#and between that fic and this latest chapter I feel like I am the queen of awkward boundaries being crossed

[frownyalfred]

Hey, I don't know how I missed the fact that Borderline is one of your fics. But I just wanted you to know that it's quickly become of my new fave Batfam fics and has got me rethinking about my own hivemind/shared thoughts WIP. I blame it on me being such a massive SW fan, but mental links/bonds and hiveminds are a fave concept of mine and Borderline is just ticking all of my boxes.

Awh. Thank you anon 🥹 it’s also one of my favorite tropes, especially one to read in the clone wars fandom.

There’s also a lot of sense8 influence in this fic since I watched that a few years ago. I think a lot about that show when I draft the parts about invaded privacy, awkward boundaries, trying to kill the bond etc.

[hello---darling]

Wicked Deeds Chapter 1 - The Walk Home

Rating: Mature (no smut this chapter, smutty smut smut on the way) Word count: 3k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav Warnings: Unhealthy relationship dynamics, alcohol, trauma, blood, low level violence, death, post game ending. Summary: Tav and Astarion come again together after months apart. Two damaged idiots in love. Reposting this again because I just worked out how to add the 'keep reading' part. I'm new to fics please forgive me.

Loose cobblestones slipped under her feet as she worked her way through the lower city. 

‘Shit’ she thought to herself as a smile played across her face, ‘Damn wizards and their wine’.

She had spent the evening with Gale and Shadowheart, a comforting routine the three of them had slipped into over the last few months since her departure from The Palace. Gale dragged via enthusiastic summons through a portal from Waterdeep and Shadowheart pulled from her farmhouse, arriving often with the lingering smell of hay and fresh earth. Their evenings together regularly became early mornings, reminiscing about their closest brush with death, speculating on their friend’s success in Avernus or simply discussing the latest magical mishaps of Gale’s students at Blackstaff. There was comfort, between the three of them. A safety provided by knowing that they had already seen the worst of each other, the worst of what this world had to offer and that they still made the choice to stay. There is always a choice. 

Tav admired Shadowheart’s silvery hair, resurfacing an old joke that made Shadowheart laugh when she was still acclimating to the change – “we could be twins”. Shadowheart’s eyes sparkled, gentle creases forming on the side of her face.

“Just like twins” she said with a laugh, sliding her porcelain hand to squeeze onto Tav’s, the contrast between their skin still stark in the dim tavern. Whilst their hair was admittedly similar, long, white and preferably worn in elaborately braided, it was abundantly clear to anyone that the two women were not twins. Tav’s right eye, the good eye, a dark reddish tone and her left a pupilless milky orb, the marking of an unsatisfactory dealing with a hag.

It had been years since Tav had left Menzoberranzan, however she would always noticeably be a child of The Spider Queen. Despite this, she found the people of Baldur’s Gate to be more accepting than she anticipated, mostly. She would notice the occasional frightened looks from passersby, which he would always say was because they were ‘frightened of her beauty’. She tried not to remember how sweet he was when they first arrived in the city, the reassuring grip of his cold fingers around hers, completely unaware of the terror that would soon lurch their lives into chaos.

Shadowheart’s soft hand lingered on hers, her slender fingers falling on a gold ring, embedded in the band a scuffed turquoise stone, worn the fourth finger of Tav’s left hand. Shadowheart’s brow knitted together as her fingers caressed the well-worn metal. Before she could comment, Tav interrupted her blossoming questioning.

“Old habits” she said with a shrug 

Gale furrowed his brow “You really shouldn’t wear that anymore, who knows what magic-“

“I’m sure he doesn’t wear his anymore” Tav retorted, her voice the edge of a blade that causes Gale to retreat.  

Gale sunk back into his chair as he raised his palms, a nod of submission in her direction 

“Just be careful Tav” `

“I am careful”, the lie rolls off her tongue easily. 

He doesn’t wear it anymore, I’m sure of it.

Gale remedied the discomfort of the moment with more wine, and there is no more discussion of the ring, their conversations unravelling to the ridiculous as the hours trail into the evening. Tav can feel Gale’s gaze on her as their glasses empty, his dark eyes like pools, how she could fall in and drown if she just let go.

She knows he still thinks of that night in the Shadow Cursed Lands, the two of them in a clearing, a conjured bed, his chestnut hair falling beside his face like a curtain, his forehead pressed against hers as they rutted into each other furiously. His body served a welcome distraction, however she knew the moment she untangled her sweaty form from his that she had made a mistake. The earnestness in his expression as he looked at her, when he told her he was falling in love with her, how he held his own heart in his hands for her to take and the look in his eyes when she told him she didn’t feel the same way.

She winced every time she recalled the discomfort of their exchanges for the following weeks. How Gale had glared at her, his wounded heart fought against her friendship, and she could not blame him for it. Still, they had managed to build a solid friendship on the ruins of that night. She thought for a moment how easy it would be to call him back into her bed, how willingly he would follow her siren song, eagerly offering the warmth of his body for an evening to replace the starving black hole in her chest. She told herself it was the wine talking, that he was her friend, that she would not do this to him again.

After the last bottle of wine became dregs, they extracted themselves from the table and said their goodbyes. The cool air of the lower city bit at her skin, a welcome reprieve from the sweat and stale air of the booze soaked tavern. Gale offered to walk her home, which allowed her to shoo him away with a well-practiced line “no one attacks a drow in the dark”.  

As she turned into a winding alleyway, a strange affection for the piss-soaked streets washed over her. She had friends, she had a home, Baldur’s Gate wasn’t entirely marred by unpleasant memories. Almost as soon as the thought of ‘home’ warmed in her chest, the crunching of a boot behind her pulled at her attention. Before she could turn around, the familiar chill of a blade came to stroke the fleshy underside of her chin, as a muscular forearm wrapped suddenly around her, pinning her arms to her side. A sobering sensation to be sure. 

“If you scream, I’ll push this right through your skull” said the voice, angling the blade to tilt her jaw skywards. 

Shit. Her head swam. Without her staff and her blood coursing with wine, there was every chance her attempts to use magic would likely just as likely raze this small corner of the city as they would subdue her attacker. A concealed blade strapped her thigh, impregnated with drow poison was also a viable option-

“I know what you’re thinking. You’ll be dead on the ground before you even have a chance to reach for it” said the voice in her ear as he pressed the blade, hard. Bravado was the only way out.

“Nine-Fingers will have your cock and balls for this, if you’re lucky” spat Tav, her voice unwavering despite the frantic beating of her heart against her ribcage. 

“I don’t work for Nine-Fingers” said the voice, his hot and sour breath making her skin crawl. 

“Well whoever you work for I promise this a bad idea, you don’t know-“

“I know who you are” said the voice “and I promise you-", she noted how much he seemed to relish hearing her words returned from his mouth "-that I’m going to enjoy this” .

The blade pressed further into the flesh as she gasped, the point slicing into her skin, a dribble of blood running down her neck. I’m really going to die in this grimy alley. Gods she had so many regrets. 

Tav took a deep breath, steeling herself for her imminent, unpleasant death. It would just be a moment, then…. nothing. Reprieve. Instead, a pleasant smell, warm and rich filled the air. The cool breeze suddenly carried the familiar smell of bergamot, rosemary and aged brandy. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as the scent washed over her.

He’s so fucked, she thinks, almost feeling sorry for the man with a knife to her neck, blissfully unaware as that he is living though is final few moments. Her breath catches in her throat as her mind turns- he’s fucked, and so am I. 

The sound of metal on flesh followed by the warm pooling of liquid down her back returns her to the alleyway, away from her swirling thoughts. As the man behind her crumples to the ground, she turns to look at him, a deep scarlet gash across his throat, the nothingness of his dark eyes as his blood starts to snake its way between the cobblestones. 

“You should be more careful” said the familiar baritone, as a chill ran down her spine.

It's him. What is he doing here?

The moonlight shone on the man in front of her and she felt her knees weaken and her stomach turn. Arousal. Fear. Astarion. He looked just as ethereal as the day they first met, when the sun shone through his hair on those cliff tops, she would describe it later as an experience of near religious proportions. Of course, this was right before he held a blade to her throat. He had laughed uncontrollably months later as she recounted that story, a celestial being he most certainly was not.

Standing in front of her in the piss-scented and newly blood-soaked alley, he was wearing a loose black shirt, unbuttoned to expose the top of his sculpted chest and collarbones, black pants with a cream pinstripe and shining black leather loafers with an ornate golden buckle. He was breathtaking…and she was in trouble.

“It’s rude to stare, Tavriel”, he said, his lips pressed into a thin line and his expression unreadable.

After a pause, he continued talking “and remains expected to thank someone for saving your life”, he punctuated this with an expectant flourish of his hands.

“Thank you, Star”, the nickname falls out of her mouth before she can stop it.

He took a step towards her and sheathed the bloodied blade into a leather holster secured to his ankle. He straightened and turned to meet her eyes.

 “Are you alright?” His eyes roamed over her face, searching her form for injuries. His gaze lingered on her neck as she used her fingers to wipe away the dribble of blood. Astarion ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She swallowed again, hard. Gods, it seemed impossible for a man to look that good.

“You’re drunk” he said flatly, a muscle in his marble like jaw flexing underneath the skin “and you’ve been avoiding me” 

“I’m not drunk” she protested

“Don’t lie to me Tav, you reek of a tavern”

Instinctively she brought a cupped hand to meet her mouth, a self-conscious gesture to smell her own boozy breath. 

He laughed as she did so, the humourless sound reverberating through the empty street. “Not your breath, love. Your blood, I can smell it in your blood from here”. 

She drew her hand back beside her as the heat spread across her face. The nose of a predator. 

“Right. Of course.” She was sure he could smell her fear, almost taste her arousal and hear the rushing of her blood. Once again, she was his prey. How long had he been hunting her?

“You’ve been avoiding me” he said again, a statement of fact rather than a question. 

She looked up at him, her thoughts swimming, uncollected, she felt herself slipping. Her gaze trailed from his face down to the nape of his neck, how she longed to once again bury her nose in the cool, soft flesh. His voice snapped her out of it.

“Gods, you really are three sheets to the wind, Tav. The way you’re staring would make a more honest man blush…. I'll escort you home”. As flash of revulsion clouded his perfect face for a moment as he said that word, home. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers as if to rid himself of a bothersome thought. His expression once again quickly smoothed over, the man before her becoming an unreadable, unreachable, unliving statue.

“it’s not necessary, I’ll be fine, I’m not staying far from-“ “I know where you’re staying, and I insist.” His tone is curt, punishing. Noticing her apprehension he quickly softened, a familiar glint appearing in his crimson eyes. “And besides, I refuse to negotiate with drunkards”

In one smooth step he closed the distance between them, offering his bent forearm to steady her. She looked down again at the body by their feet, an unfamiliar human man with dark reddish hair, a strong jawline and a crooked nose looked up at the stars without recognition. He was nothing but a pile of exsanguinated meat. Who in the Hells are you? “We’ll talk about him tomorrow”, said Astarion, placing his pale fingers on the top of her hand as she looped herself around his forearm. A familiar pooling of warmth spread from her core at his proximity. She knew better than to argue with him, not when he was being so sweet, so much like his old self. She looked at him for a moment. His closeness made her dizzy. All the Gods above and below, he was so beautiful. She remembered the hours spend languidly wrapped around him underneath the stars, how he would hum softly as she traced his elegant features with the tip of her finger...

Memories rushed back in waves as he stood beside her. A lump rose in her throat as she recalled the night underneath The Palace. 7000 souls, including his. How he had howled as the ritual was completed, a guttural, animalistic sound rising from the depths of his belly. How they had fought the weeks after, the things he had said to her. Gods the things he had said to her. 'You ingrate!' he had screamed as she left, the halls of The Palace shaking.

The memories tasted of hot sick and cheap wine, and for a moment she struggled to take the next breath in. She thought she might be sick here, in this alleyway, maybe even on his loafers. If only she could purge herself of the memories that plagued her. She shook her head as if to shake herself from the clutches of her own mind. “Tomorrow?”, Tav finally mustered. “Tomorrow”, he said tersely, his grip on her forearm unwavering as he guided her down the alleyway. “I need to speak with you. It’s been months, Tav. You refuse to respond to my letters; you reject my summons. You act as if I do not even exist.” “We agreed to give each other space-“ “Space?! We agreed to nothing!” He said, dropping her arm suddenly and turning to face her, his tone becoming venomous. His nostrils flared wide and his red eyes narrowed. “How much space you need, Tav? Another year? A decade? A century? I will wait that long, I have the rest of eternity!” He said as he threw his hands into the air, his voice growing louder which each passing moment. “Must you always be so intent on being the architect of my suffering?!”

He’s spiralling.

“Star. Please, don’t get upset with me I just-“ “Darling, I do not get upset with you! You goad me into anger!”. Astarion’s eyes darken, his pupils blown wide as he looks at her, the tips of his fangs graze his bottom lip as he flexes his long fingers. There he is, The Vampire Ascendant. Cazador’s unholy inheritance. As quickly as the moment arrives, it passes. He holds his hands out in front of him, palms facing up, exposing the milky white underside of his delicate wrists. “Tav……I apologise.” He exhales slowly through pursed lips. Breathing, a habit completely unneeded for 200 years, however comforting all the same. “Tonight has admittedly, been a lot to process. Seeing you, watching you almost get killed. You will have to excuse me if I am not my most collected self. Please allow me to walk you home. This is I am at least capable of doing.....despite your obvious distaste for my company”

“Astarion, I don’t find your company distasteful”, she sighs, a familiar ache building as they dance around each other. The desire to ruin and be ruined, both knowing there is seemingly no limit to how far they can push each other....they will always end up here.

“You have made your feelings abundantly clear.” He snapped.

“Please just……allow me to walk with you” He sighs as he offers her his arm again, a familiar pattern well woven into the memories of their flesh as she loops her arm around his. They stride towards her door in silence.

As they arrive at her door he turns to face her, his aristocratic form out of place amongst the ramshackle surroundings. She had made her home here, between the run-down buildings and secluded alleyways, a far cry from The Palace. She had expelled herself from the comfort and the luxury that came with the blood price of walking those halls. The man she loved would have felt more comfortable here than inside the gilded cage of those garish walls. She wondered if he had changed The Palace since she left.

“Tav, please. Come see me tomorrow. I need to speak with you…It’s of the utmost importance”. His eyes plead with her as they rake her face. He looks…. worried. Vulnerable. Once again, her heart lurches as she remembers the way he implored her prior to every fight, with every fibre of his being, to ‘just be careful, darling’. She knows this look in his eyes.

