /sob

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? even if you're fluent in that language, it alienates more people than it impresses, i think. i love using other languages as an easter egg (like rana has a character named with a cantonese pun in the iconoclast) but whole dialogue is like... very hard to pull off, and outright mortifying if you don't actually speak the language and just google translate it.

19. first fandom you wrote for? the legend of zelda! my irl friends and i (aged 13) had a massive shared self-insert 'verse going on. my first steps into fandom PROPER tho was with fullmetal alchemist.

20. favourite fic you’ve written? this is a complex question because how do you define favourite? swift illuminations was probably the most fun to write (anders vs hawke arm wrestling) and i always enjoy getting to write comedy - your princess is in another castle has my favourite lines i've ever written, for example:

"Can I go?" Yuui asked Ashura. Despairing it was, then. At least he wasn't naked. It was a low bar to meet in terms of presentation, but so far two of the six people in this room weren't making it.

these skies are breaking i've always been fond of because it's 35k and i wrote it in two days but the plot is uhhhhhh. missing. ash on the windowsill same sitch, 50k in 36 hours and my first completed multi-chapter fic but i wince at how clumsy it is when i reread it. i'm proud of a lot of my later dragon age fics because they contain better exploration of ideas and characterisation, so... idk. toss up!

but in terms of stuff i'm most satisfied with, probs 'how to love a god' this short character exploration piece i wrote for the anderszine. first time writing second person and because of the zine space limit i had a hard maximum word count too so i agonized over every word choice. i don't really edit my own stuff - i post it pretty much hot off the hoop - but i did actually enjoy doing it that time.

uhhhh so that's me. but i'm tagging.... anyone who wants to do this!

[britcision]

Eeeeh it was WIP Wednesday… and I’m thirsty for attention, so have a snippet from chapter two of Danny Fenton, Dead and Loving it!

(And I had to check I could paste obscene amounts of words from my notes into tumblr, since I’m not writing this in drafts for now - I lost too many sections to not hitting ‘save’ before putting my phone down)

Prompt and First chapter! (I guess I cannot make neat links on mobile, woe is me)

And the fic on AO3

@welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith

@someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones

@starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost

@akikoyuii @rainbowbunny0159

@littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife

@serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf

————————

“Hang on a second, does that mean your ghost writer friend is also an actual ghost?” Because yeah, he had googled book collectors around Gotham and came up blank.

Danny took a moment to work out what he meant, then perked up and nodded.

“Oh, yeah! That’s his actual name too, I’m not sure he was ever a living person, and I wasn’t kidding when I said he had every book ever written. A lotta first editions too. I think he’s a spirit of literature?”

Jason took a quick peek around to see if any giant and possibly book shaped palaces had appeared.

Place was covered in floating islands and purple doors, there was a chance.

“Could we… could you introduce me?” Cuz he wasn’t gonna actually ask if Jane Austen was a ghost, not on his first day.

He had some damn self control. Even if the pit was fucking purring in the back of his head and this whole weird place felt more like home than anywhere he’d been before.

Flying beside him, Danny nodded cheerfully and shot him a thumbs up.

“Oh hell yeah, he needs more friends. Probably not today though, he’s not really around this part of the Zone, and we wanna make it to the Far Frozen and back before New Years. Next time,” he added before Jason could even begin to feel disappointed.

He’d known the odds of heading right there weren’t great. Fuck, he wouldn’t have wanted to; it was just hard to remember they were here to get the pit out when it was filling him with a buzzing, humming contentment down to his toes.

Part of him wanted to be a whole lot more suspicious. Did not like how easy it was to trust Danny, to relax into this undead realm.

But it was usually the pit that nagged at him not to trust anyone. And the pit was in heaven, and Jason had spent so long fighting that constant suspicion.

If things went as well as he hoped… well, he wasn’t gonna be going easy on any of the assholes fucking with his turf.

But being able to talk to the bats without the pit’s constant paranoia… yeah, he did a little hope he’d be a bit tighter lipped.

Feelings just kept spilling out of him around Danny, apparently literally if what the kid told him about his core was to be believed.

Jason could feel enough of Danny’s emotions in return to know the kid wasn’t lying. Hopefully that was what made him trust him.

Today, he nodded and looked around.

“So, the Far Frozen. Called that because it’s far?” He asked casually, definitely not letting on any concerns.

Flying hadn’t been hard so far, but he had no idea how long this was going to work. He couldn’t even tell if it was using a muscle, but it was sure as shit one he hadn’t used before.

Danny snickered and shrugged, clearly not even a little concerned.

“Well, I opened the portal pretty close in this case, but yeah, it’s far from the more populated areas of the zone. The yetis like it, it means they can keep to themselves.”

This was kind of the problem with Danny, Jason was coming to realise.

He’d told Jason where in the zone they were going, and why. They needed to see a guy called Frostbite, because he knew the most about ghost biology.

He’d probably know what to do about Jason’s pit problem, and what Danny and Jason could do to deal with the pits themselves. Fun, exciting, Jason was 1000% up for that.

Fucking yetis had not come up.

“The what?” He asked, striving for nonchalance and wondering again if he shouldn’t have shot someone a text before leaving.

And potentially never being seen again.

Danny hesitated for a moment, brows furrowing.

There was definitely more snow ahead than there had been behind.

“I totally mentioned the yetis?” Danny said carefully, like that would somehow make it true.

Jason stifled a snicker.

“You did not mention yetis. You mentioned ghosts.”

“Yeah, they’re ghost yetis.”

“That doesn’t actually make it any better, y’know? The yeti part is still kinda important.”

Not that Jason would be hugely surprised to find an alive yeti at some point. The world had a habit of saving up its weirdest bullshit to dish out onto him.

At least he wasn’t Constantine.

Danny pulled a face and shrugged, turning so he was flying backwards.

“Well, I mentioned it now? They’re yetis. So is Frostbite, but he’s like, bigger. And their leader. I mentioned that part, right?” Danny asked hopefully.

It was pretty clearly a fair question.

Jason nodded, scanning through what he’d been told so far.

“Yeah, and that they had the ghost hospital? I guess it’s a good thing as ghosts we’re not gonna feel the cold,” Jason added idly, glancing at their increasingly frosty surroundings.

He could feel the temperature dipping, sure, but nothing serious. They hadn’t even grabbed coats.

Danny stopped flying so quickly that Jason actually overshot him and had to turn, coming back to rejoin his guide. Who looked guilty.

Jason pulled on his best deadpan face.

“Let me guess. You definitely mentioned it?” He asked dryly.

Danny groaned and slapped himself in the face, then dragged his hand slowly free.

“Okay this one’s totally not my fault? I mean. I don’t need a coat there? And usually if anyone else comes with me, we have the Spectre Speeder, and it always has coats, so it’s not like we pack?”

He gave Jason a sheepish smile, half wincing like he expected a punch.

Jason did consider it, but not seriously.

“Okay, focus up Danny. What do we need to do? How cold am I gonna get?” Cuz the longer they were sitting still, the more the chill was creeping in.

Danny let out another lingering groan then closed his eyes, calculating.

“Okay… so I can call Frostbite when we get a bit closer, and he can come meet us, and he’ll have some spare coats? And I don’t think you can technically freeze to death anymore, but you don’t have a core? So I dunno.”

Jason took a deep breath of his own, fighting a half smile. Good to know he wasn’t the only one with a bad habit of rushing in.

But even he tried to be ready for everything.

“Great. Love this plan. Especially the part where I probably can’t freeze to death,” Jason snarked.

Danny squinted at him.

“Look, it’s better than my other plan, which is I freeze you solid in my ghost ice and tow you the rest of the way. You wanna show up walking and talking or in an iceberg?”

The fact that he seemed to be serious probably should have concerned Jason more, but he was having fun.

Just imagine, Jason Todd as the responsible one in a superhero team up. Dickie would be so proud.

It’d be just like his old Robin days, except that suit was thermally regulated out the ass.

“Ooh, frozen wastes or frozen in iceberg, I’m definitely seeing the difference. Let’s just get moving so you can call your buddy before I turn into a popsicle.”

Danny stuck his tongue out at Jason, but did indeed get moving again.

“Hey, both of those are still better than our last option,” he snarked back, and maybe Jason was imagining it but they were kinda going faster.

Lucky for Jason, apparently it was willpower that made you fly in the Ghost Zone, and being a stubborn bitch had always been his stock in trade.

“Oh gee, what’s the last option? Shoot ourselves from a catapult? Build a snowman and have it carry us? Or do we close our eyes real tight and wish ourselves there?” Jason asked as sweetly as he could.

Made Danny laugh anyway, before his expression became deadly serious.

“You’re literally wishing your way there right now, smartass, but no. The last option is we call my regent and he stops time and you spend the next eighty relative years of your life listening to lectures about why I need to be fully crowned.”

Which did sound pretty last-resort-y, in Jason’s opinion. And raised an important question.

“Why are you so against being fully crowned? You seem pretty in touch with all the king shit.” Certainly willing enough to talk about it, although now that Jason thought about it, mostly to complain.

Danny pulled another reluctant face.

“Just cuz I know I can’t get out of it doesn’t mean I gotta give myself up right away. The last king was a bloodthirsty tyrant, in an enchanted sleep for thousands of years. Do you have any idea how much paperwork that stacked up?”

Danny let out a shudder that had nothing to do with the increasing cold. Thinking to the amount of report forms he’d be facing if B found out about this particular jaunt, Jason joined him.

“Yeah, okay, that sounds like it sucks,” he agreed, and Danny shot him a relieved grin.

“Right? Like, I want to live my actual life first. Do something more than struggle through college and fight ghosts. Everything worked just fine while the other guy was in prison, so what’s the rush?”

They flew in silence for a moment, Jason struggling with an entirely unexpected lump in his throat.

Danny broke it, drifting closer until their shoulders bumped.

“Sorry man. Didn’t think.”

There was a perfect snappy comeback in there about it not being the first time, but Jason didn’t have it in him. He managed a nod and gentle bump back.

It was getting cold enough now that the moisture on his cheeks stung.

From condensation. Or air resistance or something.

The Ghost Zone had high humidity, explained all of the snow.

They continued in silence for a while, then Danny sighed and slowed to a stop once more. Jason copied a little more reluctantly, brushing trails of ice from his face.