“Okay. I’ll come – tomorrow”. Shit. Why was she agreeing to this. He was the spider, and she was the fly. Trapped, her sticky wings beating frantically against his web as he crept towards her.

“Wonderful. I will send a carriage for you” “That won’t be necessary-“ “I insist”. An order. He reaches his hand to take a hold of hers, planting a chaste kiss to her knuckles, before turning her hand within his and placing a second soft kiss to the underside of her palm. His eyes flutter closed as his cool lips press against her skin. “Goodnight Tavriel. It was…. invigorating to see you, even under these circumstances. I look forward to speaking tomorrow” As he drops her hand, she notices for the first time a flash of gold and turquoise. True Loves Caress. He still wears the ring.

[generalluxun]

Fanfic Author 20 Questions

Thanks to @erisluna35 for sending this along! 1. How many works do you have on AO3?

On AO3? Right now 63, soon to be 64(tomorrow probably) and a couple on FF.net

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,020,860 on AO3 plus another ~86K fic I never ported over to AO3, as my 'recent' stuff, starting back in 2021

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Miraculous Ladybug, I did others a long time ago before joining AO3, but that was a long time ago. I've considered a couple others recently too, but nothing yet.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

At The Gala- A Chlonette fic inspired by fanart, and actually the sequel to my #2 by Kudos. This is just a cute series of strange interactions with Chloe from Marinette's PoV, culminating in understanding and discovery on a fated evening.

Slippery slope- Little Chlonette ficlet inspired by a fanart. Very short, it's about how a single unexpected moment can change someone's entire world.

Ever After- A long chapter fic set more than a decade post-canon that looks into the idea that 'Ever After' can be a long time, and that expecting life to be solved at 14 is a recipe for eventual disaster. Yet at the same time life continues to offer new experiences, new possibilities, and new ways to grow. Ships include Adrienette, Chloadrien, and Felinette.

Showing Love- An alternate ending to Queen Wasp, where instead of reuniting Chloé with her horrible mother by highlighting everything horrible about her (seriously, what?) Marinette comes face to face with the reality that a mother really *can* not love a child. Being Marinette she can't let such a thing stand, even if it is Chloé. Marinette&Dupain-Cheng family goodness.

What Do you See?- Adrigami fic that kicks off right in the middle of Kuro Neko. While Adrien is struggling with the pain of giving up Cat Noir, one thing crosses his mind. He can finally give one important person the truth she deserves. After all, he *Was* Cat Noir, not *is*. The two both struggle to navigate the ramifications of this revelation, especially when Plagg shows up once more with the ring. (there's a little bit of eventual Lukanette)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to most, especially any questions or curiosities. I love engagement.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh heck this is so not fair. I am in love with bittersweet ending, and have a couple of doozies.

I can't decide between three.

What Happened- The 'real reason' Chloé Bourgeois's redemption arc failed. What do you di when you do everything right, only to find out your happiness causes the end of the world, in every timeline?

A Modest Proposal- Marinette is happily impatient for Adrien to finally propose to her. Little does she know, a secret long kept is going to come back to haunt her. It's worse than you think.

The Risk Outweighs- A look into someone else's life during the episode 'Risk'. The courage to do anything finally gives Chloé the strength to break from the cycle. But the Ladybugs must set things right, and a few moments of clarity weigh nothing against a lifetime.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, lots with happy endings, though I prefer 'open' endings, so...hmmm

Cafe Noir- has an unambiguously happy ending, but I specifically set out to write a romcom so that feels like cheating.

Dog Daze- probably has the most comprehensively happy ending, Adrien's dad even managed to try to parent. They do go through a lot on the way to the happy ending though.

In Direct Opposition- My latest work, seems to end on a solidly happy note for all involved.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Ever After drew some upset people that expected their OTP to be the main ship. I never tried to deceive anyone, but a few people were just really upset.

I also had this weird thing where someone thought I was someone else, and stalked my comments for a while. That's why I use moderation now.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I've done M rated fics. I'm not sure 'smut' works for them, even if there's lots of sex narratively, it's usually mentioned rather than being detailed. I did one single 'this will be a smut fic' fic. And even that ended up with like, 5K words mostly plot, and about 2 paragraphs of (I think emotional and important) sex.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah, I've never had the crossover itch. I generally find each world intriguing enough on their own.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep! I had someone ask if they could translate one of my fics to Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. Talked about it before, but never went through with it. Not against the idea. I do a lot of rubber ducking for my friends though, so some of my ideas can end up in their finished fics.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I'm going ot have to go with adribrina, my goobers. I like exploring all kinds of ships, and these two I threw together on a whim but Oh, they're so comfy! I wrote Puppy Love to see how they would work, and then that evolved into Dog Daze, my Largest work to date. I had *intended* for them to amicably break up and Sabrina to be a wing-woman to Adrien in the canon ship of Adrienette.... but they just did not want to break up. Even if they wouldn't admit they were dating, they were just too *comfy* together. These two make me happy. (Marinette ended up okay though, she's happy!)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

A third fic in my Senti-Sentai AU. 'Worlds Collide'. It was set in 'vague eastern Europe country in the middle of violent conflict' and then that suddenly got too real, too quickly.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Character voice. I write third person limited, and I've been told many times that I do a very good job of writing characters as their canonical selves, just in different situations that bring about different outcomes or changes in them. I consider that a high compliment, because the characters are what I am here for.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Brevity. Even simplistic plots 'enemies to friends road trip' become detailed 'Marinette manipulates Chloé into chasing Adien and Lila across the globe to prevent Lila from wheedling an arranged Marriage out of Gabriel' and then that blossoms into a 98K fic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I feel like my last of understanding grammar and colloquialisms for another language would have me sounding like bad google translate. Singular words used? Viable.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

SWATKats. My first ever fanfic was a 30K fic about that show.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

They are all my babies! This is so not fair. I've spoken about some of my favorites earlier though, so I'll use this spot to mention some other ones :)

He's Perfect- Gothic Horror Adrienette! It even has a sequel and an entire AU in my head if I can circle back.

The Orphan and the Marionette- Written to feel like one of Grimm's fairy tales. Chlonette(kind of) with a heavy dose of magic and a surprise appearance from Marianne.

There are so many more but I'll plug Dog Daze again, because I to like how it flows and the alternate S5 we get from it. It also inspired a raft of 'post story' one shots, and I have another chapter fic waiting in the wings to continue the AU. There's plenty of stories to tell here.

@taketwoinink Tag, if you would like to play.

[zanazirafanfic]

25DCC Chapter 13 "Getting Anxious for Christmas" (Preview)

Hello, all! I promise this fic isn't abandoned, and I am *finally* getting somewhere with this chapter after almost an entire month of the worst writer's block I've had in years! Work has been crazy the last few nights, so I didn't have as much time to finish up as I'd hoped, but I'm planning to have it up tomorrow, 3/19, at the latest!

In the meantime, as an apology, here's a little preview. Enjoy!

*~RDR~*

Lone Wolf Stead, Great Plains, WE - December 13, 1910

"And this man's name was what?" 

"Cú Chulainn of Muirthemne. He was an Irish warrior," Jack answered. He was only half paying attention to the conversation, thoroughly engrossed in his book while he lay stretched out on his stomach in the back of the wagon. "In this chapter he's defending the kingdom of Ulster from Queen Medb of Connacht's army. She's trying to invade and steal King Conchobar mac Nessa's prized bull, Donn Cúailnge, after she put all his other soldiers under a curse so they can't fight."

John blinked, just taking all of that in for a moment. "You... How did you even get all those names outta your mouth in one go?"

Jack shrugged, turning to the next page with a tiny grin. "I dunno. Just... comes easy to me, I guess."

The elder Marston blew out a slow breath and shook his head. "Well you're a helluva lot smarter than me, that's for sure. Maybe you oughta drive the wagon while I read that book of yours for a while - I clearly need to 'broaden my horizons' some more."

"He's smarter than both of us," Abigail said proudly, turning around to look at him.

Jack hunched deeper into his book, his face flushing pink in embarrassment. "That's... I'm not..." He never knew quite how to respond when his parents said things like that, and it usually just got him flustered instead. He suspected that was half of why they did it, actually.

John and Abigail exchanged a fond smile with one another, and John huffed a quiet laugh as he snapped the reins to urge the wagon horses into a faster trot.

The three of them were on their way over to Lone Wolf Stead, planning to pay an impromptu visit to the Morgan-Smiths. John had been out to Blackwater that morning, leaving in the wagon before sunrise with their surplus milk, eggs, and wool loaded in the back to sell. When he arrived back home a couple of hours later, it was with a grin on his face and a pale cream-colored envelope clutched in his hands. There was no return address except to the post office in Annesburg, but the name "Tacitus Kilgore" was written in the upper-left corner in a messy, looping scrawl.

There was only one person - or, rather, one couple - who would still be writing letters to John under that alias after all these years, and as soon as he'd seen his father pull up to the front porch and noticed the name on the letter, Jack was scrambling into the back of the wagon, all but dragging his mother along behind him.

Aforementioned letter now was tucked securely between the back pages of his book, still unopened for the time being (no matter how tempted he was to take a quick peek). Pa and Uncle Arthur had promised each other weeks ago that whoever received word from Dutch and Hosea first would be sure to notify the other immediately, and John said he didn't feel right opening it before his brother got a chance to see it too. Jack didn't mind, though, since it gave them an excuse to visit his uncles again...

@photo1030

[txemrn]

Déjà Vu

Chapter 1

Series Summary: After an unforgettable night with a stranger, Princess Eleanor finds herself caught in a secret love triangle between a noble and a commoner.

Chapter Summary: Eleanor prepares for a night out with her best friends despite her mother's wishes for her to attend a special family dinner.

Pairing(s): Liam x Riley (in discussion); more to be revealed

Word Count: ~2740

Warning: 🔞 Mature Audiences Only 🔞 this chapter references drinking; brief language

A/N: Welcome to my Crack Fic! No one asked for this... at least no one of sound mind, and if you're a big fan of TRR, you might actually hate this (no, I'm not killing Liam!). When I pitched this idea (half-joking, half-serious) to some buddies after reading the book Birthday Girl by Penelope Douglas, the eager encouragement I normally receive was met with (what's that TikTok trend with that T Swift song?) "horrified looks from everyone in the room". But... I could not get this idea out of my head. So, here we are! I have a general idea of where this story is going... but I'm actually leaving myself open to possibilities. No matter how the road twists and turns, I would be honored if you join me!

A/N 2: This story takes place approximately 2 decades after TRR/TRH. I have made some canonical changes (they will be mentioned). Characters and some plots belong to our friends at Pixelberry! Huge thank you to @charlotteg234 for looking over this for me (and laughing like a maniac with me)! This was not Beta'd; please excuse my errors.

~🖤~

Eleanor

Tapping my newly manicured nails against the glass topper to my vanity, my gaze nervously shifts back and forth between my choices for the evening. I don’t know why this is so hard–or why it’s taking me this long to decide–but somehow, here I am in quite the conundrum.

Perversion or Temptress: that’s it. But, when it came to darkening the outer-corner of my eyelid, picking the right hue of eyeshadow matters. Yes, yes, they’re both a deep black; one is a dark matte that has the potential to smudge all over my porcelain face, but the other one, while dark, has little flecks of silver.

Biting my lip, I look at myself in the mirror before looking back at the YouTube tutorial I was following.  I feel silly making such a big deal over the color; afterall, this is supposed to be fun. Normally, for me, it is.  I’m actually really good at doing my own make-up, thanks to the internet and to my mother who convinced my father when I was fourteen that mascara and lipstick would not lead me down the path of destruction and eternal damnation.

Well, I guess I should clarify: I do a great job on my make-up, my everyday natural, diplomatically poised look. Think lots of pinks and taupes. It’s the latest trend for crown princesses; I should know.

But tonight, I wouldn’t be Princess Eleanor. I didn’t want to be Princess Eleanor. 

Dangit, that came out wrong. I don’t mean to sound like some stereotypical spoiled brat that is born into money and power, who craves freedom from her poor little privileged life.  I am content–actually, very grateful for the life I have been born into. I have been given incredible opportunities and experiences because of it. But, I’m not naive; I know I have a high-calling, one filled with much responsibility and dedication. Someday I will be queen of Cordonia.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves... 

Tonight, I’m just Nora–at least that’s what my friends call me, and since I’m turning twenty this coming Tuesday, they wanted to take me out over the weekend. This weekend. See? Responsible. But, there is just one problem…

There’s a sudden knock on my door, my mother instantly inviting herself in.  “Dinner’s in thirty Eleanor–”  she freezes as her eyes grow wide. “Y–you’re make-up… don’t you think it’s a bit on the, um… heavy-side?”

“Mom,” I singsong, "it's supposed to be. This is how all the celebrities and models wear their make-up when they hit the town." 

"Hit the town?" My mother gave me that eyebrow, the one that gives away her true unspoken feelings. "You're going out tonight?"

"Mhmm. To dinner." I settle on Urban Decay's Perversion, and start tapping the color against my eyelid. "I told you and Daddy that Josie and Beth were taking me out–"

"Eleanor," my mom shot her first warning signal with her tone. "We discussed that tonight wasn't a good night. And if you ladies could do things tomorrow–"

"It's just a family dinner," I continue to work on my look. "Daddy said it was fine–"

"But you know how important this dinner is. We have a special guest."

Yes, yes. We know.

His name is Drake Walker, and he is–well, was, my parent's best friend back in the day before I was born. He actually grew up with my dad, Drake's father serving as my Grandpa Rys's royal guard when he was king of Cordonia.

But, then there was a falling out of some sort…well, that's according to my Uncle Leo. He means well, but I'm fairly certain the truth has been stretched.

Anyway, I'm not too clear on what happened, but shortly after my parents got married, Drake moved back to his home in America to start a normal life. He never settled down with a wife, but he kept busy with his construction company.

That is until four months ago when he discovered his business partner had been siphoning company funds into off-shore accounts. Now he spends his days laid up on the couch with a fifth of whiskey. And broke as a joke.

Drake's brother-in-law Bertrand Beaumont, the Duke of Ramsford, serves on the royal council with my parents, and after a late meeting one night, he shared the truth about their former best friend. 

Daddy and his bleeding heart… sure, he can see fiery red from time to time and his temper can bubble over, but my father is known for his grace, forgiveness, and charity towards others. He contacted his old friend… which then led to an invitation back to Cordonia.

'It's only for a little while, until he gets back on his feet,' Daddy assured my mom.  'We'll give him tasks around the palace until then.'

Mom called it a 'midlife crisis'. I don't think I was supposed to hear the latter part.

I began to draw on my eyeliner as my mother crossed her arms, glowering at me. Feeling the disappointment radiate from her glare, I stop, shrugging my shoulders. "What?"

"Part of being royal is posing as a unified front as a family."

"You act like this is some official business or a press event–"

"Our closest friends are going to be here, Elle, and–" she stops, her eyes playfully smoldering as her voice becomes angelically romantic. "--I think even Bartie is coming." 

"Mom!" I chuckle, my cheeks pinking in embarrassment from her inflection. "It's not like that with him."

Oh, but it was…

Bartie Beaumont is one of my closest friends. He's a few years older than me and well… I really enjoy spending time with him.  He's incredibly kind and charming in and out of social situations. He's quite handsome with his dark, well-kept hair and deep chestnut eyes. And smart–goodness, he's smart. He can keep up with my father, round-for-round in debating politics and foreign policies.

He's always been fiercely protective of me, even when I was a little girl. But he was always just Bartie, my honorary older brother… that is until he asked me to dance at a charity gala when I was sixteen. I had never been asked to dance by a boy before; I was normally paired with other noble children, usually from the suggestion made by their mothers. But this? It was different… and special. Someone chose to dance with me because they wanted to. And until that moment, I never understood what it meant to let a partner 'lead you', and well… I digress. It was nice. Bartie… he's just nice.

"But seriously, Mom," I continue, "the girls have already set everything up for tonight, and I'm the guest of honor for that. I can't just stand them up."

My mom gives me a long sigh. She's having that internal argument with herself where she compares her younger years as a commoner versus her younger years as a royal. "I guess I was hoping you'd get to meet your Uncle Drake tonight–"

I couldn't control my giggles. Growing up, Mom and Dad always referred to their close friends as 'Aunt' or 'Uncle', like my Uncle Max and Aunt Livvy. But they were also active members in my life that I saw frequently. 'Uncle Drake'? I don't even know the guy. 

"Isn't he living on our couch for a while? I'm sure I'll meet him at breakfast sometime." 

My mom pursed her lips. I think she realizes she has no other reasons to keep me home. Thank goodness.

"Is Lars going with you, or is one of the other guards?"

"Mom," I whine.

"Eleanor, you know the rules–"

"But I just want to be a normal twenty-year-old for the night–"

"Almost twenty-year-old," she smirks, stepping forward to fidget with my wavy, honey-brunette hair. "It's just not safe, baby. People know who you are–good people… and bad people. Even under all of this make-up, people will still recognize you."

I give a little huff, but she was right. I once dyed my hair purple and wore thick-rimmed frames to a show for a local punk band, and I'm pretty sure I posed for more photos with fans than the musicians.

"Fine, I'll ask Lars," I give my mother a half smile. "Anything else, your majesty?"

"One more thing," she twirls me around to face my reflection in the mirror. I'm keeping it pretty casual tonight with a white shirt and black ripped skinny jeans. I am pairing my black moto jacket with some gold accessories and my red Jimmy Choo pumps. Surely the woman doesn't think I'm showing off too much skin. 

Suddenly, she raises my shirt in the back and unclips my white bra.

"Mom!" 

"Eleanor," she snickers, shaking her head at me. "We've been over and over this ever since you got boobs: white shirt, nude undergarments."

I whip off my bra, quickly grabbing a skin-tone t-shirt bra. "No one's going to be looking."

"Someone is always looking." 

After hooking my bra and smoothing out my tee, Mom gave me an approving nod. And then she put her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. "Have a good time tonight. I love you, my twenty-year-old baby."

"Almost twenty-year-old baby." We both fall into titters as we squeeze each other closer. "I love you too, Mommy."

------

I text my bodyguard Lars to let him know about the evening, and as expected, he'll be ready with the car in ten minutes. 

Poor guy was ball-and-chained to me when I got my driver's license. I'm sure when he signed up for the guard, he pictured himself traveling around the world, looking like a badass with my dad. Instead, he got me, and the only traveling he normally does is to gather my morning espresso and cronut. He's made more trips to Sephora than any man should ever make in his lifetime–even more than my Uncle Max.

He's a good guy… if you like the serious, never-crack-a-smile type. He looks like John Cena with a permanent angry expression, complete with a single bulging vein in the center of his forehead. He's a man of few words despite my attempts to make him laugh, but underneath all the brawn and muscle, he has a big heart. He has literally given me his coat so that I wouldn't have to walk through a puddle of half-melted snow. And to think, he has sworn to give so much more for my own life… 

My phone abruptly pings. Beth.

>>> "Hey, bday bish! R U ready for the nite of ur life?"

I chuckle under my breath after reading the text. Night of my life… She always has a flare for the dramatics, but then again Beth has always been the life of the party. She has more personality in her pinkie finger than all of the citizens of Cordonia combined. Her mother is the Countess of Fydelia, and ever since Beth's father left, she's been indisposed.  Mom says that's a more tactful way of saying, 'alcoholic'. 

Beth walks more on the wild side, a real risk-taker. When I get in trouble, chances are she is somehow involved, like the time I got caught with a bottle of Smirnoff Ice at the Baron's Ball. Ugh, talk about the hangover from hell… and that wasn't even my punishment…

But she, along with Josie, are my ride-or-die. My BFFs. My "You jump, I jump, right?". We've grown up together, became women together, and nothing was about to ruin that bond.

I fire a text back to Beth. 

>>> "Can't wait! My car will be ready in a few. What restaurant are we meeting at?"

My phone instantly dings, catching me off guard in my attempts to glide on some lipstick. That was fast. I tap on the message.

>>> "We're coming 4 u! Be ready!"

My face falls. I know it's probably hard to believe, but my friends often forget that I'm a princess. Like, the legit crown princess of Cordonia, and because of that, I need a bodyguard present during all activities outside of the palace that have not otherwise been secured by the royal guard. As you can imagine, that rule made me so popular in grade school when my parents tried giving me a 'normal life'.

In retrospect, I'm quite grateful for the security through the years, especially when I hear about plots made by secret coups against my dad. But still, it would be nice to get my own darn breakfast. And I'm sure Lars would love to sleep in for once.

I text back.

>>> "And Lars"

>>> "R U kidding me? Ur shadow has 2 come?"

I let out a defeated exhale.  She knows this. My phone suddenly rings, her picture lighting up the screen. "Hey–"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She sounds irritated, as if I did this maliciously to her.

"Beth, you know my parents won't allow me out without him or any other–"

"He can't come with us," she interrupts. I can hear Josie in the back, trying to calm Beth down. 

"And do tell–" I cross an arm over my chest, raising an eyebrow, "--why is that?"

She lets out a huge sigh. "Fine. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday, but–" she hesitates, sucking on her front teeth.  "I got us three VIP passes into Core!"

I blink a few times, racking my brain for this to somehow trip a memory. "Core?" Nope. No tripping. "What's Core?"

"Nora!" She scoffs in disbelief. "It's only the newest and hottest club in town. Tonight is opening night. Half price shots–"

"Uh, Beth–?" I could feel my stomach sinking under the weight of her excitement. And Josie wasn't any better, squealing over the line. 

A club? Like, with dancing and drinking? I had never been to one before. And something tells me that the king wouldn't be too approving of his nineteen-year-old daughter partying with half-drunk strangers, groping her in the name of dancing. Still, it sounds like so much fun.

"--and we have a VIP table with bottle service until midnight!"

"Beth!" I call out to get her attention again. "There… there's just no way I can do that. Especially without Lars."

"C'mon, Nora. It's your freaking birthday. You're supposed to let loose–"

I hang my head into my hands. "You know I want to, but… I–I can't do that. My parents–"

"--don't have to know."

That silenced me real quickly into deep thought. I might not be the world's most perfect child, but I have learned never to hide things from Liam and Riley Rys. Never. 

But I'd be lying if a glimmer of hope and excitement didn't blossom in my chest at the thought of going out despite my parent's knowledge. Besides, I am an adult; I'm almost twenty for crying out loud. If anything, I've shown them how responsible I am, and that I can be trusted. Plus, Aunt Livvy has taught me more than enough self-defense maneuvers that I could probably take a second job as a spy with her wife.

Okay. Maybe Beth has a plan.

"And how won't they find out? Lars has to give a detailed report–"

"We won't bring him."

That's the plan? I snicker under my breath, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "And… how do you suggest I get rid of him?"

"Why not a sleepover?" I hear Josie suggest in the background.

A sleepover. That could work. There were few places I could go where security didn't have to be right beside me once a building was given the all clear. Beth's house happened to be one of them. 

"But I'm already dressed up. And–and I told my mom we were going out–"

"So?" Beth interjects. "We changed our minds. We'll have dinner catered."

Crap. Am I really considering this? I look at my reflection in the mirror as I twist my lips. Dangit. And I'm having a really good hair day.

"What's it gonna be, Nora?"

I take a few cleansing breaths. I can feel my pulse, galloping like a racehorse in my ears. Could I actually get away with this? I've been to Beth's house thousands of times. The guard comes in, does a quick sweep, and then keeps watch outside, never to return until it's time for me to leave. We could sneak out the back through the guest house. He would never know.

I swallow thickly, adrenaline pouring into my veins.

"Okay. Let me make a call."

~🖤~

Tags (Please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed)

PERMA

@alj4890 @ao719 @charlotteg234 @issabees @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @mainstreetreader @mom2000aggie @nikirennie87 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam

ALL TRR

@3pawandme @alyshak92 @iaminlovewithtrr @lovingchoices14 @malblk21 @rubiwalker @sfb123 @twinkleallnight

------

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

[goldenlaurelleaveswrites]

Requesting B, F, I, and/or Y from your latest reblog

Thanks for the ask!

Ask me about my writing.

I answered these out of order so I could put F under a cut incase of spoilers.

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

Not exactly whole stories, but there are a lot of elements across my stories that I've pulled from my own life. Especially in terms of conveying character emotions or relationships, I tend to pull quote a bit from my experiences. For example, whenever I'm writing about character experiencing anxiety, I do draw from my own experiences with how my anxiety manifests itself and the strategies I use to quell it. Or, when I'm writing Juleka and Luka being the Chaos Couffaine siblings. I don't write Luka and Juleka's relationship to be exactly the same as my relationships with my sisters (in fact, they're very different), but I'm able to pull from my own experiences of having sisters who I love and would do anything for, but also love to annoy (just like they do for/to me) to enrich the dynamic between Luka and Jules in my own writing. So it's not so much that things are inspired by my personal experiences, but I use my experience to flavour and enrich my writing.

And of course, there are things in my life or moments that spark ideas (for example, I love playing D&D so that's sparked a few ideas, but I wouldn't say it's inspired by my personal experiences).

Honestly, I think a story based on my personal experiences would be pretty boring 😂

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

This will come as a shock to absolutely no one, but writing Jules and Luka teasing each other and just being siblings is easily one of my guilty pleasure (except I don't feel guilty about it 😂). I also love writing fluffy moments, and I always have a great time writing Kaalki and Sass playing off of each other, but again I don't know if I could really call that a guilty pleasure. I enjoy what I enjoy 😂

Y: A character you want to protect.

Can I say all of them? (except that characters I can't stand)

I have to say Juleka because I love our resident Queen of Darkness. And of course, Luka and Marinette. And Tom and Sabine. And Kim. And the kwamis. Not going to lie, I'm also throwing my OCs in here.

That being said, I do make them struggle (and sometimes suffer) for the sake of the story, but there's always a reason!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Ok, I'm not going to lie, this one was really hard to answer. Even in just a single story, there are always multiple pieces of dialogue that I love and/or am really proud of. And if you could see the state of my hoard...

So I'll cheat and do two! 😁

This is from chapter 3 of I Should be Asleep (which I need to do some more work on)

A series of loud thumps on the door, accompanied by a very annoyed voice broke him from his thoughts. “Are you done in there or what? Some of us need showers too, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m-” he started to call back, but Juleka didn’t wait for him to finish. The door swung open to reveal his irate sister, her long hair braided and piled on top of her head, with her towel , shower cap, and a bundle of black he assumed was a change of clothes in her arms. “Come on in,” he sighed sarcastically, gesturing in invitation as she barged past him. 

“You’ve been in here for half an hour.” 

“Sorry.” He hadn’t meant to be quite that long. It was just… “What?” 

Juleka was looking at him with a raised brow. “This is the part where I kick you out so I can shower, remember?” 

“Yeah. Right. Sorry,” he said sheepishly, his ears growing warm as he hurried out. 

He made his way back to his bunk as the door to the bathroom slammed shut behind him. Why his sister insisted on doing yoga in the mornings when she was not a morning person was beyond him

______________________________________________________________

This is a piece that's in the hoard, and I think it's actually the first time I've shown it to anybody besides @verfound (but I'm kind of banking on her having forgotten about it by now). Sorry about the redacted, but I don't want to spoil anything too badly!

“I- it is just… last night brought back memories. It has been a long time since I danced…” 

“I believe [redacted] would disagree with that statement.” 

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“I do,” he admitted with a smile. “Then may I ask you for this dance?” He held his hand out to her, hoping his face and the beating of his heart would not betray him.

“I- there is no music.”

“That did not stop you before,” he said with a smile.

Her face softened into a smile. “Then you may.” 

[soongtypehuman]

I am glad my little copywriting exercise didn't come off as too weird lol because it was actually really educational for me, and fun to dive into the words of one of my favorite fics of yours!! i literally send that chapter to people who don't even watch star trek because its just so poetic. it is ART. the tholian silk simile is my undoing

also now that i have a tumblr, i'm super curious to hear how your headcanons on data's ability to feel pleasure have evolved over the years! 👀 because canonically, he can't feel pain or pleasure. i also went back through your non-explicit collection of ficlets and saw you wrote that data couldn't experience climax... fast forward to your latest fic where obviously that is no longer the case (lucky for us!)

I write android-holodeck-bukkake-gangbang-human-pet-reader-inserts. Nothing is too weird for me. You’re safe here lol

So, about that Data climax headcanon. There’s two parts to it…

Earlier in the ficlet collections, the Positronic Rivalry series wasn’t much of a thing yet. If memory serves (and it rarely does), the collections began even before the original PosiRi story. At some point in the collections I made the decision that from that point on they would be part of the series, because that became my focus. So some of those earlier ficlets in the collections don’t line up with PosiRi.

I didn’t even know it was going to be a series until the third installment, because the second story, Unfinished Business, I wrote in a mad frenzy an hour before posting the the original PosiRi finale so that the loose ends with Lore could be tied up.

Now, the second part…

Data’s emotions developed slowly over the original 7 seasons of TNG, proving that he wasn’t emotionless at all, which was later confirmed in Picard. If there’s one thing we can be sure of, it’s that Noonien Soong was dead set on installing and honing those sexual components in his androids, and given that he loved his sons, it’s more likely than not that he would have instilled in them the ability to be pleasured in some way, instead of depriving them of that.