“Okay so this is gonna be just, stupid loud?” Danny said with a slightly strained cheerfulness, like they’d never stopped bantering. “You’ll probably wanna put your hands over your ears.”

Jason complied, wondering just how literal the “call” part of Danny calling ahead was gonna be. Stupid loud implied it wouldn’t be on a cellphone.

He’d not had any messages since leaving Gotham actually, and it had been a couple of hours. He should probably check…

He clapped his hands back over his ears just in time as Danny sucked in a huge breath and bellowed like a thunderstorm.

“HEY FROSTY! PHANTOM INCOMING, BROUGHT A FRIEND. HE NEEDS A COAT!”

And then Danny gave Jason a cheery grin and nodded in the direction they’d been travelling as he cautiously removed his hands.

“He can’t get quite that loud, so we’ll have to get closer before we can hear him. Might as well keep going, right?”

Jason took another moment just to stare at the ghost. It was beginning to actually kick in that… yeah. Danny wasn’t human.

And Jason knew plenty of metahumans, people with powers. He knew Black Canary, so what the line should be is a bit fuzzy.

But.

Danny’s not fully human, not anymore. So what the hell was Jason?

The exact same asshole he was yesterday, obviously. Just with… well, his baggage compartment had already been overstuffed.

Even the thought of getting to dump the pit baggage meant that even if he was now a zombie or a ghost or whatever that was still a net loss unless he had to eat people.

Which, again, what the fuck was his life?

He almost laughed, but didn’t want to try explaining that thought process to anyone else, even if the odds were pretty good Danny’s life… existence was at least a little fucked.

He gave a smile instead, nodding and following Danny’s lead off into the frost.

Doing absolutely nothing to reassure him, Jason was no longer sure it was reflections off the ice now catching the corner of his eye.

The longer they were in the Ghost Zone, the more he kept thinking he saw stars passing across the black of Danny’s suit.

***

Frostbite did in fact come to meet them, and did in fact bring Jason a coat. The fact that said coat REALLY looked like it came from a yeti…

Well, Danny had long decided never to ask, and Jason was following his lead today. His new friend was all wrapped up again, and wasn’t even shivering anymore!

Yeah. Danny fucked up.

And he also felt a little bad even after Jason told him it was fine, a damnably cocky smirk on his lips. It felt like he’d been holding onto that “Not the first thing you’ve conveniently forgotten” line for a while.

Which, to be fair, they’d met twice ever, so how the fuck would Jason know?

Just because it was accurate didn’t mean he had to say it.

They’d had to make quite a trek back to the depths of the Far Frozen along with Frostbite since the yeti had come to meet them, but they’d made good use of the time.

Frostbite still understood more about ghost biology and even specifically halfa biology than Danny himself did, and he’d immediately seen something was up with Jason.

Reassuring him that Jason wasn’t actually fading and that his core just hadn’t formed yet hadn’t taken long; apparently, yetis could smell core formation.

Delightful fucked up information Danny wished he’d never learned, but at least he’d been right.

Surrounded by the ambient ectoplasm of the Ghost Zone, Jason’s core was already coming along in fits and bounds. Something which had alarmed Jason to hear too, but hey.

About half of his ghost problems were probably related to that slow forming core, and the other half…

Yeah. Frostbite had a Lot of questions about the Lazarus Pits. And Jason had basically nothing by way of answers beyond what he’d already told Danny.

Which, aww, he’d really been putting everything he had on the table, which was nice. The longer they spent together, the more Danny figured Jason hadn’t been honest with anyone in a while.

He kept getting this surprised look on his face, these moments where he stopped like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Like he thought he should be more careful.

Danny could relate. Frostbite was weirdly easy to share things with, even if Danny couldn’t get him to stop calling him Great One.

The second Danny had protested, Jason got a real sneaky grin on his face that Danny wasn’t sure he liked. He knew a Bastard Little Brother face from his mirror.

Jason being older than him? Meant nothing.

For now though, they’d made it to the medical center and Jason was looking at the scanning pods with a sceptical but weirdly unsurprised eye.

Danny still hadn’t stopped making Star Trek jokes when he saw them, but. Robin. What the fuck did Batman have access to?

Frostbite gave them both a very proud smile, patting the tube fondly.

“With this, we shall determine how much corrupted ectoplasm is within you, and how best to separate your mind from its affects. Already some of it is being purged by contact with our Saviour, but for it not to be gone already shows there is a deeper problem,” the yeti explained happily.

Jason shot Danny another shit eating grin at “saviour” and Danny bit back a groan, making himself smile at Frostbite instead.

Insistent and slightly patronising hero worship aside, he really did like the guy. He always wanted to help, and usually could, which was a nice change.

“Yeah, about that? Do we know what I’m doing that’d change his corruption?” Because it’s not that he didn’t want to help too, but it might be easier if he knew how.

Frostbite gave Danny a cheerful pat next, sending the smaller ghost stumbling a little.

“Oh, some of it will happen merely from your presence, Great One. As the King of the realm, you have far more ectoplasm and it is far stronger, which will help Jason’s ectoplasm to heal on its own. But we must find the root for the problem to be solved.”

Jason chuckled and shook his head, stripping back out of the thick yeti coat.

“There’s always a catch, right? Is this gonna hurt?” It sounded like he expected the answer to be yes, and even Frostbite looked suddenly concerned.

“You should not feel anything at all, young Jason. Perhaps the feelings from your contaminated source will become stronger, but they are not negative at present?” It came out as a question, mostly tied to that concern.

And Danny could kinda see why; from everything Jason told them, he was usually only swamped by rage. Neither of his auras felt angry now, but the pit’s had jumped to betrayal pretty consistently every time it spiked.

Needing to be told that something wasn’t going to hurt him sort of pointed where those feelings might have come from.

Danny nudged closer on impulse, letting his own trust-reassurance-done this before wash gently over Jason’s aura.

[charleswaterloo]

AGREED DO THE ULTIMATE FIC REC

Thank you so much for asking!! Okay, here we go!

DC fics that I got a few paragraphs into and already KNEW were going to be AMAZING:

1. The Jason Project by loosingletters

Warnings: Major Character Death

Jason had just wanted to see his autopsy report, he had only wanted to know what information Bruce had about his death. And when Bruce hadn't given it to him, he had stolen it. He hadn’t meant to stumble upon the bucket list of a dead child and the footage of a grieving father crossing one item after another off the list.

My thoughts: I don't often cry (which isn't healthy lmao) but this fic made me cry (happy tears!). It is absolutely wonderful and while angsty it has such a beautiful ending. I can't recommend it enough!

2. Little bird by Ididloveyou_once

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Tim knew he was fucked if only for the way that his brain was chanting Jason, like a litany. So he definitely didn’t need to hear the cold, mechanical chuckle or the chillingly delighted 'lucky me' to know that this was not good.

He took a second to look down at his coffee mournfully.

Then, he threw it at Hood’s helmet and bolted down the Tower corridor.

Or: Tim is supposed to be at Gotham Academy for a parent-teacher conference. Hood has other plans (Titans Tower AU).

My thoughts: One of the best Titans Tower AU fics I have ever had the pleasure of reading. The ending is to die for and so fluffy - it never fails to warm my heart <3

3. Straight to Voicemail by cabbagetop

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

“Red Hood. I need you to incapacitate Timothy Drake-Wayne.” “Aw, man,” Jason sighs, shouldering through the old wooden doors and out into the street with his books under his arm. “You and half the northern hemisphere. What’d he do this time?”

Jason's phone is blowing up about one Timothy Drake-Wayne (who is Jason's responsibility since when, exactly?). Jason comfort-eats. Jason suffers long. Jason reluctantly tries to keep this Raphus cucullatus of a human being alive, and maybe finds himself sidling back into the family while he's at it.

My thoughts: I was crying with laughter by the third sentence. If you want free serotonin, you will find it here folks, I guarantee it. Brilliantly written and hilarious and such a fantastic interpretation of Jason's character. Please read this lmao <3

4. miss me? by envysparkler

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Jason’s plan to observe his family’s reactions to his resurrection…does not go as intended.

My thoughts: I think I've recommended this one at least once before, but I will do so again because it is one of the best stories I have ever had the honour of reading on AO3. It has a happy ending, but was another fic which actually made me tear up. It is just beautiful and I'm sure some of you have read it before. Read it again even if you have - it's that good.

5. No Pain, All Gain by @sohotthateveryonedied

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Bruce checks Tim’s IV. “Are you in any pain? Do you need more morphine?”

Tim’s pupils are so wide that only the faintest ring of blue can be seen. He watches Bruce the way a five-year-old watches cartoons. “I’m all good, B-dog. All Gucci, like we cool teens say." His words are slurred almost beyond recognition, but Tim doesn’t seem to notice or care. "I could fight Superman right now.”

My thoughts: I know of only about 3 or 4 fics featuring Tim absolutely high out of his mind on some drug or another and this has got to be one of the absolute best of them. Whenever I feel the Depression(TM) crawling in and I need to laugh INSTANTLY I read this. It has not failed me yet. I can't recommend it enough it's so funny and a great read <3 The line below from the fic makes me scream laugh EVERY TIME:

“He’s not in his right mind.” “So? Neither are you half the time but you’re still in charge of everything.”

6. The Ouija Boy by SunnyBlue

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Timothy Drake was a stillborn baby. He was born dead, stayed that way for a solid five minutes, and was then resuscitated in the delivery room. He was a child who grew up alone, but for his imaginary friends. He had so many imaginary friends, in fact, that his parents sent him to get evaluated several times over the course of his childhood, which was spent with Tim as the only heartbeat in that house.

But that didn’t mean he was alone.

---

Tim sees dead people. When a Batboys murder investigation is going nowhere, he realizes his only chance at solving the case is to speak to the ghost of one of the victims. He has to reveal his secret to his brothers -- or risk the killer getting away.

My thoughts: STAND BACK FOR POSSIBLY ONE OF MY TOP TEN FAVOURITE FICS OF ALL TIME. I'm pretty sure I've recommended this one before but I will do so again. The story is impeccable, the mystery is ELITE and everything about it is literally perfect. I re-read this at least once a month so I can bask in its greatness and become a better person for having read it.

7. there but for the grace of god by TheResurrectionist

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

From a tumblr prompt.

AKA, "A Justice League fic where everyone argues about who's the most beautiful and intimidating sexy from the Big Three and everyone has valid points."

My thoughts: I'm going to let the note I added to the bookmark I made of this fic speak for itself. Here's what I wrote: "This was so funny - shoutout Jason for undeniable lad vibes plus the fact he felt he needed to neatly organise and write down the big three's sexiest traits."

8. American Ninja Worrier by DangerBeckett

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

It's just like Tim to give a poor college student a start in the business world. Kid's a bleeding heart, and usually, that's the sort of thing Jason avoids at all costs. He prefers his bleeding hearts on the literal side, and despite Bruce's best efforts, he's never had a head for business.

Unfortunately, though, this time the business is ninjas, and that's the sort of thing that makes Jason take notice. Because Bruce is useless, and someone's gotta make sure Tim's new internship program doesn't take down all of Gotham.

That's Jason's job, after all.

My thoughts: Please GOD just read the first few paragraphs. You'll know exactly what I mean when I say that this fic is it. Hilarious, badass and adorable. I mean, see the title of this fic rec. I just knew this fic was going to be amazing from the first line.

I have many, many more of course, but I'll leave this here for now as it's getting to be a pretty long post. Anyway, these are all fics - short and long! - that I knew were going to be absolutely perfect within the first few moments of reading. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did!

[dodo-begone]

The Mistake has Arrived

Pairing: Yan!DSMP!Techno, Yan!Ranbob!, Yan!Ranbutler x Reader

Request: Do you do continuations? If so could you make a part 2 with for the "mistakes were made" (aka the pregnancy one)? Like how they would act when the child is like actually born and causing mischief?? Please and thank you!

Summary: It seems that, after the baby arrives, things seem to change. It's hard to describe because things didn't change much yet at the same time managed to be the complete opposite of what they were before. Or maybe you hadn't noticed these things before. Who knows.

Word count: 2.1k

Warning: yandere, nsfw joke at the end of Ranbob’s section

Part 1 | Mistakes were Made

If this ever looks wonky/glitched, I have this properly archived on Ao3

A/n: the first part was implied AFAB reader because of pregnancy- and it probably still is but pregnancy is barely mentioned in this.

Techno

So remember when this man was absolutely terrified for you and the baby? Yeah that doesn’t get alleviated. If anything, that fear gets worse.

You holding the child, the perfect combination of you two, makes him truly realize how fragile the baby is. Like hello? This thing is his? And so tiny? Like a potato, a large one at that but still a potato?

Potatoes are fragile. Babies are fragile. Baby is like a potato, which makes them ultra fragile- oh NO.

Let’s get this straight; Techno is the infamous blood god. This huge hulking piglin hybrid who can easily kill anyone in arm’s reach. And then you got this tiny defenceless baby that is related to him? Like he knows how this thing works but it just feels surreal.

This anxiety feeds his distaste for holding his own child. He’s a monster and that’s a sweet innocent baby. He is going to severely harm the baby by even holding it. You never know what could happen- plus you need some mother-child bonding. It’s very important. Yes you may have been carrying that baby for 9 months but some more physical touch goes a long way. It grounds it more into reality for you. Yeah, that’s totally the reason.

The behavior can only last so long though. Eventually Techno would have to bond with his kid, hold his kid. You were getting fed up with how long he was taking. His anxiety over the situation was obvious and you were giving him space. So you did, but it’s been months and he still refuses to even touch them. His avoidance is annoying and it has to come to an end. And you will make sure it will.

One day, while he was relaxing and reading, you gently plop the baby onto Techno and go do some household chores that are usually hard when you have to keep an eye and ear out for the kid at every second.

Techno and the kid have a shared moment of “wtf” because the baby saw this thing before but he never touched it before. And they were left on it? By mother? Techno is internally freaking out while this baby tries to crawl on him. Really they’re just pulling at his hair and clothing. Anything they can get their grubby little hands onto. And gum on whatever they can get into their mouth. Oh god, this is going to be a long… period of time. He doesn’t really know when you’ll come back for them but he hopes it’s soon.

It’s safe to say that you did not come to Techno’s rescue in a swift manner. You made sure to take your time doing everything that couldn’t be properly done. Like cleaning or cooking a proper meal. Cooking had been left up to Techno mostly, and you really appreciated that he took that up and made good food but someone can only handle potato based dishes for so long. It was about time that something else was made. The potatoes needed a break.

When you come back to Techno and the baby, you’re so pleased to see that they’re having a little bonding moment. The baby was calm and Techno was finally relaxed in what felt like a century. Everything was perfect.

Techno was reading Sun Tzu’s The Art of War and your sweet baby child had long dozed off in his arms. Techno either didn’t notice or didn’t care and kept reading aloud, though it was mostly likely that he wanted to start education young. Even in their sleep. He started the education process already, in a way, by reading The Art of War to your pregnant stomach for months on end. You’d long grown tired of it, but the sight and sound of Techno reading still warmed your heart.

Ranbob

Nothing changes on his knowledge of babies. Not much, anyways. Some of the information he knows on babies came directly from you. The rest came from books found around Mizu.

In theory, he knows what to do. He read up on everything he’d need to know, after all. But in practice, it’s a whole different story. Anxiety occasionally comes to haunt him but he easily waves it off. He knows what he’s doing.

When Mizu was still populated, he observed the lives of others. There wasn’t much to do besides that. Children weren’t an uncommon sight. But babies? Now that wasn’t a common sight. Not many people brought their babies out. Nor were there many.

It’s understandable for him to not know exactly how to raise a baby. Unless you raised or helped to raise a baby, you aren’t exactly well versed in baby and are therefore slightly unprepared for said baby.

Though compared to children, he’s actually more prepared to care for the baby since there were so many books about baby care and stuff they’d need. Children are a whole different beast.

With children, it’s a more individual case-to-case deal. There aren’t any parenting guides on children. Well, there are. Though they all differ from each other. Each book has its own descriptions on why a behavior is happening and how to handle or fix it. So many differing opinions that overlapped were overwhelming. Ranbob soon came to the conclusion that childcare is more interpretive. Based on the child’s personality.

That’s way in the future though. Now he has to deal with a baby. A fragile little thing. It’s perfect in every way.

Now his anxiety starts to get the better of him. He’s so much bigger than it, much stronger. The baby is completely at his mercy and he is anxious that something bad may happen to it. Realistically, though, nothing bad is going to happen to his little family.

Once he holds the baby for the first time, all previous anxiety is taken by the wind. All that remains is absolute adoration. This leads to him caring for the baby almost entirely. Or when it’s least convenient for you, that is.

Like when your babe cries late into the night. Witching hour cries. Everytime without fail, he’d awaken and swiftly make his way to the nursery. All in an attempt to allow you to sleep. You’ve already done so much work to make the child. The least he could do was wake up and care for them. Plus you still looked so tired.

Although Ranbob was tired when morning came, it didn’t matter when you came out well rested. Or much better than the day before. Each day was a slight victory in his books. He only wanted the best for you, anyways. If sacrificing a few hours of sleep meant that you’d sleep better, then so be it.

He views your child as a blessing from Dream himself. A symbol of the union between you two. Just absolute perfection. Oh how lucky he is to have you and especially fortunate to have a child with you. His god has seen his hard work and has gifted him with so much more than he deserved. But he’d take it all the same.

If you two “accidently” had another kid, he’d be more than happy. Yes, he’s content and happy with the child you two already have. His life is perfect now. But if another addition just happened to come along? Well who is he to deny his god’s will?

aka he wants to weaken his pullout game to have another kid with you. One kid is enough but two? Oh that’d be swell!

Ranbutler

Compared to the previous two, Ranbutler’s reaction to the baby’s arrival would be labeled as “different”. Techno feared for his child, Ranbob was anxious, but Ranbutler? This man is ecstatic! Oh my gosh you two finally have a kid. Isn’t this just great?

His excitement level is astronomical. Come on, this man literally acts like this baby is going to achieve world wide peace or something. Like Jesus Christ incarnated. That’s the level of excitement he’s at.

Right from the get-go, Ranbutler is almost desperate in his attempts to hold the baby. Please? Pretty please? Why can’t he hold your baby? Our baby? Though as… desperate as he is to hold his child, he doesn’t want to disturb important mother-child bonding. Even if you carried them for around nine months, it’s still vital that you actually bond to your baby. Skin-to-skin early on is important.

At the next available time, most likely when you’re asleep or on the verge of sleeping, he’ll gently remove the child from atop your chest. Of course he’d go to the next comfiest and secure place he can and allow for some skin-to-skin between him and the baby.

According to some studies, skin contact with a baby supposedly “awakens” maternal or paternal and he was more than happy to test that out. If it worked? Then that’s great! If it didn’t work? What was the harm? It’s all good in the end.

Because of the nature of his job, you often don’t see him during the day. Both a blessing and a curse. This leaves you alone to care for the baby until he comes back. Even then, it wasn’t a guarantee that he’d help. That’s what you thought, at least.

No matter how exhausted he was or how irate he was from Billiam, the sight of your and the baby always made everything right in the world. All problems just dissolved away, becoming unimportant whispers of responsibilities.

Responsibilities that seemed to come from a whole different reality. Here, at home, the mess that’s Billiam doesn’t exist. Won’t ever affect his lovely little world.

Sometimes he comes home extremely late. So late that you already went to sleep, along with the baby. Occasionally you would try to stay up for him to come home. You were laying on the couch with the baby on your chest, what else was he to presume? That was obviously what you were doing, right?

On those nights, he would sit by you and just watch. Basking in the calm energy you exude. Even without talking to him, you always had a way of calming him down. Of making him feel loved and appreciated.

He would also take care of the baby's needs at night. With his occupation as Billiam’s servant, it really wasn’t the best idea, but he assured you that he would be fine. After all, he couldn’t bond with the baby during the day, so that only left the night. Even if it was menial tasks, he found solace in the presence of the family he was creating,

A question that kept reappearing was how he managed to get such a wonderful partner. One so willing to have a child with him. Deep down, he knew the actual answer, but it was hidden under so many layers of delusions that it’d be better and easier not to deal with that mess.

Now that you had the baby to care for, he was much more willing to leave you alone while he went to work. Yes, sometimes he still brought you into the room with The Egg. But that was only because you seemed stressed the day, night, or morning before he left.

How could he just leave his precious to flounder around so helplessly? A baby can easily be overwhelming. The Egg was more than willing to help you.

The kid, although a beautiful culmination of the love between the two of you, also symbolized another thing. They were a shackle, keeping you tethered to him.