Data had no sexual contact with anyone between Tasha Yar and the Borg queen, so we never got to see how his physical reactions to sensual stimuli would have played out in tandem with his emotional reactions. Data had almost no chances to explore these aspects of himself, and so they would have remained undeveloped.

That’s what I’ve tried to do with PosiRi, having Data experience something analogous to physical pleasure as his emotions develop as well.

And thank you once again for your kind, life-giving comments. I've stopped consuming human food so that I may be fed on these comments alone.

[dokojuice]

i see from your blog that you like zosan, do you have any fic recs bc i've basically run out :')

08/29/2022 A/N : this list will be continually updated with new zosan fic recs! I will be adding them chronologically, so all the newer ones will be at the bottom past the cut :D 

how does one RUN OUT of zosan 🤔

but here are some of my favs anyways

SOME OF THEM CONTAIN MANGA SPOILERS BTW

*drumroll* top 5 :

1) and then the sun came out - demonzoro (shrinewreck)

this fic is GREAT, it's quite long so the slow-burn is to die for, the writing style is great and it has stupid fluffy moments, canon-centric and zosan not being very ooc which i personally love, and it includes a link in-story with rlly cute illustrations by huanghying on twitter!

“Maybe there is something to be said that the first time they kiss, they kiss on a sinking ship. As if to say: this too, is inevitable. The waves are gnashing above the sea’s bottomless maw, and the timbers of the sinking galleon groan their own dirge – as far as this space of sea is concerned, the world is ending. Then there they are, balanced on the cusp of it, concerned only with how they exist relative to each other.

There��s an awful devotion to it, and it shouldn’t be romantic. But Sanji is hopeless. He’s always wanted a love like this.”

2) Instinct - LarmB

one of those fics you come back to and read again just because of how great it is

i personally love sanji-centric zosan fics, and the world-building and character-development/analysis in this fic is *fat chefs kiss*, the ending almost had me sobbing but it's really such a good fic

“Zoro took a good look at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Why wouldn’t I be? My whole life has been a fucking lie, that’s all.

He wasn’t just not a ladies’ man anymore. And he wasn’t just not disgusted by that fucking brute and inelegant seaweed of a man.

Sanji had a huge, massive, overwhelming, undeniable crush on Zoro.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

*** The Straw Hats end up on a small, seemingly empty island, where they take an opportunity to encounter the thing each of them needs the most, in a series of personal challenges. Sanji, like everybody else, goes on his search alone... until a stupid green marimo gets on his way.”

3) 15 Reasons to Fall in Love - xpiester333x

another sanji-centered, and it's really fluffy. zoro making the first move and leaving sanji to scramble with his feelings is just a trope that I will never get tired of when it comes to these two, especially with how the writer depicted zoro to be the perfect balance of soft with sanji and a marimo-stupidface *happy sigh*

“Sanji knows he and Zoro would be a bad idea, in fact he's written an entire list of reasons why they would be a bad idea. Of course, the marimo won't hear of it. He wants Sanji to give him a chance. So Sanji is just going to have to prove him wrong, right?”

4) for those that sleep on the sea - sanjitea

the latest one i read and it does NOT disappoint, 10/10, so depressing, the brooke-center in this piece is something I really dig, it gives a new perspective in terms of how zosan's relationship can be written and perceived. this fic I think can be seen as either romantic or platonic between them but it shows just how deeply connected they are, how much they respect each other, it depicts their relationship so great, potential chapter 1031 spoilers !!! 

“brook is seeing a ghost.”

5) This Unruly Heart - Hazel_Athena

THIS FIC IS SO DAMN GOOD

i personally love timeskip fics and this one checks all my boxes and BEYOND!!!!!! plus, the perona feature is something wbk I like because perona is my queen and moon and stars

but seriously, this fic is so well-written and the satisfying little twist in the end just made it that much better to read. left me happy and smiling, 10/10 fic

“Perona - in further proof that god either doesn’t exist or has at least abandoned Zoro personally - is on him like a dog with a bone.”

others below the cut !!!

- Make No Mistake - dickyang, vageege

oh. my. goodness. I don’t think you understand how disappointed I am that this fic has not been updated since 2015, genuinely such a shame because it’s so good. the writing, the world-building, the characterization, the dynamics between each strawhat, it’s so unbelievably amazingly written. why is zoro so mean to sanji in this :(( 

there is side sanuso which i love!! and nami and usopp’s friendship!!! and usopp and franky’s!!! and frobin!!! and zolu!!! keep in mind, the romantic aspect is all zosan, but this fic delves into other dynamics which are written crazy good, like seriously something I’ve never seen before, it’s so good AAAAAAAAAA i can’t bro, this fic is honestly like none other i’ve ever read, it’s so amazing and original and it lives restlessly in my head.

I remember being an hour early to work and sitting in the backroom feeling completely empty after finishing it. it’s so good but I am warning you, reading this fic comes at a cost since it will most likely never finish and you’ll be left with an empty hole in your heart over it </3

“College AU. This is an account of a series of events poorly defined as the best days of their lives. Zosan/Frobin+”

- The Sun and the Earth - iguana8llama

this one was so close to making the top 5 because JEEZ what a fic, i remember stalking the writer's page every three days waiting for an update and the ending was sO GOOD!! the worldbuilding is so great, which makes so much of the fic but the zosan part is *GASP* so good

the worldbuilding, the writing style, the plot and smut is all *chefs kiss*

“Over a thousand years ago the God of the Earth awoke from his slumber, insationbly hungry for everything. So hungry that when he looked up to the sky and saw the sun, he thought that only it could satiate him. He shook the ground and raised the mountain of this island to reach the sun, but our ancestors begged and pleaded with the God to not eat the sun, for without it, the sky would stay forever dark and the Earth would grow cold.”

- At the Height of Luxury (Take Me Higher and Higher) - Trixree

i remembered this fic in the middle of the night waking up in a cold sweat and reprimanding myself for forgetting it on this list. I had a screenshot of it and used the date of it to cross-reference over 10 pages of ao3 history to find it again. it’s that good. the writing style is articulated in a way where you can clearly invision what is happening in the moment, and having zoro and sanji’s emotions and mannerisms on display just gives it an OOMPH that’s to die for. did i mention the smut is fantastic? (rip to usopp)

“They’d arrived at the island of Mae to catch the end of a brutal, bloody conflict between the island natives and a band of thugs from further inland. After helpfully settling the conflict, the townspeople of Mae offer to throw the Strawhats an island-wide party complete with food, dancing, music and free credit at the best brothel their town has to offer.

Wherein Sanji smokes a questionable substance prepared by a local devil-fruit user and gets a little bit hornier (and a little bit looser with his inhibitions) than he ever intended to be around a certain swordsman.”

- The Tribulations of Temptation - SweetyGreeny

one of those fics where you come for the smut and stay for the plot because HOT DAMN this is a really good story. we all love a bit of acesan and jealous zoro, do we not?

“It was one quiet night, when Zoro was on watch, that he came across Sanji in the ship's storage room. Except it wasn't only Sanji, there was someone else as well, and Zoro really wished he hadn't looked.”

- Say Something - three_days_late

coming out fics are 1000/10!!! the "zoro is a gay mess" trope is one i love and this fic just makes it that much better, you marimo fool, don’t make sanji feel bad after coming out *smacks him over the head*

“It would be fine, he knew. His friends had already proven they would want him and care about him no matter what. Right? He just had to say something.

When Sanji comes out to the crew, he's met by love and acceptance from everyone. Well, almost everyone. Zoro's been acting weird, but surely he doesn't have a problem with Sanji's bisexuality.

Right?”

- To Grind One's Gears - sh33pish

FUCKING SMUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

we love a little hate sex here and there, but the development from “sex with a guy I hate” to “fwb” to “catching feels” is just ‘YEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS’

“Even now, years after they started their journey, Sanji still couldn't shake the irritation when having to do anything with the swordsman. Something about his mere existence ground his gears, got under his skin, made him short circuit and react with unadulterated aggression.”

- Who Did What Now? - @charlottepuddingsama

zosan being their shitty snarky selves towards each other + luffy being his usual absent-minded idiot self = happy juice :D

“Hey, Zoro, I don’t think I’ve ever asked before – do your earrings mean anything?”

Zoro rolled his eyes and turned back to his food, shrugging. “No real meaning to ‘em. Just exactly what you see: three swords. Thought it looked cool.”

“What about the other one?”

Zoro just shrugged again, grabbing a fork full of rice. “Wedding band.”

- Sweet Fruit - PandaMega

smut smut SMUT, it was a bit heavy on the more mature aspects, but it ends up working out

“A mysterious devil-fruit user attacks Zoro while he’s alone with Sanji gathering supplies. The power forces the two of them to engage in lustful acts at the risk of death, making them face their own desire and come to terms with their feelings for each other. Lots of sex.”

- firestarters - adietxt

AGAIN WITH ZORO BEING A GAY MESS

“Zoro doesn’t have a single romantic bone in him, and never once the idea of marriage crossed his mind.

At the end of the day, though, marriage is about loyalty, about devotion and faith in something outside of yourself. And that — Zoro’s good at that. Zoro’s a natural at that.

(Five times Zoro accidentally proposed to Sanji without even knowing what a proposal is, and one time he gets properly proposed to.)”

- this, at least - adietxt

another great one by this author, someone kiss them for me pls

(honestly, anything by adietxt is just so perfect)

“The most annoying thing about this whole falling in love thing, Zoro decides, is the fact that he doesn’t even have a say in it.”

- Stigma by ZephGale

- zosan, but really nakama-centered as well and oh. my. god. this fic is so fucking good. i cried. my heart did improvised advanced gymnastics. it’s so beautiful. sanji’s characterization, and the characterization of the entire crew, it’s so amazingly well-written and it’s just such a good one. 100000/10, i’m just such a sucker for sanji being cared for openly

“They were used to their reputation changing and growing after leaving an island. One doesn’t defeat a few Warlords, Emperors, free kingdoms from tyranny and declare war on the Government without gaining something. But it seemed like they acquired something else after leaving Whole Cake Island, and it was something that was much harder to wear with pride.’

~*~

With Wano behind them, Luffy and the others finally manage to find a nice island where they can relax, restock, and not have to worry about life or death situations.

But the seemingly normal town that welcomes them turns on its head, and it’s one Straw Hat that suffers from their hatred.

~*~

Post-Wano but not dealing with anything that’s going on in Wano”

- Exposure to Sunlight by LibbyLune

- zosan with a little bit of vinsmoke family dynamics thrown in there as well :) ooooooooo i originally found this one when going through the “vinsmoke yonji” tag because i love the fanon, ooc version of him and tbh, i really dig how this story does that while also keeping elements of the original vinsmoke dynamics in there as well. i’m just a sucker for non-canon vinsmoke dynamics, and sanji is just so sweet in this one AAAA this one is rlly nice

“Sanji never escapes from the Vinsmokes as a child, and Zoro finds himself in the path of Germa 66 after the disaster at Sabaody.”

- Say It Again by 8ball

- anything. anything by 8ball. is amazing. their twitter is right here and it’s FULL of the greatest zosan fanart. the comics are genuinely the most entertaining I see, they’re so FUNNY and CUTE and LOVELY

this fic though, is the SWEETEST thing ever

“Zoro tells Sanji how he feels. And then again. and again.”

- Fingers Only by SweetyGreeny

- brb gonna go lock myself in the bathroom in the basement in the corner in the dark to read this smut in attempt to hide from the eyes of God because this smut is so filthy, it’s my one-way guilty ticket to Hell. 1000/10

zoro, get your hands off sanji challenge: failed

sanji, stop being a priss and admit you like it already: also failed

“Zoro and Sanji finally give in to each other, a long-standing desire they both can't deny. The only problem is, Sanji still has his pride, and Zoro definitely doesn't keep trying to tempt him.”

- Fuck, Marry, Kill (or, how Usopp becomes the best matchmaker of the sea without really trying) by adietxt

- BACK AT IT WITH ADIETXT they are my zosan vice, truly a master in the art of writing beautiful fics revolving around these idiots

“Everyone wants to marry Zoro. Hypothetically. Sanji can’t believe everyone would pick that useless patch of growing mold over him, and considers killing Zoro. Not hypothetically.

He has a list on why Zoro would be the Worst Husband Ever, not that he spends a lot of time thinking of a (purely hypothetical!) situation where he is married to Zoro, fuck you very much.

(a.k.a, the one where Usopp invented Fuck, Marry, Kill.)”

- unintended consequences by itsmylifekay

SOBBING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES THIS FIC IS SO CUTE AND IT MAKES ME HAPPY ITS JUST AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA lovely. super flavor. ravishing. sanji getting zoro a bracelet and zoro never taking it off? stupid rivalry turns into stupid pining? feed me this trope for the rest of my days or I will choose to starve.

“Imagine person A making person B a friendship bracelet, expecting person B to never wear it, but when it’s given to them person B puts it on and is rarely seen with it off.

A group of marines charge, Zoro slices through them, and in that instant Sanji feels his own eyes grow wide. Because there, on the arm now outstretched towards him, steel glinting in hand, is the stupid bracelet he’d given Zoro. The bastard is actually wearing it.”

- concorde by olgaphobia

i actually saw this fic on twitter when 8ball posted the most ominous, glorious fanart that I didn’t understand until I actually read the fic. It leads moreso towards being a character study with an undertone of Zosan that I just keep coming back to, because it’s such a HEAVY fic. do not read if you’re looking for something cute or smutty, this one sticks with you like an echo in the back of your head

“Perona used to tell him ghost stories about its previous occupants. Stillbirths and young boys who didn’t come back from the war — spectres for a young Zoro to face sword in hand. She told Zoro not to leave his bedroom on a full moon, to keep his curtains closed once the sun hazed down. She said there were noises at night, that if you lay sweet and still in bed, you heard the thumpings. You heard the wailings.

The Vinsmokes had always lived next door.

***

Modern AU. Zoro met the love of his life when he was four. Three years later, he meets Sanji.”

- An Inexplicable Obsession with a Certain Swordsman’s Chest by Arescore

this is a relatively shorter fic but we all love a little gay-panicky Sanji every now and again, don’t we?

the good news is that it’s incomplete, which implies we’ll be getting more of it :D

At that moment, Sanji knew three things.

1. For the first time in many weeks, Sanji finally found the source of his little problem. 2. Zoro's chest was very big. 3. He was positively, absolutely fucked.

Or: Sanji realises that Zoro has big boobs and he likes them very much

- Technicolour by rkdlkai

this fic almost made me cry, i felt so bad for Zoro in this one until the happy ending, made me wanna hug him the entire way

“Oi. Sanji. What colour’s my hair?”

He could see the incredulous look on the waiter’s face out of the corner of his eye. “How the fuck should I know? Just looks grey to me.”

And there it was, the damning sentence that confirmed Zoro’s fears. He let out a long breath, gritting his teeth as he processed it. Zoro had found his soulmate, but Sanji hadn’t found his.

(or the six times zoro didn’t have a soulmate, not really, and the one time he did.)

- A Perpetual Passing [Ships in the Night] by auspizien

this is THE cutest soulmate fic I’ve ever read. the fact that it starts from their childhood and we watch them grow up together is ADORABLE!!!

and the fact that they wanted to meet by chance??? the times they just almost did????? my heart was screaming throughout the whole entire thing. plus the whole idea of drawing on your soulmate is such a cute concept I haven’t seen in many fics before so it was really cute :)

You only get to meet your soulmate for the first time once... and Sanji was a romantic.

Zoro thinks it's stupid.

- Burning Man by neonglaceon

the most iconic trans! Zoro fic should not be this late to recommend, I apologize. But it’s the most known and appraised for a reason, and I think that there should be no description here so you can all experience it in it’s rawness yourselves. A beautiful fic.

“You’re lucky, Zoro,” she had spat, eyes turned up towards the sky, like she was trying to hold in tears. He'd never seen Kuina cry before. He’d never seen any expression on her face other than her teeth gritted in determination or her grinning in victory. “I want to be the greatest swordsman too. But girls grow up, and their bodies become weaker than men's. I’m never going to be the greatest.”

Kuina tells him this, and Zoro can barely comprehend the words she’s saying. He thinks of the countless hours he’s spent training by the river bed, the green locks of his hair left on the floor after Koushirou helped him shear it all off, of the people he thought of as family a lifetime ago calling him by a name he despised. Zoro puts a hand to his chest, where he’d hastily wrapped bandages earlier that day, remembering how his body had begun changing and he didn’t understand why-

“You’re lucky to have been born a man, Zoro,” Kuina finishes lamely.

Zoro sees red.

- Facade by Hazel_Athena

currently my FAVORITE EVER. I go back to it all the time because it’s the perfect mix of canon zosan and our lovely little fanon romantic ship. the fake marriage trope will never die. plus Zoro secretly being in love with Sanji the whole time and the Strawhats being in on it all??? (plus Law lol) WE LOVE TO SEE IT!!

also judge gets jumped in this one. a win-win for everyone !!!

I found this fic on twitter after I saw @huanghying’s BEAUTIFUL fanart

Left with only three other crew mates, it’s a ready expectation that Sanji will start fawning all over Robin in his usual obnoxious way. However, that’s not what happens. Instead, looking wild around the eyes in a way only someone who knows him well would recognize, the cook doesn’t break stride until he’s firmly within Zoro’s orbit and can wrap both hands around his upper arm, clinging tight.

“Hi, darling,” he chirps, his expression desperately conveying that Zoro needs to play along under pain of death. “Did you miss me?”

- Serendipity by CreepyCoat

ZOSAN PARENTS OF BABY DUCKLINGS. THAT’S IT, THAT’S MY PREVIEW. 10/10

/ˌsɛr(ə)nˈdɪpɪti/

Noun: serendipity; Plural Noun: serendipities The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. "A fortunate stroke of serendipity" Synonyms: Chance, Happy Chance, Accident, Happy Accident

- Sweet Child O’ Mine by Hazel_Athena

(all of Hazel’s works are top tier zosan, we bow to their greatness and superiority)

dad zeff is something that we, as a fandom, need more of. Hazel is a godsend feeding us the crumbs that we sustain ourselves upon

“What are your intentions towards my idiot child?”

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part One)

A/N- this is the first instalment of what I hope will become a Mycroft x Reader story. I’m not sure entirely how many chapters there will end up being, but I am hoping to range between at least 5-10, depending on how my ideas go, and how well they’re received by you guys! Sorry I haven’t posted in a while but I have so many fics I’ve have written, or ones I just can’t bring myself to end! But I’m hoping to start posting regularly again soon! But, for now, enjoy! And please let me know any thoughts and opinions as this is my FIRST time writing for Mycroft!

For Context- this is set post-Eurus! And this story will also likely contain smut later on, but I am in no rush to add it anytime soon. I will also try to incorporate it to allow people to skip it should they want to! Enjoy! 

Word Count- 5561

Mycroft's brain pounded against his skull as he was lead back outside by a group of police officers, pounded harder as the sunlight shocked his eyes all at once- had he not been one of the world's smartest, if not the smartest, men he'd have believed his head was going to explode. His chest heaved, his left hand fumbling with contents of his trouser pocket, his right digging his well manicured fingernails into the pale flesh of his palm. He feels the pain, not much, not unbearable of course, but it's there and it confirms everything. It wasn't a dream. Eurus had truly outsmarted them, placed brother against brother, best friend against best friend. And for what? Fun? He couldn't let himself think of that now, not at least until his third or fourth whiskey he had planned for his evening- he may, he ponders, even open that long awaited Bowmore 1965 Single Malt that had been a gift from Queen Elizabeth herself following a dreadful misunderstanding amongst government officials that almost drove the Empire to jeopardy. It had, of course, been left as a decorative piece for the past few years, 'to save for a truly celebratory occasion', he had noted- though now nothing felt like it would ever be worth celebrating, so why not indulge as a way to cope with his rare moments of vulnerability?

"Oh Christ Mycroft, thank God for that." He felt hands clamping round his shoulders before his aching brain could associate the voice to Detective Inspector Lestrade. It was a close relationship that not many were aware of, though Mycroft failed to understand why it wouldn't be clear. Gregory spends most days in contact with Sherlock and, despite the relatively constant natter about how Arsenal are doing in the League, he faired a man of intelligent conversation- exceeding that of usual goldfish- and thus Mycroft had decided years ago it was only 'unquestionably logical' that the pair of them formed some form of alliance out of their own best interests. Where friendship had crossed the threshold of acquaintances neither of them were too sure, not that Mycroft would use the word 'friends' of course- they weren't the type to spend each day talking about their latest gossip or what they'd decided to have for lunch, but they were close enough that they would consider their lives at least marginally better without the other being dead. He didn't return the embrace, instead stiffened, Greg suspected as much and moved to keep a hand on his shoulder.

"Sherlock?" One worded questions usually drove Mycroft insane- 'if you don't care enough about the question to form it in a grammatically correct manner, you do not care enough for the question itself; and I care not to answer it.' But he couldn't manage much else, even the one word was choked. He hadn't seen Sherlock for hours, not since... He could be anywhere. Christ, he could be dead- but he didn't want to think about that. It was logical, yes, but even Mycroft Holmes couldn't deny himself the odd thoughts of hope on occasion.

"Fine. He's fine, John too." Greg was guiding the tense man along the gravel to the small group of people that had bunched a couple hundred yards away, his form visibly softening at the knowledge of his brother still being alive- and just as much knowing Dr Watson remained alive, God knows what Sherlock would do if he had died, another headache Mycroft would rather not dwell upon today. Far too much stress and things to fix for him to ponder and contemplate upon 'what ifs', no matter how high the likelihood of them had been only a few hours ago. The next 20 minutes had felt like a blur to Mycroft- the discussion with Sherlock and his companion feeling only like white noise in his ears. They weren't one for sentiment, for brotherly embraces, but the handshake, Mycroft's second hand moving to hold where their others joined, Sherlock's following after, said enough. Said everything. Paperwork had been dismissed for now- 'we'll be in contact in a week or so' Lestrade had said, not that he really heard it. People began to disperse and Mycroft felt around his trouser pockets. Bollocks, of course he didn't have his phone.

"You can come back with us.. if you want?" John had offered, his hand still gripping to the loose part of Sherlock's trench coat sleeve. Ah, Doctor Watson. A man far too kind and loyal for this world, he already had Sherlock at home- Mycroft knew he couldn't burden him with two Holmes', not after what had just happened with three. One was more than enough.

"I appreciate your generosity, Doctor Watson, but I assure you I shall be perfectly fine." He knew he was lying, but after years working in politics it was only second nature, he was good at it- good enough to fool John Watson at least- and if Sherlock thought otherwise, he didn't say anything and elected to tug John towards the police car that was waiting to escort them back to Baker Street. Mycroft watched as the car disappeared into a dot and went back to DI Lestrade who was hovering by an ambulance.

"There you are. Rules state you have to be checked over by the paramedics before we can let you go." Greg spoke, gesturing his hand lazily to a Sacramento green clad gentleman and forcing back a small laugh at the raised eyebrow expression he got in return from the Holmes.

"Gregory don't humour me." He stated, partly trying to see any kind of light out of this situation, but predominantly just trying to get home. Greg nodded knowingly, knowing far better than to argue with Mycroft.

"Okay fine, ignore me." He returned, shoving his hand in his trouser pocket and producing a set of keys. "But at least let me take you home?" Mycroft didn't argue that one. Didn't dispute that he could have just used Lestrade's phone to call for Anthea to bring his own car. Doesn't say that he has Y/N's number burnt to memory in his brain, how he could have called you and you'd be here in a speed so fast he'd be making phone calls in a week to have fines under your named cancelled in regards to 'government emergency.' But he couldn't call you just yet, not like this. Just happy to be going anywhere that wasn't here. Habit settled in for him to go and climb into the backseat, years of chauffeuring does that to a man, but Greg practically yanked him into the front with him, claiming 'the drive is long and the back of my car is a shit hole'. Neither spoke much during the journey until about 20 minutes in when Greg opened his mouth.

"I called Y/N." The three words hanging in the air like smoke, almost enough to choke Mycroft in his seat. "I'm not stupid Mycroft, no matter what you and your brother may think of me, I know you care for her. And God knows she cares for you, half of our discussions in the office are in regards to you or a new suit you've bought. I don't know what's going on between you, and frankly it's none of my business, but she can help." Mycroft wasn't entirely sure what was going on between you either, and heaven knows you hadn't a clue. He just knew that Gregory was right, he did care for you. A lot, actually. Sherlock picked up on it first many years ago, taking the piss out of his elder brother's sentiment towards another human- that was until Sherlock had obtained his flat mate. Now, despite knowing your name and even being friendly with you, whenever Sherlock and Mycroft discussed your wellbeing, Sherlock found the necessity in referring to you as 'Mycroft's John'- a nickname you had picked up on once but didn't press. You knew Mycroft Holmes was a special type of person from the start, knew he wasn't one for 'friends' or even associates on the most part- so you knew that you were a little special too, at least in the eyes of Mycroft. He wanted to see you; you may even prevent him from the chances of alcohol poisoning this evening, but upon even hearing your name Mycroft felt his chest go tight and his hands go clammy.

The last he had seen of you was watching your figure move across a television screen a few hours ago, the threat of your death sounding around him as he watched you happily dance along to one of your favourite songs without a care in the world, and certainly no knowledge that there was a sniper close enough to you that you could be wiped out at any second. In any other circumstance watching you in this way would cause a rare but genuine smile to appear on his face- you were playing the air guitar, occasionally headbanging as you waited for your kettle to boil, using teaspoons to fill in for the drumming section. If he had to guess, which he doesn't do often, he'd say you were listening to The Clash- 'Death or Glory' if he was going into pedantics; years of working alongside Greg Lestrade, having car journeys with nothing to hand but the DI's old CDs definitely becomes an influence at some point. Mycroft would tell you he hated it when you turned up to his house with a small portion of your record collection and replaced his currently playing Beethoven with The Kinks, or would say it 'was a waste' when you left them there, silently encourage him to at least try to listen to them- and he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he didn't listen to them, even more so if he said he didn't find himself often putting on The Who as he sat and worked by his fireplace. But watching you in front of him on that screen, knowing those could have been your last moments, and that he would have to watch and do nothing broke something inside of him. He hadn't quite come to terms with whatever those feelings truly meant, repressing those thoughts and emotions back with any others in his mind for a day where he wasn't so mentally drained.

"She'll be at yours about half an hour after we get you there." Greg's voice brought him back and he thought over what he could possibly say in return, electing to say nothing at all and offer a curt nod. Half an hour was both not long at all and an eternity in situations like this. Mycroft, for one of the first times in his life, felt scared to be alone. Mycroft easily managed to convince Greg to stay with him the short while he was awaiting your arrival- if you can consider Greg practically offering to come in and put the kettle on himself until you got there 'convincing'- but, though usually peeved by any sense of lack of control in his own home, Mycroft was thoroughly glad of the intrusion, even if he didn't speak of it.

***

The moment the call ended with Greg you felt your heart sink down to your stomach, your hands shaking after the small details he could offer over the phone from what he had been told by Sherlock and John. This was.. awful. 'He says he's fine but his eyebrows are doing that creasing thing every time he has a moment to think about everything', Greg had said. You knew the look he was talking about, the 'despite being extremely intelligent I have no control over my thoughts right now' look- you'd seen it many a time on occasions where Mycroft would spontaneously invite you over for dinner, or if he had just read a new book that he simply had to tell you about right this evening, all after a particularly hard day at work that left him exhausted but he needed any form of distraction just to try and stop his brain from whirring. And on days you saw those looks you'd do anything in your power to try and erase it; though today that would likely be a much harder feat. Today was your first day off in over 4 months and you'd decided to celebrate the break by lounging in a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt- that you were pretty sure you had robbed from Greg after the last time he had to crash at yours after shift, but, and quite literally, you snooze, you lose Lestrade- while listening to your favourite records over an abundance of tea. It had been long awaited and your celebratory dances in the kitchen were enough to prove that it gave you the positive boost you needed, particularly because it was equally one of the first days in months that you hadn't been bombarded with the likes of Sherlock Holmes begging you to find him a case- 'sorry Sherlock I can't just magic up a murder', tutting ensued with the flap of a coat panel. You loved the man like your own brother after all these years but Christ was it nice just having that small bit of peace.. Though had you known the reason why the curly haired man hadn't stormed into your flat today you wouldn't have felt half as giddy. You didn't bother to get dressed after the beep sounded on your phone, instead just grabbing your Doctor Martens boots from by the front door and all but sprinting your way to the tube- sending a desperate text to Anthea yourself to meet you with a car at the next station to take you to Mycroft's home.

When you reached Mycroft's you bid your thanks to Anthea for taking you here. She trusted you well enough to go alone, deciding Mycroft shouldn't want to be bombarded with people and stating she was only a phone call away should she be needed, you'd given her small details on your journey over of what you had heard happened- she'd find out soon enough anyway; you were surprised she hadn't known already. You bounded up the steps leading to the front door and knocked on the wooden frame three times precisely, the same way you always do, and stumbled back a little when Greg answered the door alone. Closing the door behind him excluding a small slither to stop it from locking again, Greg pulled you to the side quickly.