There was no way you’d be able or wish to escape in such a fragile condition. Especially with the baby. How could you risk the life of something so innocent? Of something that did absolutely nothing wrong besides existing. You wouldn’t be such a horrible monster, would you? No, he knows you. Knows that you wouldn’t do that.

Once he has a taste for parenthood, he’s practically addicted. He absolutely loves it. Loves you. Why not have another? And another? And another?

Let’s be honest, he might just want a small herd of kids. Not many, like four or five. A few more wouldn’t do too much harm, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. After all, you’d be around them the most, being the primary caretaker for them all.

The desire for a large family comes into direct conflict with his desire to not make you overwhelmed and overworked. It was a hard battle, but he convinced himself that maybe just one more wouldn’t hurt. Just one more, and that’ll be the last he’ll want.

He’ll say that for the next three he plans to have with you. Can men get baby fever? If they can, then this man definitely would have it, just saying.

[ambitioncunningpridemieczyslaw]

25 fun and cute questions to brighten the spirits and get us through the holidays!

I was tagged by @halevetica who is literally such an angel and one of the best fanfic writers of all time!!!!!!!

Check them out on Ao3 cuz again they are one of the best and has never written a bad fic 💕

Hiya all! I’ve created this list as a reminder of happy memories and great times with our loved ones since I think we’re all feeling a tad blue this holiday season. Tagging my favourite blogs but all are welcome to answer :)

Best gift you’ve ever gotten: I would have to say the best gift I ever got came from my old high school ap lit teacher/theater director I was in the plays every year from 7th-12th grade and she got me a necklace with the drama faces on it along with a jewelry box that played at the beginning from Anastasia, which was the first song I ever sang with her on stage, when I graduated so yeah she gets the win everytime cuz she had me bawling like a baby at the final cast party we did

Nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you: I have 4 different friends who on 4 different occasions just bought me gifts not because of anything special or because they felt sorry over us fighting or something just they saw something and genuinely thought I would like it. I honestly just love receiving gifts that someone gets you out of the blue just because they simply think of you after seeing something and get it for you like it definitely means a lot to me that I'm the first person they thought of when getting those things

Your favourite holiday memory: Um... I honestly don't know if I have one, but something that I look back and think fondly of is when the one year my mom and I caroled with our church choir like I remember all the baking we did the day before in the church kitchen and it was a lot of us singing to Christmas songs that probably shouldn't be played in church lol and the caroling itself went well we gave out plates of cookies and caroled for any person who was on our prayer list at the time and seeing some of those people's faces like them seeing that people did care and that they weren't alone meant everything to me

Where you want to go first once we can travel again: New Zealand it's always looked so beautiful plus I mean that's where Lucy Lawless is from so it has to be amazing

Your spirit animal: I'm going to say a wolf just because I've always had this obsession with them since I was a kid

Your OTP: See I wanna say Sterek just because they're my favorite ship but I also like them in different pairings... I'm going to do a throwback shout out to Tyrus from Andi Mack cuz I can't handle seeing Tj and Cyrus with anyone but each other.

Tumblr pals you want to meet in real life: Literally anyone and everyone so I have more people to cuddle and binge shows with lol

Soulmates: real or fake: Imma say real like I do believe they're are souls who are cosmically linked together whether it be romantically or platonically I do think we all have that one person who we want to spend forever with

Favourite holiday food: those sugar cookies with the Reese Cups or Hershey Kisses in the center those are the shit tbh

What you wish you were doing right now: it's only 9:30 am so it's my chill in bed and contemplate life time lol but ig if there was something I wish I was doing rn it would be finishing the Sterek fic I'm reading rn

Your safe space/where or who you feel most at home with: My safe space would be while I was in school it was either the library or auditorium but now that I have an apartment that I share with my sister like I finally feel like I have a home to go to and genuinely want to be at so yeah my place is definitely my space but as for people I would say my sister and our two best friends

Favourite hobbies: Reading brings me joy lol which here are pictures I finally finished putting together my other book shelf the other day so if ya'll want to see here are some pictures. Definitely want more books though lol

Cooking or baking: Oh cooking for sure cuz I can't bake for shit 😅

Reading or writing: Reading

Gifsets or mood boards:

Coffee or tea: Coffee!!!!

City or suburbs: To visit city to stay suburbs

Someone who can always make you laugh: I would say my sister and our two friends we're always making each other laugh

Someone who always brightens your day: @crazyassmurdererwall just because anytime I'm having a bad day the fic I go to for comfort is Stuck In Reverse because it is literal perfection

Favourite day of the week: Whatever my day or days off are that week like how today is a glorious Tuesday cuz it's my only day off this week

Favourite animal: Wolves

Dream vacation spot: I mean I've been to the beach nearly every summer since I was a kid so I feel like renting out a nice cabin in the mountains somewhere would be dope af

Writer, artist, or creator(s) you want to see more of: @crazyassmurdererwall & @isthatbloodonhisshirt & @halevetica always 💕

Favourite movie, television show, and song: A Star Is Born (2018), Sex and the City, & You Don't Own Me by Lesley Gore

I tag @justkimberley @acercrea @charming-fan-girl @cinematicnomad only if ya'll want to of course & if I mentioned you and you see this and want to do this go for it!!!! Please tag me if you do and that goes for anyone who sees this I give you full permission to tag me so I can see all of your responses. Love you all!!! 💕💕💕

[shera-dnd]

So remember when I mentioned that one of my projects was a whole ass AU based on a single line from some song lyrics? Well that’s the project!

Because why not take the lyrics to Smile and turn some of that shit very literal?

Also get ready because this fic is gonna be flowery as all hell.

Anyways there is the AO3 link up top and here is the fic itself for those who’d rather read it here

Camps and tents were set, and arenas had begun construction in the cold fields just outside the walls of great Atlas, the city of innovation, riches, and splendor. This could only mean one thing, the Vytal Festival was fast approaching and with it the nobles, knights, and representatives from every last human nation in Remnant.

In an official capacity it was a seven day long celebration of their long lasting peace. In practice people always arrive long before the festival proper, and then start a few festivities of their own until it is time for the main event, meaning the festival itself could easily span a full month of revelry.

That meant a crowd of strangers, countless new faces that no single person could ever keep track of, all gathered outside the gates of Atlas for weeks. Which made it the perfect time for a young fae to play her tricks. Honestly, the lords of men should all be thankful that she wished only to partake in their revels.

The fae woman gathered her belongings in the nearby forest, and checked her reflection in a little pond she had found. Of all the members of her court, she was the one that had achieved mastery over glamours with the most ease, still she planned on spending weeks among the humans, so she had to make sure everything looked perfect.

The face that greeted her was unfamiliar, but also perfectly human. Her skin was a shade darker than the pasty atlesians she would be mingling with, and little freckles marked it in incidental little patterns. Her long wavy hair was kept in a neat little braid even as little strands insisted on rebelling. Her eyes were a beautiful grayish blue, but carried in them an uncharacteristic exhaustion for someone her age.

This was all calculated of course. She had to be beautiful and fair like it was expected of a proper noble lady, but she couldn’t allow herself to look too perfect, or the humans would find her unsettling. It took an experienced hand to craft a face that struck such balance and was still so well suited to the fae that hid behind it.

Satisfied with her work she donned her human clothes - a simple, but charming dress of blue and gold, and a matching shawl to keep her warm - and made her way into the fields beyond.

Her kind had described the city of Atlas as a scar upon the natural world, a hungry parasite starving its host of all it needed to survive as it slowly expanded to consume ever more. The very epitome of all of humanity’s crimes given shape in stone and metal.

She knew these accounts to be true, of course, but standing before it now she found it difficult to not feel awed at the majesty of it all. The city was grand indeed, but to say so felt like an understatement. Grandiose structures rose above the city’s imposing walls and reached towards the sky above. Every inch of them was white marble and polished silver.

And yet it all felt colder than the harshest winter, as if this city was meant to be beheld in awe, not lived in. Every tile, every brick, every unnaturally clean stone, it all declared a single message.

“You’re not welcome here.”

She did what she could to ignore the city beyond and focus her attention on the fields that stretched before her. All around tents and camps were being set, and music could be heard even at such distance. This is what she came here for.

Delicious smells washed over her as she approached the gathering crowds. Many of the smaller camps had brought food from the nations beyond, and prepared their meals around their own campfires, or sold them to passers by, and she was more than happy to purchase quite a few of these unique delicacies.

Around her musicians and artists, from nations all over the world, prepared to perform before what would soon grow to be the largest crowd in all of Remnant. For now they were all street performers, travelling bands, nameless bards, and the occasional trickster claiming to have mastery over the magical arts.

Except some of that magic was very real. Their glamours were good, but no illusion could hide a fae’s true nature from one another. So she saw their faces as clear as crystal and they, in turn, saw hers. They were fae of the seelie courts, living a secret life among the human crowds, and she was the sole unseelie that walked among them.

It was in that moment of distraction, taking in the faces of her fellow fae, that she found herself being pushed aside with considerable force. She turned around, ready to curse whichever fool was responsible for this, only to find a very apologetic looking woman.

The woman in question had dark skin and long curly red hair. Though she wore no armor, her white and green clothes were clearly expensive and finely made. The presence of a staff in her heraldry betrayed her as a Knight of the Winter Maiden.

“My apologies,” the knight blurted out, “are you hurt?”

Something about the way she carried herself made it very hard to stay mad at her.

“I’m well, thank you,” she replied, “but please, do be more careful.”

“I’ll try to,” the knight assured her, before adding, “I don’t believe I have seen you around Atlas before.”

“This is my first time in the kingdom actually,” she lied with ease, “I’m Ilia of the Menagerie Isles.”

“Salutations, Lady Ilia,” the knight beamed as she bowed respectfully before her, “I’m Penny of House Polendina. I would be delighted to show you around the festival grounds, but right now I’m needed for a tournament.”

And with another bow Lady Polendina dashed away with just as little care as before.

Huh, a tournament, she had said? Now that seemed like a good way for Ilia to spend her time.

Said tournament was taking place in the only fully constructed wooden structure around. It was just a simple set of stands with enough space between them to form a somewhat proper arena, but having a proper space to fight in seemed to have gotten many of the knights’ hearts pumping with excitement. So much so that there seemed to be some sort of commotion waiting for her by the entrance.