"Is he-"

"Not really, no. He hasn't said much since we found him, actually. I'll be honest, and I know you know him a lot more than I do, but I've not seen him even close to this before, so no, I don't think he's okay at all." He stated simply, a sympathetic look in his eye as he placed his hand on your forearm, fingers dragging softly across the material. He definitely recognised the jumper but he didn't say anything about it, not now, it wasn't the time. "I know you didn't have it spare but I've written you off the next couple weeks from work, paid of course, but if you need more then we can work around that. I'd have left it since I still have a lot of holiday to take up but Mycroft and I aren't exactly besties, and obviously Sherlock and John have each other to deal with it but Mycroft..."

"I know.." You cut in. "Thank you." You pulled him in for a quick embrace before he made his way down the steps.

"You need anything you just give me a ring yeah? Either of you." You nodded thankfully and pushed open the heavy door to Mycroft's home, heading your way into the front room where you could only assume he had taken residence. The sight before you broke your heart, Mycroft was sat on his sofa, slouched, elbows resting on his knees while his head rested on the open palms of his hands. Beside him sat a mug of tea, no steam emanating from the inside of the china, signalling that it had gone cold, untouched. You had known Mycroft many years now, seen many bad days, seen even more terrible ones, but this was different. You kicked off your boots and padded your socked feet along the plush carpet until you reached his side, taking place next to him on the sofa as you offered a hand on his thigh in reassurance- he was home, he was okay, and he wasn't alone. You wouldn't let him be alone.

"Myc? I'm here, it's Y/N." You spoke softly, pulling softly at one of his arms to see his face, to get him to look at you. His eyes flicked up until they met yours, pain resonating behind his usual icy blue stare. "Look I don't know everything that happened, and you don't need to tell me until you're ready, if you ever are. If you want neither of us to even reference anything that happened today we don't have to. Just.. I'm here for you okay?"

He felt guilty- a feeling that was very much seldom in the small repertoire of Mycroft's emotions- as he felt your presence beside him. He didn't want to talk about it, he wasn't entirely sure if he even could, didn't think you'd still be offering your assistance had you known that you were only inches from death today, that your life was in the balance and neither him, nor you, could have any control over that, that he was the reason entirely for why you were in that position at all. And so he selfishly kept his mouth shut, not wanting to drive you away so easily when he needed you.

"Thank you." His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, as he breathed it out. He forced himself to sit up a little higher and you could fully take in his appearance. His tie was loosened round his neck, sitting at a slanted angle across his chest, his waistcoat covered with a thin layer of dust and dirt that spread through to his button up- no jacket to be seen. Further down you could see the same dirt sat between the creases of his trousers, thickening at the bottom where his usual black brogues had been turned a lighter grey from scuffs. His usually well-kempt hair poked in various directions, evidence of hands running through and grasping at it clear from the angles, a sign of stress, anxiety. Panic. You tried not to make a reaction to his appearance, opting instead to reach out a hand and place it over one of his, squeezing slightly before retracting back.

"Bloody hell Mycroft, you're freezing." Tracing the backs of your fingers across his cheeks, settling at the back of his neck where his reflexes kicked in to lean into your warm touch. "Come on." You tugged lightly on his arm, feeling relieved when he easily followed your movements: trust. You walked him upstairs to his bedroom, where you knew his en suite shower was. "Go and have a shower, it'll warm you up and freshen you up a bit. Then you can just sit in your pyjamas and chill out for a little while." You attempted to usher him slowly towards the bathroom door but his hand caught back and held the loose material of your sweatshirt round your wrist, clinging tightly with his whole hand at first, then slowly dragging down til the fabric was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. You glanced at him, confused at first, until you saw the look in his eye. The slight glassiness, the small red veins, the fear. He was afraid to be alone. Mycroft Holmes has never been a man that appreciates the physical touch of another human being, but you've shared enough evenings with the man after bad shifts at work,- like that one where Mrs Levinson from down the road reported her daughter missing, her body being found on the edge of the Thames a few days later, loads of those- shared enough moments of vulnerability with him where he would soothingly place his hand on your back and rub in small circles while you sobbed in his shoulder, that you knew you had to at least try and return the gesture; let him know you wasn't planning on going anywhere fast.

"I'm terribly sorry I-" You cut off his small apology by moving forward, standing on your tiptoes and taking the tall man into your embrace, your arms circling his shoulders, but loose enough for him to leave should he feel uncomfortable. Instead, Mycroft felt his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist, hands resting flat against your shoulder blades as his face buried into your neck. It was unexpected to be returned that strongly, and you were thankful that Mycroft trusted you enough to expose his vulnerabilities, to allow himself to act.. human.. around you. You moved back to stand flat on your feet and offered your hand at Mycroft's elbow to keep the touch close.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise you." He nodded once, curtly, closed his eyes for a few seconds, still refusing to let any tears even contemplate forming- 'don't be so pathetic', he told himself, 'it's not like any of them actually died'. "While you're in there, all I'm planning to do is turn the heating on, grab you some pyjamas, and get a book from downstairs. Then we can either read it until you fall asleep, or have a competition on how many books we can get through before your brain won't physically allow you to focus anymore." You smiled, squeezing the crook of his elbow reassuringly. "I might even get the biscuit barrel" - which, as Mycroft would often tell people the seldom times he had visitors, had only appeared once you had started spontaneously popping over a lot more, and that he is 'still on the diet, thank you very much'. Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but you hushed him instantly. "Mycroft you've had a tough bloody day you're allowed to eat a sodding custard cream." You let go of his arm and felt relieved when he didn't move to get you back to him again, and once again you ushered him into the bathroom, feeling glad that we went with little hesitation this time. The door closed behind him, didn't lock, and you stood back to take a breath.

You had known Mycroft Holmes for the better part of 7 years now and had seen many a side to him that nobody else had ever, or likely ever will, have the pleasure of seeing,- including, but not limited to, the time he dramatically shouted at the television during the Half Blood Prince when Snape killed Dumbledore; or the time you forced him to watch the Twilight movies with you and he sat clung to the edge of his seat during the entirety of the battle in Breaking Dawn part 2, using every ounce of his focus to stare at the screen and gasping quietly at each character death- not that he would ever dream of admitting to any of these, of course. Vowing once that if you ever let it slip that he shed a silent tear at the death of Fred Weasley he'd have you hung, drawn and quartered somewhere in the middle east- it took about 3 months after that that you realised he was joking, at least in part. But this, now, was new. You had never seen Mycroft in such a state as this, honestly wasn't even sure he had the capabilities of doing so until this evening, and it broke you, genuinely.

You looked down at your sweatshirt, at the sleeve Mycroft had grasped only moments ago, and frowned looking at the small patches of dirt and dust that clung to the fibres, evidently having made their way from Mycroft's waistcoat onto you during your embrace. It was also now that you remembered you had no other clothes here and you sighed, making your way over to the bathroom door and knocking once.

"Myc? You don't have a shirt or something I can knick do you? This one's a bit, uh, gravelly." You heard an affirming hum from the other side, followed by a voice that was sounding a little closer to Mycroft's usual tone.

"Of course, you know where everything is, just take what you need." He spoke, the sound of running water shortly following. Thanking him, you wandered over to one of Mycroft's wardrobes- the one that housed his button ups and waistcoats- and took out a plain long-sleeve, tugging off your jumper and wrapping the new expensive cotton around you. You let out a small chuckle at the comical length of the sleeves, your hands only reaching just past the elbow cut off, and then the length of the shirt itself which fell to around mid-thigh. Rolling up the sleeves to past your elbow, you made your way downstairs, flicking the button to turn the heating up to 20 degrees, not too hot and not too cold, before hoisting the biscuit barrel from the kitchen under your arm. From there, you headed to Mycroft's study, ran your fingers along the leather bound classics before begrudgingly picking up the one book from the shelf that had any denting along its spine, the only one with slightly bent corners, no dust even close to reaching the pages, and headed back upstairs. Mycroft is incredibly lucky he's one of your favourite people, else you probably wouldn't have gone through with it. Hearing the water shut off as you made it back into the bedroom led you to skim your fingers across a small collection of silk pyjamas that filled one of Mycroft's chest of drawers, choosing a navy blue set, and tapping on the door once more.

"My eyes are shut, I promise. But I've got your clothes." You spoke, screwing your eyes up tightly as to not invade the man's privacy. Within seconds, a large, now much warmer, hand reached out to take them from your arms, fingers brushing your hands ever so slightly as he spoke a 'thank you' and disappeared once more. You turned off the main light, edged your way over to Mycroft's bed and perched on the side you knew he didn't sleep on, switched on the bedside lamp and pulled the large book onto your lap and waiting for Mycroft's return. He pads out only moments later, following suit by climbing into his bed and casting a glance at the book in your hands.

"Tess of the D'Urbervilles.." He comments, the tiniest grace of a smile flickering on his face before disappearing completely. "But I thought you couldn't stand the works of Mr Thomas Hardy?" You shrugged yourself around a little to get comfy, sliding your legs underneath Mycroft's inviting duvet and silently offering your lap for him to rest on. He hesitates, only momentarily, before shuffling down and places his head on your upper thigh, relishing in the warmth that left your body and sighing in content.

"I do.. well, not all of them, but most of them. Particularly this one." You gestured to the book in front of you, opening the pages with one hand and using your other to softly brush through the slightly damp strands of hair that sat atop Mycroft's head. "This one is just utterly bloody depressing." Mycroft smiled again, thinking back to your countless conversations about how you loved reading books and getting invested in the stories and characters, but could never get through Tess of the D'Urbervilles without feeling a little shitty. "Christ the description enough is dark.." You trailed. "But, for some oddly bizarre reason, this is your favourite book, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to read it to you to at least try and make you feel a little better." Mycroft hummed once again in response, trying not to think upon, too much, how you had remembered out of the thousands of books you'd discussed that this was Mycroft's favourite book, or how you were more than willing to sit here and read the whole thing to him, despite going against everything you'd ever said about it, purely to try and make him feel better. Though he was certainly struggling to focus on anything anyway that wasn't the sensation of feeling your fingers running through his hair, the small bits of pressure where you had tugged at it slightly, or pressed into his scalp, slowly making his pounding head pains turn into a soft, dull ache. "I see enough sad crap at work so forgive me that I want my books to be a little more uplifting." You teased, ceasing the hair combing to pat his head childishly.

"Prefer the likes of Witches and Wizards battling against three-headed dogs, do you?" He quipped back, instinctively nudging his head a little, encouraging you to continue with your petting.

"Don't say it in that tone, you enjoyed them too." Mycroft made a small noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, sounding more like a 'yes but we agreed to never speak of it' hum. "Now, before I come to my senses and switch it out for literally anything else, make sure you're comfortable.. and eat a damn biscuit." You nudged the tin from the middle of the bed into Mycroft's general direction, smirking slightly at the disgusted look, the judgemental eyebrow raise, that Mycroft shot towards the container. "You need to eat something, Greg told me you hadn't touched a thing since they... found you.. so please, eat something." It wasn't the first time you had to convince Mycroft that he needed to eat food, and you were certain it wouldn't be your last. It's obvious that Mycroft Holmes is a very intelligent man, and yet he refuses to indulge in the fact that humans need food to survive. You knew why he did it, of course, years of being bullied for his weight as a child, the continuous bullying still by his own brother- you saw the small frown that would appear on his face every time Sherlock referenced his weight, or the times after going out for dinner when Mycroft would finish his meal and look down on his slightly protruding belly poking over the top of his belt, choosing each time to skip on dessert- it all effected him. Mycroft was still reluctant and you sighed, choosing to pull out the big guns. "Look.. if you eat just 3 of them, then tomorrow, depending on how far we get with this one, I'll read Jude the Obscure." Mycroft thought for a moment and turned to look at you.

"You're staying?"

"If you want me to. I have the next few weeks free, actually, so I guess you've got me til you're bored of me." Mycroft fought back the small voice in his head that said 'I could never' and listened on. "If you want me to stay, that is." Instead of speaking, Mycroft chose to lift his duvet and slide his long legs beneath the sheets, taking his position with his head back on your lap and slowly reached for the tin of biscuits, looking carefully inside and choosing two rich teas and a custard cream, nibbling at their sides slowly. You exhaled deeply, not entirely sure that that was going to work, and began to read, one hand still nestled in Mycroft's hair as he found himself getting lost in your voice, closing his eyes to appreciate the sound and eventually falling into a slumber after chapter 4.

You smiled at his sleeping form, noting how peaceful he appeared once he was relaxed- not a single line or crease on his face, no frowning. Just blissful. Placing the book on the bedside cabinet you froze a little, having realised neither of you had discussed sleeping arrangements- your usual place of residency during your time at Mycroft's being the spare room next door, though this wasn't exactly your usual situation. You shuffled slightly, making a small attempt to get up from your current position, not wanting to intrude too much into Mycroft's personal space. A hand soon moved, grabs at hem of the oversized shirt you were wearing and tugs you back in, the smallest peek of Mycroft's eyes appearing under heavy lids.

"Please.." His voice was whispered, low from the wave of sleep. You couldn't tell if he didn't finish his request because he was too exhausted, or if he was still too afraid to ask.. or both. You nodded and moved back beside him, laying lower now for your head to rest properly on the pillow and tugging Mycroft up a little higher. Hesitantly, he rested his head just next to your shoulder, his hair barely brushing against your skin. You rolled onto your side, testing pulling Mycroft in that tiniest bit closer to allow your hand to rub back through his hair, your other arm absentmindedly drawing small shapes onto his silk clad shoulder as he closed his eyes and rested again. It was only 5 minutes later that your hand movement's slowed, then stilled, as sleep took over your form for the night.

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

When Clary meets Ash (Fan Fic)

Hey :) this is how I imagine Clary and Ash's reunion (after the events of TDA) in the fic I am currently writing.

It's Chapter 5 of "The new Shadowhunter Academy" (Ao3 link to the full fic is here but don't click or skip Chapter 4 if you are not in for Kitty sexy times).

Thanks to @amchara for providing beta work and to @blaidr for letting me bounce my ideas off him.

To give you context, Ash met Dru in Faerie and they exchanged their numbers. Clary seized the opportunity to obtain Ash's number from Dru and write him the following text message:

“Hey, Ash. Dru gave me your number and please don’t be angry with her, I am very strong headed and there was absolutely no way she could have refused. I am Clary. You may have heard of me. I am your late father’s sister. That’s right, your aunt. You can call me whatever you like. Emma told me what you did in Thule, how you saved her. How you saved everyone. That was very brave of you. In a way, both of us were faced with a very difficult choice and made the same. Doing what we thought was right. I would love to meet you and tell you about my mother – your grandmother – or just talk about anything. It can be things totally unrelated to the Shadow world. Hobbies, movies, books and games we like. You can pick the time and place. Neutral territory. Hope to see you soon. Clary.”