Multiple men seemed to be arguing with a knight in perfectly white armor, or more accurately shouting at them, since they did not appear to say anything and just tried to make their way around the men and into the arena.

“Lady Schnee!” One of the men called and Ilia froze in her tracks. Years living in the courts around Atlas had left her with a burning hatred for the name Schnee.

With pale skin, and paler hair, the woman who approached them looked like she had been sculpted from a block of ice, and the look on her face was at least as cold as one. Lady Schnee was as severe and uncaring as her name would indicate.

“What is it you want?” She demanded.

“This stranger refuses to take off their helmet, or tell us their name, but they insist on joining the tournament,” the first man explained.

“Do you have reason to deny them entry, or are you simply insistent on wasting everyone’s time?” She said, with a tongue that was twice as sharp as that man’s sword, and thrice as sharp as his wit.

“My lady, the Vytal tournament was created exclusively for nobles and knights,” the other man tried, but a stare from her made him shrink in his armor.

“Do you think me stupid? I know the rules of the Vytal tournament,” she rebuked, “this is not the Vytal tournament, this is an excuse for bored fools to hit each other with swords. If you believe them unworthy of such noble competition, then perhaps you should prove so in the arena, instead of wasting everyone’s time with your pointless pratling.”

With that the men scattered and Lady Schnee made her way back into the arena. Though the white knight’s face remained hidden by their helmet, there was still a sense of amusement with how they held themself after this. Ilia certainly knew who she would be rooting for today.

With that out of the way Ilia joined the crowd by the stands as they watched the knights take turns dueling each other. Neither Lady Schnee, nor Lady Polendina seem to partake in the fighting, though they both took their roles as judges and organizers of the event. Though only Lady Polendina showed any excitement at her role.

Soon enough the duel Ilia had been looking for was about to begin. The white knight versus the loud fool from earlier. While the fool armed himself with a heavy shield and a heavier blade, the white knight seemed to prefer a lighter approach to combat, fighting only with a long and thin sword.

Unfortunately the build up had been much longer than the fight. In but three moves that felt almost like a single fluid motion, the knight had stepped through their foe’s defences, and placed the tip of their sword against his neck. The duel was over, and the crowd sat stunned.

It quickly became clear that no duel would live up to that one today, but that did not mean the crowd could not find entertainment in the matches that followed. Even though the white knight had not shown such swift brutality again, they quickly took the position of crowd favorite as they continued to win duel after duel.

That was until there only stood one soul who had not been bested by their blade. A knight in pure black armor, adorned with valean heraldry, and armed with a pair of shorter blades. Though that knight also hid their face, something about their stance seemed familiar to Ilia.

That sense of dejavu only grew stronger as the duel itself finally began. The swiftness of their movement, the lightness of their feet - even in full armor - the way the twin blades danced around them with ease. Ilia had only known one person who fought like that, but that simply couldn’t be her.

It made no sense.

Distracted as she was by that familiarity, Ilia was caught by surprise by the end of the duel. The knight in black had managed to pierce the white knight’s defense, and had a blade firmly pressed against their neck. The white knight put their blade down and conceded.

The crowd cheered as both knights offered each other a respectful bow and the white knight marched away from the arena.

Lady Polendina hopped and skipped her way to the middle of the arena, gesturing for the crowd to quiet down for a moment.

“It is with great pleasure that I announce the winner of our warm up tournament,” she announced and the black knight took that as their cue to pull their helmet away.

Though the face under it was unquestionably human, and clearly untouched by any magical glamour, there was no doubt in Ilia’s mind as to who she was. That may truly be impossible, but she had only known one woman with golden eyes like those.

“Lady Blake, of the Knights of the Fall Maiden!”

[2manyfandoms2count]

The set up - Chapter 3

Alya being a good friendTM to Marinette; she can't really launch operation: Ladrien without checking that her friend isn't secretly harbouring feelings for one Chat Noir (or anybody else, for that matter)... Actual Ladrien to come next chapter. Hope you enjoy this one in the meantime!

First | Previous | AO3

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Chapter 3

Alya felt like she was walking on air (and really, she probably would have been, were she not sitting at her desk, browsing through the Ladyblog archive).

Her week was just unironically the gift that kept on giving; every day seemed to bring something to extend her smile a little further towards her ears. People really weren’t kidding when they said things had to get worse before they got better; after having witnessed her relationship with her best friend slowly unravel, before full on ripping, things had indeed become better, the stitching between them feeling tighter than ever. It felt like she’d simultaneously won the national lottery and the Euromillion, and that she’d received a personal invitation to intern for the most competitive news channel in Paris, without having applied for any of it. Really, things were good.

As she waited for a new tab to load (she was far from the maximum she’d ever reached while conducting research, but evidently it was enough for her computer to protest), she spared a loving thought for Nino. She hoped he hadn’t taken the fact that she’d been very antsy the whole time he’d been hanging out with her, and then that she’d almost literally slammed the door behind him when he’d left badly; her urge to go and scream excitedly into a pillow had just been too strong, and even though she was usually all for being sappy at the door, she'd had to take her leave to avoid risking Marinette's secret.

She understood her boyfriend's disarray and his distress at the news that his friends probably wouldn’t end up together, no matter how hard he tried, and she couldn’t really blame him. In fact, she actually supposed that she should take the blame for his reaction; she'd maybe, somewhat, oversold double dates with Adrien and Marinette in the past, and maybe even triple dates involving the duo and Ladybug and Chat Noir. She’d had to grieve the latter, but she was hell-bent on making the former happen, although maybe not the way she’d considered it before - if Marinette was still open to the idea, of course.

She picked up her phone, dialled her friend’s number, and stuck it between her ear and her shoulder, opening an email tab on her computer and starting to copy and paste links in it.

“Heyyyy girl, how’s my favourite Lady doing?” She smirked upon hearing Marinette's greeting.

There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. “Alya, I know you’re trying to be subtle, but please don’t call me that.” Alya knew her friend well enough to discern the slight warning edge underlying her joking tone.

“Why? Because that nickname’s saved for a certain catboy?” She stuck her tongue out cheekily, even though her friend couldn’t see it.

Marinette paused, and Alya was almost certain that if she turned the camera on, she’d witness her cheeks flaming up at the mere mention of romance between her and her partner. Man, it’s good to be back, she sighed happily. She’d missed teasing her best friend.

“Come on, Alya, you know that’s ridiculous,” the latter scoffed.

“Is it, though?” Alya hit the send button. “Check your email.”

“What are you - oh Kwami,” she gasped. Alya leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she went through the content her friend was discovering. “Alya, why did you send me all these romantic collages of me and Chat?”

“Because I wanted you to see why I thought you guys were a thing.” She overheard Nadja Chamack’s voice on Marinette’s side and quickly started the footage of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s interview herself.

Marinette grunted. “Ugh, I really didn’t need to be reminded of that. It was so embarrassing.”

“Because it's hard to deny the evidence, maybe?” Alya was aware that she was starting to push a little far, but she promised herself she’d change the subject soon, if Marinette didn’t take care of it herself.

“I know what it looks like, okay?” She could almost see her friend rubbing her temples in frustration. “But I promise you, he’s really just a friend.”

“Okay! Noted.” Alya closed her Ladynoir tabs, and was greeted with two pictures, side by side: Adrien and Marinette dancing in the moonlight in New York, and Adrien clutching Ladybug in his arms as they descended along the Tour Montparnasse.

“It’s unlike you to give up so easily, what are you up to?” Alya knew her friend was probably squinting suspiciously as she spoke.

“Nothing! Can’t a girl just believe her best friend when she tells her about her feelings?” Marinette harrumphed doubtfully, which Alya took as a cue to move on to the crispier matter at stake. “But speaking of ‘just a friend’s, I kind of want to circle back to something - I’m happy with you swearing off love for the time being if you really think that's what's best for you right now, even though I’ll miss planning double dates, but are you sure it’s what you want?”

The couple of minutes it took for Marinette to organise her thoughts had Alya think she’d be sent packing. She was surprised when her friend replied softly. “I just don’t think it would be very wise. It's kind of tiring, you know? Like, I really enjoyed dating Luka, he was so patient with me and so thoughtful, but it taught me that without revealing my secret, I can’t make myself available enough to have a healthy relationship. Add to that the fact that I don’t even know if Adrien likes me that way, if it’s worth going through the pain of the lies again… I’d rather just wait it out.”

Alya nodded silently. “So it’s mostly the fact that you can’t reveal your secret identity that’s making you feel that way.”

“I guess so, yes.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Alya chuckled. “Not so long ago, you were practically ready to give away your first child if it meant you’d end up with Adrien, and now look at you. I’m proud of you, Marinette. You’re being so strong.”

“I’m pretty sure it was my first three children, actually, but yeah.” She could tell her friend was smiling, and she was glad that she’d made that happen.

“Okay, well. We’re just going to have to work harder to take down Hawkmoth, aren’t we? Which won't be too problematic, given that we have all the time we used to dedicate to the variations of operation: secret garden that's now free,” Alya replied with as much affection as she could so it would carry over without the smile it was associated with.

“Sounds like a plan!” Marinette chuckled. “Want to come over tomorrow after school, to help me with the Grimoire?”

“That sounds great. See you tomorrow, bestie!”

“Thanks, Alya.”

Alya hung up and made a mental note to hug her friend the next day, just to remind her that she was happy to help and that she’d always be there. The girl really deserved it.

Then, she zoomed in on the picture of Adrien and Ladybug.

She understood Marinette’s reluctance to start a relationship if she couldn’t be as honest as possible with her partner. But what her friend failed to see was that she had a massive loophole on her side; for all intents and purposes, she had two secret identities - Ladybug, as Marinette, and Marinette, as Ladybug. And hiding Ladybug’s "secret" identity seemed a lot easier to achieve, especially if Adrien really worshipped the ground she walked on. Knowing him, he'd probably be very respectful of the boundaries the superhero set regarding the mask.

She just needed to get the two of them together somehow, reverse Uno card-ing her friend with the technique that had gotten her and Nino together.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, she mentally sing-sang as she started jotting down her ideas on a blank document. Looking at the list, she declared operation: Ladrien a go.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr | Also on AO3

Epilogue: Martin Prime

“…see it into a new era. Please join me in welcoming to the podium the Head of the Magnus Institute of London, Dr. Walter…Kos-ki-e-wicz.”

“Fifteen months and he still can’t pronounce it properly,” Jon whispered under the cover of the applause that followed the introduction.

“He’s better than he used to be,” Martin whispered back, squeezing Jon’s hand gently. “Go make nice.”

Jon lifted Martin’s fingers to his lips and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the knuckles before pushing back from the long table and getting to his feet. Martin turned his head towards where the podium ought to be, thankful they’d been able to come in early and get the layout of the room so he didn’t look like a complete tit staring off into the wrong direction, as the clapping gradually tapered off into an expectant silence.

“Thank you, Mr. Campbell.” Jon popped the normally silent P with a dry, pointed humor Martin knew well. When the laughter had died down, he continued in the deep, rolling affectation he had begun adopting when he needed to act as the face of the Institute. “Friends, colleagues, distinguished guests. I stand before you tonight with the awesome and humbling privilege of thanking you all for coming to celebrate two hundred years of the Magnus Institute.”

Martin, who had listened to Jon practice this speech in the comfort of their living room at least twenty times in the last two weeks, let it fade into the background and settled back into his seat. Not being able to scan the assembled gathering was annoying, but while this might have been the largest event they had attended in the past year, it was by no means the first. He was used to having to fold his hands over his stomach, or the end of his cane, and imagine what everyone’s faces were doing.

A familiar whirring started up from the space Jon had vacated, and Martin smiled and laid his fingers on the tape recorder as it buzzed away. Somehow, it was comforting to know she was still listening, even now.

It hadn’t been easy getting to this point. Martin had never really actually expected killing Jonah Magnus to instantly make everything sunshine and roses again, but he definitely hadn’t expected the attempt to drain Jon so badly that he collapsed in his arms. Nor had he expected that it would take three days for him to open his eyes again. (Melanie had teased Jon a bit about “taking this whole Messiah Complex to extremes”, but even she’d been strained.) And the news from Great Yarmouth hadn’t helped matters. Martin was still kind of thankful that he hadn’t been able to see Sasha’s face when she got off the phone with Basira and reported what little she knew. Or the look on his counterpart’s face when he called and filled in the gaps thirty-six hours later. Martin had hoped they’d get out of the building before blowing it up, but at least they hadn’t gone into the Unknowing itself.

It had still been touch and go, though, and Tim was still adjusting to his new reality, but thankfully he had plenty of support. Martin could hear in their voices when they spoke that they were happy, in a way he was only just learning himself that he could be.

Jon made a surprisingly good Institute Head. It hadn’t necessarily been something he’d planned on, but when they got back from taking Charlie to see Present Jon and Present Martin—who refused to leave the hospital until Tim was awake and ready to come home himself—and Melanie informed him about the new temporary head, Jon had almost literally hit the roof and stormed the Institute himself. It had taken him two days to manage to get an audience with Peter Lukas, but in the end, he’d stood before him and informed him that he had a choice: Vacate his position and leave the Institute alone, or be destroyed utterly.

Peter Lukas, unsurprisingly, had chosen poorly.

For Jon to subsequently take control of the Institute had been Sasha’s idea, and her points—that Jon was bound to the Institute and would need a reason to stay close to it, that he was the only person who knew enough to keep it running and keep it safe, that anyone else would either make things worse or become corrupted by the Beholder—had been valid. She’d crafted an entire identity for both Jon and Martin and somehow managed to have Dr. Walter Koskiewicz declared Elias Bouchard’s sole heir. Publicly, that was who he was and who he remained, but on the day he’d assumed the position of Institute Head, he had called a meeting of all the department heads and bluntly, concisely, and completely told them the entire truth. He had left it up to each head whether or not to tell their staff everything—although he was emphatic that they be told about the Eye, at least to some extent—and had made it clear that anyone who wanted to quit would be more than welcome to do so, with full severance; he wouldn’t hold it against anyone who chose to leave. But, as he had told Martin that night when he got back from the Institute, he didn’t want anyone else feeling trapped, or to not know they were working for, essentially, a fear god. He’d been far more surprised than Martin when, out of eighty-seven employees, only three had chosen to leave and one had asked for their job back a week later.

Getting the rest of Elias’s estate had taken longer. Obviously there was no body, so what they technically had was a missing person. Surprisingly, it was Daisy who’d pushed that forward by manufacturing proof that he’d been killed in the explosion at Great Yarmouth, claiming she’d followed him there as part of her hunt for Gertrude Robinson’s murderer. When Tim, freshly back in the Archives, looked over the assortment of tapes that had previously been in the tunnels and unerringly plucked the one with Gertrude’s death on it, Daisy’s superiors decided that he was responsible for the House of Wax as well, closed both files, and declared him officially dead.

Jon told Martin that Jonah Magnus had terrible taste in interior decorating. Martin told him he would just have to take his word for it.

Martin tuned back into Jon’s speech as he caught the words that meant he was winding down. He’d been reluctant to agree to this event, especially given what today was, but it was expected, so he’d caved, with a few stipulations. The speech, unfortunately for Jon, was non-negotiable, but at least he was able to keep it fairly short.

“And so, as we move into our third century, I leave you with a few carefully chosen words,” Jon said. “To our Institute donors, I give these words: Thank you for your support of the Magnus Institute over the years, and I hope that you will continue to support us throughout the changes to come. To those who come to the Institute to study and learn, I give these words: Your work furthers ours as much as ours furthers yours, and we look forward to working with you and developing that relationship, now and well into the future. And to you, the Institute employees, those who make this Institute what it is, I give these words…” He paused for a moment, letting the suspense build, and Martin licked the corner of his mouth to hide his smirk. It was obvious from Jon’s voice, though, that he wasn’t bothering to hide his own. “Three-day weekend. See you all on Monday.”

The cheers, applause, and laughter nearly drowned out Jon’s “Thank you”, and Martin let his grin escape as he joined in the applause. He heard the rustling of fabric and guessed what was happening a split-second before Wade’s tap to his elbow told him for sure they were giving Jon a standing ovation.

It went on for nearly a minute solid before it started to die down, and as Martin slowly sank back into his seat, he felt Jon’s gloved fingers tangle in his.

“Almost done,” Martin murmured, knowing Jon was close to his breaking point but would never admit it.

There were a few closing remarks, and then footsteps came over to them. “All right, if you’ll just stand over this way and greet a few people…”

“No more than half an hour. I mean it, Harrison,” Jon warned.

“I know, Mr.—I mean Dr.—uh, sir,” Harrison stammered. “I promise.”

“Mister Doctor Sir?” Martin teased Jon as Harrison walked away. “Sounds like something you’d name a character in Spire.”

“That’s Mister Doctor Director Sir to you.”

They shared a laugh before Martin took a half-step back, cane folded up in one hand and his other resting discreetly against the small of Jon’s back. Jon took a deep breath and straightened himself up, but didn’t move away from the point of contact. They’d learned their lesson one of the first times Jon had had to do an official event. Martin did some of the bookkeeping and budgeting for the Institute—God knew he’d picked up enough being Peter Lukas’s assistant, and Jon knew bugger all about the business side of things—but for the most part, he wasn’t an employee and certainly wasn’t who the more important guests at these events wanted to talk to, so he’d stepped back and stayed quietly in the background. Unfortunately, the Lukases were still Institute donors, and even if they avoided Jon beyond the bare minimum that politeness dictated, the presence of even one was still enough for Martin to slip back into old habits. Thank God the bond Annabelle had put on them was still extant and he’d been able to pull himself back, but it had still been a scary few minutes for both of them.

Most of the donors who spoke to Jon—briefly, Harrison was being as good as his word about limiting the official greetings—either ignored Martin or only acknowledged him with a silent nod, which amounted to the same thing. For the most part, Martin didn’t mind, but he could tell it was getting to Jon long before the fifteen-minute mark.

“Last one, sir, I promise,” Harrison whispered at last.

“Harrison, I have told you about the ‘sir’ thing,” Jon muttered. Martin hastily turned his laugh into a cough.

“Dr. Koskiewicz, so good to see you again.” Martin couldn’t place the speaker’s voice except that it was posh, which meant it was an Institute donor, and loud. Probably belonged to a large man, almost certainly an older one.

“It’s an honor to have you here, Sir Henry,” Jon replied, his voice slightly strained. Martin guessed that the man had a very firm handshake; an ordinary hand would be swollen and sore after half an hour of shaking, but the scarring on Jon’s made it far worse. “And you as well, Lady Vane-Tempest.”

“Lovely party, darling, so kind of you to invite us,” Lady Vane-Tempest said. Her voice, at least, Martin couldn’t forget—well-bred, but harsh and grating at the same time. He’d met the Vane-Tempests at the Christmas “party” he’d been forced to run on behalf of Peter Lukas and had not enjoyed the experience. “Congratulations on two hundred years. Obviously you haven’t been here the whole time, of course!” She trilled with laughter.

Martin felt Jon stiffen, and then he said with forced politeness, “Thank whatever gods you believe in that I haven’t, madam.”

“Looking forward to touring the building,” Sir Henry said. “Understand you’ve got some new interesting new acquisitions in your Artifact Storage. Love to see them.”

“We’re not doing tours this evening, I’m afraid,” Jon said. “That was the end of the gala, but it’s good of you to come. If you’ll get in touch with Ms. Zampano, I’m sure we can arrange a suitable time for you to see the building.”

“Oh, come now, darling, surely you can spare some time now,” Lady Vane-Tempest coaxed. If Martin was any judge, she’d been imbibing freely of the champagne, enough to get at least slightly tipsy. “We’re so looking forward to it.”

“I do apologize, but I have another commitment this evening.” Martin was a bit startled when Jon’s arm slid around his waist, but he willingly shifted his own position to return the gesture. The smile in Jon’s voice was obvious; he’d never been very good at hiding his pride and delight in anything to do with their relationship. “It’s our first wedding anniversary, you see.”

The Vane-Tempests mumbled polite congratulations, wished Jon a good night, and moved away. Jon let out a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his toes and sagged against Martin. “Thank God that’s over with.”

“That’s the last one,” Harrison promised. “I’ll just go say a few words to the press. Have a good weekend and—um—happy anniversary?”

“Thank you,” Jon and Martin said in unison. Martin unfolded his cane, and they walked out of the Institute the same way they had since escaping Peter Lukas in their own time—arm in arm.