This is what happens following the text:

*****

Clary wrapped her oversized woolen coat tighter around herself, as she made her way through the crowded streets of Manhattan. The route was familiar. She took it almost every week to meet up with her parabatai and have what they called their “mundane hour”. They talked about everything, from Clary’s art to the latest TV shows they had binge watched. No topic was off the table, save for anything related to Shadowhunter duties, and the Shadow world in general. As co-head of the New York Institute and since recently, artist owning her own gallery, her weeks were very busy so she looked forward to those rare and precious moments when she could escape with Simon. Her heart rate seemed to accelerate with each of her steps, and it didn’t help that she also had the strange feeling she was being observed. When she reached her destination, she took a deep breath and opened the double glass doors leading her inside the coffee shop. She and Simon had their regular routine there, and her gaze went automatically to their usual spot, near the large windows.

A broad-shouldered jock with a baseball jacket was already sitting there, speaking loudly to his cheerleader girlfriend. Two of his friends were standing next to him, mock punching his muscular arms. It made her realize that Ash probably never had this. High school friends and romance. Ash. She was still struggling to figure out why he had asked her to meet up at this place, at the exact time she usually got there with Simon. Was it him being considerate, a clumsy way to make her feel comfortable in familiar surroundings? Or was it a warning? I know your habits, and precisely where you take your coffee, when and with whom.

Her gaze swept over the crowded room - her heart seemed to have moved up her throat, the frantic pulse almost choking her - and zeroed on a tall, white blond haired boy ordering coffee at the counter, standing with his back to Clary. She sucked in a breath. Ash. He was fully clothed in black - Dru had told her that was his usual style - and huge headphones were covering his ears. She slowly and cautiously approached him and when she was close enough, put a tentative hand on his elbow. “Ash,” she whispered. The boy glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes quizzical and… it was not Ash.

She mumbled an apology.

“Clary,” said a voice coming from behind, and she froze. It was not a boy’s but a man’s voice, the sound beautiful and ethereal. She just stood there for a few seconds before she slowly turned.

What had she expected? Merely a taller version of the young boy with pointy ears and a sour expression that she had met three years before, dressed in the same refined velvet clothing threaded with gold that identified him as fey royalty?

If so, she had clearly been mistaken.

She blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks. He was tall, as she had anticipated (Sebastian had been after all). At least two heads taller than her and probably taller than Jace. But he was also very different from the Ash of her memories, from the sketches she had drawn of him after they had crossed paths. He had amazingly grown into his features, his face now the best combination of the Seelie Queen and Sebastian’s. As if he had picked the most alluring colours of the palette. And the result was… Stunning. Clary’s hand twitched, aching for a pencil.

He was not dressed in black, but in plain blue jeans and he had stuffed his hands in a very elegant, long pale gray cashmere coat. His white blond hair and pointy ears were concealed under a deep green beanie, the same colour as the scarf around his neck.

He arched a silvery eyebrow at Clary, his expression bemused, and she realized she was staring.

“Clary, seriously?” he said, his gently scolding tone at odds with his enchanting voice. “This guy isn't even half as good looking as me." He glanced pointedly at the patron in question, who was gaping at him, and shrugged. "No offense, dude,” Ash added as an afterthought.

He turned his attention to the barista. She was beautiful, dark skinned with long braided hair and pouty lips. “Hello, gorgeous. We’ll have a double espresso with oat milk and a dash of cinnamon for the lady and a plain black coffee for me.”

Clary stifled a gasp and tried to hide her discomfort. He knew exactly how she took her coffee, and she didn’t know how she felt about this.

The pretty barista nodded eagerly, her cheeks red and her big dark eyes dreamy as she stared at Ash. “Why don’t you… Go sit at your table and I’ll bring you your beverages when they are ready?” the girl offered enthusiastically. The long line of patrons that had formed behind Clary and Ash would probably disagree but she didn’t seem to care.

“That would be lovely,” Ash said in his euphonious voice. “And so are you.” He winked at her, and Clary wondered if she would need to catch her while she swooned. He paid before Clary even had a chance to reach for her purse.

“Come,” he said in a commanding tone, as he made his way to Clary and Simon's usual table. This was unnerving.

The jock seated there paused in the middle of his conversation with his girlfriend when he saw Ash stand casually next to him. Clary braced herself for a heated exchange, but she should have known better.

“You want to sit somewhere else,” Ash said evenly, one hand inside the pocket of his designer coat and the other stretched out in front of him as he studied his fingernails.

“I want to sit somewhere else,” the jock repeated in a monotonous voice, his gaze blank. He stood, as if in a trance, and his girlfriend and friends followed him, puzzled, to an empty table at the far end of the room.

Ash drew a chair for Clary and she sat. He did the same, opposite her. He pulled off his beanie, and shook his silvery hair, like a crown of liquid white gold. He wasn’t dressed for the part but he had never looked more like a prince.

“Ash… please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Your mind tricks.”

He cocked his head and observed her, his face unreadable, for what seemed like an endless minute.

“You’ve been my aunt for what? Five minutes? And you’re already trying to boss me around?”

“I am not trying to boss you around, Ash. Simply asking you not to abuse your powers.”

A shadow flickered across his green eyes.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Clary. I spend much more time and energy holding back than using my powers. If I did let go, trust me, you would know.”

Clary opened her mouth to reply but was cut short as the barista popped in front of them and placed the mugs on the table. She slid a paper napkin to Ash, her phone number scribbled on it. Clary tried not to roll her eyes, as Ash flashed his dazzling smile at the girl, who almost tripped on her own feet as she returned to the counter.

Clary lifted her cup to her lips and paused, as she caught sight of the cinnamon powder floating on the surface. She put it down.

“What about this?" She pointed at her coffee mug and waved around them. “ What is it, if not a show of power? What are you trying to tell me? That you know everything about me? That you’ve been spying on me?”

Ash pulled on a fake shocked expression, mouth open and green eyes wide in mock innocence. “Spying on you? What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Ash. The evidence is right here.” She lifted her cup abruptly, and hot liquid splashed out of it. “You know exactly how I like it. When I take it, where I take it.”

Ash’s mouth twitched. “Where did you pick up these lines? From the script of some lame X-rated movie?”

“Adult movies have storylines?” Clary asked, arching her eyebrows.

“Of course they do. Where do you think the Grimm Brothers took their inspiration from?”

He grabbed the paper napkin and started mopping the coffee she had spilled on the table. The blue ink faded and the barista’s phone number vanished.

“You lost that girl’s number,” Clary noted.

Ash shrugged. “I have a girlfriend now.”

Right. Drusilla Blackthorn. From the moment she had met her, Clary had known that the smart and quiet turquoise-eyed girl would someday turn heads.

Clary knew that Dru hadn’t really confirmed their relationship status yet, but it was neither the time nor place to broach the subject with Ash. She was, after all, on a mission to win over her nephew and had not been doing a very good job so far.

A young lanky boy with pink hair and piercings covering his skin walked by and dropped a glossy flyer of the upcoming Mortal Instruments concert on the table between them. Clary hid a smile. It reminded her...

“I have something for you.” She said as she fumbled inside her bag and took out the drawing she had made of Jocelyn, Luke and herself, in front of Luke’s upstate farm (before it was turned into the new Shadowhunter Academy) and laid it on the table.

Ash looked at it hesitantly, like a kid who really wanted to grab the candy but was afraid there was a mouse trap under it. He hunched his shoulders forward and clasped his hands under the table, as if to keep himself from temptation.

“I recognize your art. I like it. I also appreciate Julian Blackthorn’s but I may not be as objective where… one of the subjects of his drawings is concerned.”

“You’ve seen my art?”

He leaned back on his chair, crossing his long arms behind his head. Somehow, he managed to make it look graceful.

“Which Shadowhunter hasn’t? I noticed that you often drew Jace with angel wings.”

“Yes. That’s how he used to appear to me. In recurring dreams.”

“Was it?”

“Was it what?”

“Jace. In your dreams.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Someone who looks like him, but who actually has wings.”

“You mean Kit.”

Ash shrugged. “It would make more sense.” His gaze flickered back to the drawing, which still lay on the table, untouched. “You look a lot like your mom.”

“So do you”, Clary blurted before she could take it back.

Ash shot her an unfathomable look.

“How is she?” She asked.

“You mean, the Seelie Queen? You tell me. You must see her more often than I do.”

“Well, not really. I am not that involved in politics, even though Alec is Consul. Julian Blackthorn is the one who deals with her most of the time. She appears to have... a fondness for him.”

“Who doesn’t?”

Clary’s mouth quirked up.

“I am glad you are getting along with the Blackthorns. They are such an incredibly strong and talented family.”

“They are.” He turned his face away, but not before she could see the expression of longing plain on his delicate features.

She swallowed. She was painfully reminded that Ash never had a shot at a happy family. Born of a political union, and dragged here and there, though interdimensional portals, by people more interested in his powers than anything else he had to offer as a person. And judging by how Dru talked about Ash, he had a lot to offer.

“I imagine it must have been awful living in Thule… But what you did for Emma and Julian back there... if it hadn’t been for you…”

“I don’t want to talk about Thule,” he interrupted her. “Can I borrow this?” He asked, his long fingers brushing the Mortal Instruments concert flyer.

“Sure.”

She watched as he started folding the paper, realizing with a jolt of surprise that he was making an origami and wondering what shape would come out of it. It was odd seeing him doing such an innocuous thing, as if he was not a faerie prince with a heavy heritage and a giant target on his back, but an ordinary boy. She remembered what Emma had told her of her encounter with Ash in a nightclub in Thule. The way he had shown no interest, playing a video game in a corner of the room, while Sebastian was committing atrocities. Had he really been as indifferent as he looked?

“Ash, we don’t need to talk about Thule if you don’t want to, but if I can help you… If there is anything I can do-”

“Why?” He looked up sharply. “Are you able to create a rune that could undo the things I saw?” His tone was even, but his delicate fingers had started slightly shaking and he suddenly dropped the paper - his work unfinished - to fold his hands under the table to hide it. From that moment, she knew.

“No…” Clary said, drawing the word out. “But trust me, coming from someone whose memory has been tampered with... it’s not a solution.”

“I said undo. Not forget.” He snapped. “I am not such a coward that I would choose blissful ignorance over knowledge.”

He caught himself, blinking, then clenched his jaw and looked away. As if he was ashamed he had allowed himself to show any emotion at all. But Clary had managed to catch a glimpse of what lay underneath the mask and wanted nothing more than to see the rest of it.

“I don’t think you are a coward,” she said.

He looked over at her, a silver eyebrow raised. “I let it all happen, didn’t I? I didn’t lift a finger.”

“Because you couldn’t. Sebastian would have killed you. And you, Ash, are just like me. A survivor.”

He snorted and crossed his arms in front of him, leaning back on his chair. He had stretched out his long legs and Clary realized that he was tapping a foot nervously next to hers.

“Wrong. I could have. I chose not to. Because I am selfish. I don’t care about other people’s fate.”

His face split into a lazy, wicked grin. Clary could see Sebastian’s influence in his leer, but she wouldn't let it deceive her. Just as she wasn't fooled by his laid-back demeanor.

“I think it’s the opposite, actually. I think it’s because you care too much. It’s not death you are afraid of. The thing is, you have such a tender heart, you need to protect it from an affliction far greater than any physical pain you could endure. So you’d rather lie to yourself and pretend you feel nothing.”

From the long conversations she had with Tessa about her ancestors, Clary knew of a Fairchild boy who had been too compassionate for his own good. And he had been surrounded by loyal friends and loving parents, even though he had shut himself, putting on a facade while burying his grief in alcohol. Ash never had that kind of support. Throughout his life, he was left to figure things out on his own. If he was as empathetic as Clary thought he was, Ash probably had no other choice but to deal with his sensitivity alone. It was a miracle he had turned out the way he did.

“You have a lot of imagination,” he said after a moment. The ghost of a smile was still playing on his lips but something had passed across his eyes. “Then again, you are an artist. You seek beauty in the ugly. You find colors on a blank page. I admire your faith, but in this case, there is nothing to see.”

Clary jutted her chin stubbornly and they held each other’s gaze - his green eyes glittering in amusement and hers dead serious - in a staring contest.

“Still,” he said when he finally broke, first. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I am sorry.”

Clary softened. “Don’t be. I am glad you are finally showing your true self. You don’t need to wear your mask around me, Ash.”

He chuckled. “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

“It’s funny that you would quote Oscar Wilde.”

“And why is that?”

She shrugged. “Just another thing you share in common with a Fairchild I heard stories about.”

“Clary,” he said in a gently reproving tone. Her name sounded like a caress in his melodious voice. “Are you being purposefully cryptic to arouse my curiosity?”

She moved closer, so she was sitting at the edge of her chair, and leaned forward, hands folded over the table.

“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” she whispered. “Let me in. Shed all pretense.”

“I can’t promise you that,” he whispered back in confidence, leaning closer still so that their faces were inches from each other. “It’s like fabric that burns and melts into skin. If you peel it off, the skin goes with it.” He grimaced, reclining on his chair. “It won’t be a pretty sight. I don’t think even my level of hotness could sustain it.”

“Ash…” Clary said, sensing that she finally had an opening to say what she had been brooding over ever since she had learnt of Ash’s return from that forsaken land. “I wanted to tell you… I am sorry.”

Ash’s green eyes widened.

“Sorry for what?”

“I should have looked for you. I should not have given up on you.”

Ash’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do. Seb-...Ash, we...”

“What did you just call me?” He snarled. His eyes snapped back to her, suddenly cold as ice.

“Sorry, Ash. What I meant to say is… we are family."

“I already have a family.”

“I know that you care about Janus…”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” he cut her off.

“And we don’t need to. I just wanted you to know… I understand that he’s been like a father to you, and I don’t plan on moving against him, unless he strikes first or makes it impossible for me to overlook his actions.”

“Because of me?”

“Of course, because of you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Ash… You are my nephew, my blood. You may not feel the same way about me, but that’s how I feel about you. I want you to know that, if things go wrong, for any reason, you can always turn to me. My home is your home.”

“What you are actually telling me is, Ash, if I kill the one person who has ever really cared about you - and it might definitely come to that - you can always grab my hand, still sticky and warm from his blood. Well, how nice of you. To quote Oscar Wilde again, true friends stab you in the front.”