Ninety minutes later and Martin, wearing his most comfortable sweater and a soft, threadbare pair of jeans, walked into the room they had designated as the “living room” with two mugs of tea and set them on the heavy, solid coffee table. “How’s the hand?”

“Still a bit sore, but I’ll recover.” Jon’s voice sounded slightly muffled. Martin wasn’t sure why until he heard the soft crackle of burning wood, and then Jon was right next to him and pulling him down for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Martin murmured, brushing his nose against Jon’s. As he pulled back, he added, “By the way, there was a message from the agency. They’re coming by for another assessment tomorrow, around noon.”

“Good thing I gave everyone the day off, then. Did she say anything about how the application is looking?”

“I don’t know that they’d tell us that on a message. We can ask when she gets here.”

The doorbell rang with the deep, sonorous tones Martin still privately felt belonged in a Gothic soap opera, and Jon sighed and slid out of Martin’s arms. “Bets on who got here first?”

“Not against you,” Martin informed him. Jon’s snickers followed him out of the room.

After more than a year of living in the house, Martin knew his way around by heart, especially after they redid the flooring so that he could tell by the texture beneath his feet which way he was heading. He made it to the front door without bumping into anything, made sure the chain was still secure, and pulled the door open to the length of the chain. “Who goes there?”

“Just the usual suspects,” Tim’s voice said. “We even found a Sasha rattling around in the gutters.”

“Shut up, Tim,” Sasha said, a bit grouchily.

Martin chuckled and closed the door enough that he could undo the chain, then pulled the door open. “Come on in. There’s a fire going.”

Each one of them gave him a hug as they came in, prefaced by a greeting so he’d know who he was hugging. He was pleasantly surprised when, after a fierce hug from Melanie, he heard a higher voice say, “It’s Georgie. Will you accept one from me?”

“Oh, sure, of course.” Martin hadn’t worried about any of Jon’s exes, or anyone who might possibly catch his interest and remind him that he could do better, since—well, actually, since they’d been reunited after traveling back in time, but the weight of the ring on his left hand and the memory of the tremble in Jon’s voice as he’d promised ‘til death comes for us both had finally quieted the last of his doubts. And Georgie did give good hugs. “Glad you could make it, Georgie. Anyone else?”

“No, Basira pulled a night shift tonight, I think. Here, let me get that.” Georgie—or someone, anyway—pulled the heavy door shut and slid the chain into place. “Hope we’re not too early.”

Martin shook his head. “You’re fine. Not like we’re doing anything particularly exciting.”

It took a few minutes of arranging, playful debates, and mostly-joking grumblings about getting those disgusting socks away from the food, Timothy Stoker, but soon everyone was settled down with something to drink and a baked good from the basket the others had brought with them. Jon sighed with obvious pleasure and curled up against Martin’s side; Martin wrapped an arm around him and held him close.

“Where’s Charlie tonight?” he asked.

“Late rehearsal, and Sasha’s uncle offered to pick him up and watch him after,” Present Jon answered. “We’d have brought him along, but he’s got a maths exam tomorrow and I know he’s not ready for it.”

Tim laughed. “Come on, Jon, cut him some slack. He’s doing much better this term than he did in the spring.”

“To be fair,” Melanie pointed out, “there was kind of a lot going on in the spring.”

There was a hum of agreement before Georgie added, “From everything you lot told me, I didn’t expect that grandmother of his to fight you so hard on custody.”

Present Martin sighed heavily. “I did. I mean, the last thing she wanted was for people to think she was a terrible guardian, you know? Even if Children’s Services didn’t get involved and take him away, the very fact that someone else dared ask to take him—and the fact that Charlie wanted to go…”

“And the fact that you kept insisting on referring to him as him, despite the fact that she has consistently and for his entire life refused to accept that he’s a boy,” Sasha put in. “She’s a poisonous old witch and he’s lucky to be shed of her. But yeah, between that and the fact that he got anxious and panicky and afraid to let any of you out of his sight—you know, at the beginning of April—it’s no wonder he came close to failing the spring term.”

There was a short pause before Present Martin asked carefully, “Did he tell you that, or…?”

“Oh, goddammit,” Sasha sighed. “He didn’t say anything to any of you about that, did he?”

“No, but we should have noticed,” Present Jon said quietly.

Melanie snorted. “I’m not sure how you would have, considering how clingy the three of you were being.”

Martin tightened his arms around Jon as the Archives crew began bickering, mostly lightheartedly but with an undercurrent of seriousness. During their first time experiencing…well, everything they had experienced…he and Jon had never really had a chance to stop and consider anniversaries. The one-year anniversary of Jane Prentiss attacking the Institute had fallen while they were trying to get ready for the Unknowing; the one-year anniversary of that had been while Martin was still having to avoid Jon, but he remembered staring at his reflection in the mirror and wondering if he would be better off calling out of work or if he should go in and lurk in the shadows of the Archives to reassure himself that Jon was actually still there. Passing the anniversaries—or, for that matter, the dates themselves—in a timeline where they didn’t technically happen hadn’t made things significantly better, so he could definitely understand why the present crew had been reluctant to be far from each other a year after so nearly losing one another, and more particularly nearly losing Tim.

Jon sank against him, also clinging tightly, and let the banter go on for a bit before he broke in. “Have you told Charlie about the trip?”

“We’re going to surprise him after school tomorrow,” Tim said, and Martin was pretty sure he could hear the relief in it. “Hope he likes the plan. He’s been asking to come with us the next time we go out of town since Jon got back from Jonah’s little hell-quest, and I don’t think he’s ever been out of London.”

“Well…you weren’t conscious at the time, but they did bring him to visit while you were…” Present Jon’s voice trailed off.

Martin was about to say something when something solid and heavy hit his leg on four tiny pressure points and screamed. Only six months of practice enabled him not to jump completely out of his skin. “Hello, Duchess.”

“Oh, damn, I didn’t feed them before the gala.” Jon carefully disentangled himself from Martin and removed the solid iron weight masquerading as a ball of fur from his lap. “Come along, Your Grace. What have you done with your sister?”

Martin couldn’t help the soft smile that touched his lips as he stared off in the direction Jon had gone. Hearing him talk to the cats in that tone of voice always did something funny to his insides.

The smirk in Melanie’s voice was obvious. “I genuinely can’t decide which one of you is going to be the bigger pushover when you get approved to adopt.”

“Have you heard anything yet?” Present Martin asked.

“There’s another visit scheduled tomorrow. We’re almost four months into this part of the process. I’m hoping we’ll have an answer soon.” Martin picked up his mug of tea and took a sip. It had started to cool a bit, but it was still drinkable. “Not that we’re in a hurry or anything, but it’d be nice to know, you know?”

“I could probably poke at your social worker’s mind and see if they have an answer,” Sasha offered. “It’d be easy.”

“Sasha, we’ve talked about this,” Present Jon said with an audible frown.

“Yeah, if I can manage to keep myself under control…” Tim trailed off. “Sorry, Georgie. I know you’d rather we didn’t talk about it.”

“It’s fine,” Georgie said with a sigh. “I’m getting used to it. It’s not like any of you can just…stop being what you are. Did—um—did your Georgie have a problem with it?”

It was the first time she’d asked about her past self since being introduced to Jon and Martin over a year ago, and Martin couldn’t explain why it felt so weird. “She did. At first, anyway. But I think it was less the whole…supernatural fear thing and more the fact that we—and particularly Jon—kept acting like nothing was wrong.”

“Yeah. At least you lot admit this is messed up.”

“Not so much the admitting it’s messed up as trying from the get-go not to play into it,” Jon’s voice said from the direction of the kitchen. The loveseat bounced slightly—very slightly—as he sat down, leaned into Martin’s side, and kissed his cheek. “Your cat is a menace.”

“Why is she only my cat when she’s misbehaving?” Martin teased, turning his head to capture Jon’s lips with his own before they moved away. “What’s Cosmic done now?”

“Just the fact that you know it was Cosmic Creepers—”

“The Duchess has made it very clear that she’s your cat.”

Sasha gave a mock-groan. “You two as actual parents are going to be insufferable.”

Melanie’s snort was practically elephantine. “Like you don’t have the three of these with Charlie as evidence for that.”

Martin sensed the remark calculated to cause maximum chaos coming before Tim opened his mouth, but there was nothing he could do to head him off. “So, Melanie, when are you and Georgie going to add a bundle of joy to your family?”

The resultant storm of profanity and invective directed at Tim sent Jon into paroxysms of laughter, and from the sound of it, Present Jon as well. Martin could imagine Tim’s triumphant, shit-eating grin. Even Sasha was giggling.

“Seriously. I don’t even want more than one cat,” Georgie finally said when the chaos wound down. “Children have never been in my plans. Not even remotely.”

“Have you ever thought about fostering?” Present Martin asked. “Teens, maybe? I bet you’d be good at it.”

A short silence followed the question, and when Melanie answered, there was a note of surprise in her voice. “Maybe. Not right now, though.”

“I guess my question is—and please, none of you take this the wrong way—why would you want to involve a child in the…life you’re all leading?” Georgie asked. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No more than being a child is dangerous anyway,” Jon said. “Most of the fears don’t…a child’s fear isn’t fully formed, so it’s not as satisfying, but that doesn’t mean they don’t pay attention. I was marked young. So was Annabelle Cane. Callum Brodie was on the Dark’s radar long before Rayner chose him as a vessel. A-apparently the End was paying attention to all of us before my father died. A child being taken care of by someone who knows what’s out there, and isn’t…enamored with it, I suppose, stands a better chance than a child wholly unprepared.”

Martin rubbed Jon’s arm. “Besides. The more connections you have outside the Archives, the harder it is for the Fears to…use you. I guess. Even besides the Lonely, the more isolated you are, the easier you are to hurt.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Present Jon said, sounding like he was talking half to himself. “But it does make sense why Jonah tried so hard to pit us against one another. A person with no support is far more vulnerable. Far easier to use and manipulate.”

“And that’s what beat him in the end,” Melanie said. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Hear, hear.” Martin raised his mug in salute. Someone clinked a mug or glass against it, and the conversation drifted to other, less volatile topics.

They’d done this a lot over the last year. Ever since Jon, or his alter ego, had officially inherited the estate, they spent more evenings and weekends here than they did in Tim, Present Martin, and Present Jon’s house. First there’d been the intense repainting and redecorating period, during which Martin had offered deadpan commentary on color choices until Jon threatened to paint his mouth shut and Tim had unearthed more than a few artifacts belonging to other entities in various nooks and crannies. Once they were settled in, there had been pizza and pasta-making parties, movie marathons, drinks after hard weeks, and game nights. They’d come over to wrestle the garden into submission in the spring, helped decorate the house for Christmas, and watched fireworks on New Year’s from the widow’s walk on the roof. Jon had even organized an Easter Egg hunt for the neighborhood children, which had been when Martin had finally broached the idea of reaching out to the local authority about beginning the adoption process.

And exactly one year ago tonight, they had stood in the drawing room they never otherwise used and finally, finally made the bond between them a legal one.

“I can’t believe you two are spending your anniversary like this,” Sasha said, and if Martin didn’t know for a fact that she couldn’t read his mind beyond finding a back door into his dreams when Jon’s lay alongside her, he’d have told her off for it. “You’re such hopeless romantics, I expected you to go out for a candlelit dinner somewhere. Moonlit stroll in the park. Kissing under the stars.”

“It’s Thursday,” Martin reminded her.

“We’re going to Scotland for the weekend,” Jon said. “That’s part of the reason I gave everyone a three-day weekend, so we could get an early start and make the most of it.”

“I accuse you of abusing your position for your own gain,” Georgie said, but she was laughing as she did so.

“I’ll confess to that,” Jon replied immediately. Martin couldn’t help but laugh. “But seriously, we—it’s going to be a nice, relaxing weekend, but we thought spending the evening with our family would be a good start.”

Something thumped down on the coffee table. Martin guessed it was Melanie’s glass. “You know what I can’t believe? That you picked the eighteenth of October to get married. I mean, you know literally everything in the world, and certainly everything about the Institute. You had to know that was the day the Institute was founded. And then you had to spend your first anniversary making nice with the donors. Why would you do that?”

Martin looked in Jon’s direction. “You want to tell them, or shall I?”

Jon sighed heavily and dropped his head to Martin’s shoulder. “You go ahead. I’d rather not say it out loud.”

“Uh-oh.” Tim sounded worried. “This is…what happened on the eighteenth of October, 2017 in your timeline?”

“Bugger all,” Martin replied. “It was today. In our original timeline, this was when Jonah slipped his ritual into a statement and fed it to Jon against his will. Eighteenth October, 2018.” He ran his hand through Jon’s hair, which had fallen out of its braid. “We didn’t want to wait until this year to get married, but we’d already agreed that we wanted it to be the eighteenth. We wanted to take back the day Jonah Magnus tried to ruin and make it ours.”

“To replace the memories,” Present Martin said softly.

“Exactly. He’s taken too damn much from us already. We’re not letting him have everything.” Martin pressed a kiss to the top of Jon’s head.

“So where in Scotland are you going?” Present Jon asked.

“John O’Groats. It’s—Daisy used to have a safehouse up there,” Jon explained. “Well, she still has the house, but she’s just renting it out to vacationers these days. She told us we could use it for free a couple times a year as a thank-you for helping her get the Hunt under control.”

“Yeah, Basira says she’s a lot more relaxed than she was when she was a cop,” Sasha said. “If you can believe it. Is that where you two stayed…um, up until the eighteenth of October?”

“Yep.” Martin popped the P in a method that, he hoped, would indicate the subject is closed and you should not push further, Sasha James.

Thankfully, it seemed to work. Georgie was the next to speak up. “What about you three? Do you have plans for your trip to America or is it just more of a ramble?”

“We were planning to visit Boston,” Present Martin answered. “Lots of history, lots of walking trails, lots of potentially haunted stuff. But…well, Jon changed things around a couple weeks ago and he’s been vague about what we’re doing now.”

“Oh.” Present Jon sounded both embarrassed and excited. “I—ah—I’m sorry, I got so…I completely forgot I hadn’t told you. I managed to track down my cousin. You know, the one I stayed with for a bit before starting uni? He moved to a new town about the time I started at the Institute, actually. Apparently he’s married now. His husband sounds…um, interesting. And he wants to meet you two—and Charlie, too. I actually managed to get us tickets out there. I—I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind getting the chance to meet a relative that not only doesn’t hate you, but doesn’t care you’re in a relationship with two other men and is excited about the idea of meeting us? Of course we do, it sounds horrific, why would you do something like that,” Tim said flatly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jon, we’d love to meet your cousin.”

“It’ll be fun,” Present Martin agreed. “Did you ever…I mean, have you met him?”

It took Martin a second to realize the question was directed at him. “Honestly, until you all started talking about him, I didn’t even know Jon had a cousin.”

“I’d love to see him again,” Jon said, a bit wistfully. “I do miss him. I suppose asking you to pass on my best wishes would be a little much, but…”

“I’m going to tell him,” Present Jon said softly. “About all of this. I think he deserves to know, and…I think he can handle it.”

“Well. Give me a call if you get the chance. I’d love to talk to him.”

“Of course.” Present Jon hesitated. “I—um, I think he might have a couple…statements. Something about the way he said ‘scientifically interesting’ when talking about the town. I’m going to tell him about…this, and us, and what we can do. Let him decide if he wants to share.”

Jon made a slightly pained noise, but Martin rubbed his arm soothingly and said, “You’ll probably need something. At least Tim will. That’s—you’ll be too far from the Institute for too long not to take a statement or two. Better if it’s someone willing, wouldn’t you say?”

Tim took a deep breath. “Does it ever get any easier? Needing to—sensing in your case, or seeing in mine, that someone has a statement, and needing it so badly?”

“Not really,” Jon admitted. “It’s why I don’t go out alone so often. The trouble is that sometimes it helps them and sometimes it…doesn’t, and you can never tell before they tell their stories whether it will or not. The Eye likes it better when it’s…forced, but the Eye can honestly get stuffed. We’re doing this on our terms.”

“Hell yeah,” Tim said with a laugh. Jon leaned forward at Martin’s side, and from the sounds, he guessed they were bumping their fists together.

They spent about another hour together, talking and laughing and generally relaxing. Finally, though, Present Martin asked, “How early were you two planning to head out?”

“Not until early afternoon. The social worker is coming, remember?” Martin shrugged. “But if you lot want to get going…”

“Yes, we—we should probably make sure Charlie’s in bed, and I’m sure Wade is ready to be released,” Present Jon said. There were a number of rustles and creaks as everyone got to their feet, and Martin stood, too, stretching out his spine. “Call us when you get there.”

“We will. Let us know when you get to America,” Jon replied.

“Are you taking the cats, or do you want us to stop by and look after them?” Melanie asked.

Martin paused and looked in Jon’s direction. He could practically feel his thoughts flowing between them, running through the bond Annabelle had put on them like a telegraph wire. “Well, we were going to take them, but…actually, would you mind?”

“Of course not. We’d be delighted,” Georgie said.

Jon squeezed Martin’s waist, then slid away. “Come here, then, let me show you where we keep the food.”

Martin saw the others to the door and handed out another round of hugs. Jon arrived with Georgie just before they pulled away, so was at least able to wave, and he hugged both Georgie and Melanie and thanked them again. And then it was just the two of them, alone in their house, and together.

Jon shut and latched the door, then took Martin’s hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm. Close your eyes and follow me.”

Martin smiled more broadly, but he did as Jon asked. Jon led him through the house and up three flights of stairs. It somehow didn’t surprise Martin when Jon pushed open a final door and he heard the soft sounds of an autumn evening.

“Stargazing?” he teased.

“It is a good night for it,” Jon said, not rising to the bait. “But no, not what I had in mind.” He tugged Martin forward a few feet, then added, “You can open your eyes now.”

Martin didn’t point out that it wouldn’t do any good; he simply opened his eyes. He could smell roses and peonies, he thought—the same flowers they’d decorated the drawing room with for their wedding. There was a soft click, and a tape recorder began playing—which made him smile—and then Jon was there and holding his hands. “Can I have this dance?”

Martin’s smile broadened as he recognized the song. “For the rest of your life.”

Martin let Jon lead him, singing quietly along with the music as he did so. He was still barefoot and it was a bit cold on the widow’s walk for that, but he didn’t care. It was the song they’d chosen as their first dance at their wedding, something of a fast waltz, but the lyrics had struck both of them as being so very them. As soon as Martin realized that, he also realized that this was probably the tape Tim had made for them to play at their wedding. It had been their way of ensuring that Annabelle, if she was still listening, would be able to be a part of things, too.

They still made a point of shooing out spiders and cleaning out cobwebs, but the tapes? Those could stay.

When the first song was over, rather than let Jon go, Martin simply shifted his grip and took the lead for the second song on the tape—the first song they had ever danced to, in Tim and Present Martin and Present Jon’s kitchen the night they’d moved in. He pulled Jon closer, letting their foreheads touch, and sang along to that one as well. He could feel Jon shiver in his arms and knew, knew, it wasn’t the cold that was doing it.

They slowed to a stop just before the song ended. Jon slid his arms around Martin’s neck and simply held him; Martin wrapped his around Jon’s waist and pulled him even closer until their bodies were flush, until they were practically fused into a single person.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too,” Jon whispered back. “Happy anniversary, Martin.”

“Happy anniversary.” Martin leaned forward and kissed him thoroughly.

Jon kissed him back, deeply and intensely and with all the emotions they had built up between them over the years: loneliness and desperation and fear, love and tenderness and hope. They had fought their damnedest for a moment they thought would never come, and now that it had, Martin was going to savor it. This and every other moment that ever could be.

At last, the need for air forced them to separate, and Jon laughed quietly. “You know what I didn’t think through about this?”

“We’re still barefoot?” Martin guessed.

“We are still barefoot,” Jon agreed. “And I’m still rather…worn out from the day. What do you say we go inside, shut the cats in their room for the night, and make use of that oversized tub in the downstairs bath?”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Martin said. He kissed Jon again, very softly, and then stepped back. “Lead on, Mr. Blackwood-Sims.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Blackwood-Sims,” Jon drawled. He stopped the tape with a gentle click, then laced his fingers through Martin’s, the metal of his wedding band smooth and cool against his fingers as it rolled over the webbing between them. “Come on, my love.”

Hand-in-hand, Martin and Jon, the man he’d loved for years, the man he’d fought for, fought with, the reason he had survived apocalypse after apocalypse, his anchor—his husband—turned away from the world they had somehow managed to save and into their home, into the future they had made.

Together.