“That’s not what I am-”

“Clary,” Ash interrupted as he stood. “Do not make me choose between you and him. Because…” Looking down at her, he swallowed hard, as if the words pained him. “Because you will lose.”

She knew exactly what he was telling her. Because they were the same in that way. Ruthless, even with their own blood, when it came to protecting their loved ones. If I had to choose between killing him and you, I would not hesitate. I would end you. Yet, despite his cold statement, despite his sharp and resolved tone, his eyes seemed to carry a deep regret.

“Ash, I understand what you're saying and I swear I am not trying to make you pick a side”, Clary said, suddenly desperate, as she mirrored him and stood. “Please don’t go. I am sorry I brought it up. We will stop talking about him. Starting now.”

“This was a bad idea. Never try to contact me again.” He drew his green beanie from the pocket of his coat and put it back on. He turned and strode toward the exit. She grabbed the family drawing that still lay on the table, stuffed it in her bag and followed him, half-running, as he was quickly losing here with his long legs.

“Ash! Please. Give me another chance. I am so sorry.”

He paused right outside the coffee shop, closed his eyes and sighed. “Don’t be. It didn’t change what I had planned to tell you anyway. I don’t want to know anything about you or your mother. I don’t want to have anything to do with either of you.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, and he whipped his head around to look at her in surprise. “I know you were under house arrest. You probably had to break out of whichever place they were holding you in to come here. You wouldn’t have done that unless you wanted something. Something from me. Tell me, Ash. Tell me what it is.”

He turned his face away so she could not see his expression. A full minute passed and she had almost given up on receiving an answer, when he finally spoke.

“My fa… Sebastian. How different do you think he would have been if not for the demon blood?”

“Oh. Ash.” she whispered. She brought her knuckle against her sternum instinctively, as if to cover the gaping whole in her chest. “I saw him, you know. The brother I should have had. The father that should have raised you. If only for a few minutes.” She paused to bite back tears. “In those few minutes, he told us how to get rid of the Endarkened and said he was sorry. It’s not much to go for, but… that’s not all. I have recurring dreams of the green eyed boy that was robbed from us. And I know in my heart he would have been the best brother a sister could ever dream of.”

He was still looking away and she could see the sharp line, the stubborn set of his jaw. She wanted to hug him, to tell him she would not fail him again. That they could mourn her brother, his father, together. That he didn’t need to bear the anger at everything that was wasted alone.

He finally turned to look at her. A tear had escaped to run freely down his cheek. He had completely shed off his mask, and what Clary saw was like a stab in her gut. She shivered. Wordlessly, he reached for his deep green scarf and tied it gingerly around her neck. The way Sebastian had when they had walked down the streets of Paris. Ash looked nothing like her brother had then. His green eyes held an infinite sadness that spoke of a grief deeper, older than the short years of his life.

“It doesn’t change anything.” He said - she hadn’t imagined his beautiful voice could sound so hollow - and turned to leave.

“Ash, wait.” She grabbed him by the elbow and he froze. His eyes widened as his gaze zeroed on the fingers covering his coat, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. She realized she had never touched him before.

“Clary, what do you want from me?” He asked in a tired voice.

“I just want to get to know you.”

“Trust me, you don’t. I am not the brother who was stolen from you. I cannot replace him. If anything, I am just like Sebastian was before me... my father’s broken toy. There is no way to fix me.”

“I don’t believe it for a second,” she said, almost frantic. “And I don’t want to find my brother's replacement, I want to get to know you! Ash. The real Ash.”

“I already told you. That’s not happening. Don’t ever try to contact me again. I am serious.”

“So that’s it?” She tried not to sound too whiny but panic was eating away at her stomach and she thought she would throw up. “You went through all this trouble spying on me, learning how I take my coffee to simply disappear from my life from one moment to the next?”

He gazed at her for a moment, his expression unfathomable. It seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke.

“I was not spying on you, Clary. I was merely following your stalker.”

“What? You were… protecting me?”

“Take care of yourself, Clary.”

He said as he stepped away from her and vanished into the crowd.

****

Clary threw herself in Jace’s arms as soon as he opened the door to their bedroom at the New York Institute. He froze, then started stroking her hair in a soothing gesture.

“Clary, what happened? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Tell me, Clary. What is it?”

She pulled away and wiped tears with the back of her hand. Jace’s face was a mask of shock. Clary couldn’t blame him. She almost never cried.

“I messed up.”

“What did you mess up?”

She walked to the bed and sat on the mattress. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for his reaction. “Ash. I met up with him earlier today.”

Jace tensed and his hands clenched into fists. “WHAT- Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have insisted on coming.”

“Damn right, I would have. And I would have been right, too. Look at you, you look miserable.”

“It’s my fault,” she said in a small voice. “I pushed him too far.”

Jace sighed and came to sit next to her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder. “I am sure you did nothing wrong, Clary.”

“I thought- When I showed him the drawing… the way he looked at it, Jace. He is not indifferent. He cares.”

“What drawing?”

“The one I made of the family,” she said absently, as she grabbed her bag and started fumbling inside.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The drawing wasn’t there. Peeking out in its stead, and folded out of the flyer of the Mortal Instruments concert, were origami faerie wings. The Fairchild family symbol.

[firefutte]

Hello Pirate Queen Fire~! I’m here to rant to you about your own writing because I reread the whole thing after you published the latest chapter and I fell in love with the story all over again.

I love the mood set by the first chapter. The Black Bull crew is mysterious and divisive. They have different views of them from different sides. To royals and nobles, they are trouble and bad examples, people to be looked down upon. Commoners talk of their chaos but peasants, who would sympathize most with the Bulls, seem to know about their sense of family/community.

I love the individual stories for the Bulls and the occasional references to their canon selves into the pirate au.

Yami’s title as Lord of Destruction and his wild nature. And his unimaginable treasures? The crew he eventually brings together. 👏

Nacht having a “heart as black as the night.” And then the line “abandoned the day’s light. Instead choosing to favour the shadows” hit my heart because it reflects his strained relationship with Morgen in canon. 😭 Like, ouch!

Henry’s story is an echo of canon and a clever play on the term “ghost ship” making it a “ghost’s ship.” Best line of the chapter “The ghost was withering away in what used to be home.”

Finral’s chapter is mostly him but also the details about Langris make the chapter sadder. Finral being the “fallen grace” reminds me of his “fallen angel” spells.

Gordon’s chapter was thoughtful like all the others. The image of him stuck like a statue being eaten away at… Ouch. But I also laughed at the image of Yami yeeting Gordon out of a ditch.

Vanessa always had “bird in a cage” vibes and you just ramped it up. Vanessa being a bird without wings is such a poignant image. Even if it’s not the way a bird intends to move, it doesn’t matter as long as she always moves forward. Beautiful!

And finally, the Gauche chapter which is… Girl why?! It hurt! Describing how they struggled to get by was concise but still gave a strong mental image. This line: “Oh mirror, mirror sitting on the wall could you tell which bastard was actually at fault” slaps hard. And Marie being Gauche’s treasure before becoming a pirate is a little funny, to me at least.

Your writing style for this series is beautiful. I would describe it as a middle ground between prose and poetry. Instead of exact, concrete details, symbolism and metaphor the tells the story. It’s so amazing. Again, I am in love with Tales of the Night and I can’t wait to see where it goes.

Love you, Fire~! 💖 Continue to work hard and take care of yourself!

1) How dare you come into my askbox and make me cry actual tears /j

2) i printed this out and hung it up on my wall, i love it that much. It's hanging beside the fic you wrote for pirate au.

3) I cannot stress enough how heart warming this was to read. it's so encouraging to read and honestly fuels my desire to keep creating. It fills me with so much joy to see people's reactions to the content that i create, it's a great feeling to know that the things i make is entertaining for other people. Which is why i deeply encourage that kind of stuff.

Thank you so much for this lovely ask. I love it so much and it means a lot to me that you took the time to do this:D

[swanqueensalad]

Fic Writer Review

I was tagged by the lovely @oceanandarock <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

14!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

379527

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

on ao3, only 3! ouat (swan queen), the walking dead (caryl) and a series of unfortunate events which i am not proud of but i was Going Through Something lol

4. Top five fics by kudos?

1) Never Give Up - this was my first big swan queen fic! but in retrospect i’m not that proud of it. i wrote it when i was 16 and i haven’t been able to bring myself to reread it, but i’m pretty sure it’s quite ableist and problematic. (i have put that disclaimer on it now) 

2) we’re setting fire to our insides for fun - my intermediate multichap. i have mixed feelings about this one - did i have to go so hard on the angst? - but the fact it took me like 2 years to finish BUT I DID still makes me proud lmao 

3) rise and fall - i’ll admit i do like this one still. classic soulmate au one shot set in season 1/2. 

4) all you never say - i guess y’all like my soulmate aus? this one is more of a rambly character study masquerading as a soulmate au tho so 

5) After the End - my current baby! a slow burn AU. v happy this is being well received especially as we are still in the early days. (yes ik the latest chapter is late af but i’m getting there!) 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/Why not?

always! i try to respond to every single one, sometimes i’ll miss one if it’s small/i’m tired but i try! i think it creates a nice sense of community and it’s great to find out what’s landing/what people want. also it’s so sweet that people take the time to comment and i wanna acknowledge that. 

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? 

i’m a sucker for happy endings, but between the thunder and the lightning (the asoue one shot) is literally full of canon angst, and i’d say setting fire to our insides has a happy ending but with a lot of bittersweetness & is my angstiest fic overall. 

7. Do you write crossovers?

nope, just not my thing!

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

luckily not! 

9. Do you write smut?

hmmm... i’ve not published anything with explicit smut in it but uh, ya girl might have some stuff on her laptop she’s too embarassed to upload... 🙈  also i have a feeling After the End may require some spice down the line... 

10. Ever had a fic stolen?

i don’t think so! 

11. Ever had a fic translated?

i don’t think so but now this has come up i have a feeling someone did ask to translate never give up into french? i’m not sure if they actually did. this was so long ago that i honestly can’t remember. does that make me a terrible person? if u did and that was u i am flattered!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

no, i personally don’t think i could 

13. All time favourite ship?

swan queen, of course <3

14. WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Enchanted! i was on such a roll with the first few chapters then life and other WIPs took over - maybe i will someday though. I also have a Neverland AU fic i’ve been writing on and off for ages but it’s so hefty i’m not sure it’ll ever see the light of day!

15. Writing strengths?

hmm... maybe descriptions? i think i naturally write with quite flowery and detailed prose - this is also kinda a weakness though because i’ve had to work to balance that with action/dialogue in a decent way. 

16. Writing weaknesses?

maybe pacing? i think i get caught up in things and go a bit all over the place. also, if i’m doing something character-studyish i will RAMBLE like no other. 

17. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language?

sadly i only speak english, so anything in another language is translated online and thus probably not very accurate! 

18. First fandom you ever wrote for?

i actually think it was merlin! 

19. What is your favourite fic you’ve written so far?

my own writing cringes me out so... idk... i’m gonna say After The End because i’m having a really fun time writing it right now. 

i’m gonna tag @fancyfanstuff if ya feel like it, and anyone else who wants to do it! 

[englandsgray]

Sherlolly Self-Interviews 2020

Well hi 👋

Ignoring the internal image of Gilderoy Lockheart smiling smugly while flashbulbs pop and saying ‘In my autobiography, Magical Me...’ 🙈😆 I shall take the opportunity of this lovely event to introduce myself as a writer of Sherlolly fanfiction on AO3...

I am English and somewhere over 30.  I watched the show as it aired, and lost my heart as quickly to Molly Hooper as to Sherlock Holmes.  The kiss is British television history.  Series 4 is my favourite.  Moriarty on the beach is life.  The Holmes brothers break my heart every time.

I am extremely lucky to have been provided some questions to answer here by @ohaine and @mybrainrots - huge, huge love and thanks to these two lovelies, and not just for this.  I admire you both so much as writers, and your support means the world to me ❤️ Thanks too, to @sherlollyappreciationweek!

Where did you begin to write, and have you written for other fandoms?  I wrote my first fanfic when I was eleven years old - a 100 page ramble about The Monkees.  Oh yes.  Then in 2018, I fell for the characters of the Disney Pixar film Cars and began writing and publishing.  So far so random!  Writing in this fandom sprang from binge-watching all four series of Sherlock during lockdown.  I remembered reading Louise Brealey talking about being disappointed Molly didn’t get chance to ‘roundly kick Sherlock’s arse’ and agreeing with her wholeheartedly.  That, over a few weeks, turned into my first fic - Who You Really Are.  

You’re a recent (and welcome!) arrival to the Sherlolly ship, and I was wondering if writing in an established, less active than it used to be fandom has been a challenge?   Thank you, firstly.  My experience of this fandom has been incredibly positive - the sense of welcome has been wonderful.  I will admit I was terrified posting the first fic - there are hundreds of times more stories posted daily in the Sherlock fandom as in the one I had some experience of.  But I needn’t have worried, it’s been a blast.  I will also admit, that it’s no small thing to be surrounded by such brilliant writing and the long-standing passion which goes with it.  But I find that inspiring in itself, and I’m very glad to be here - how supportive the fandom are makes me feel like I always have been!       

What’s your favourite place and way to write?  My aesthetic is Lin-Manuel Miranda in his in-law’s laundry room 🤣 I wrote my first ten-thousand words on the notes app on my phone before my other half told me to stop being ridiculous!  I switch between the laptop, my phone and longhand (I’m a sucker for a nice notepad and a Uni-Ball Eye) and, more often than not, not sat up properly at a table.   

Since you’ve (done something I’ve never managed successfully and) written a novella length fic... how did you organise/keep track of all the details and where you wanted the story to go?  Did you outline/plot in advance?  First of all - I would love to see a novella length fic from you @mybrainrots!  The final scene of Who You Really Are came to me very early on and I knew I wanted the fic to fit within TFP - a lot of it takes place in the timeframe of the final montage.  At first, it was going to be much more about Sherlock’s relationship with the ideas of sentiment and love (the phrase ‘I’m not sentimental about you, I love you,’ haunted me for a while) and I spent some time researching the psychology and playing with scenes from throughout the series - one of my favourites I didn’t go on to use was inspired by the final scene of THoB.  Using scenes from the canon gave an automatic structure, and I was always aiming for the final one I wrote early on - the two of them on the beach (everything is about the beach, with me!)  As I went along and started, inevitably, to slow down, I mapped out the chapters with a short note of what I wanted to be in each, then would add notes or phrases as they came to me - often emailed from my phone!  I had to force myself through a tricky section set in Baker Street at one point, but it came together in the end.  I did plot The Pathologist’s Skeletons on paper first, as I found with a casefic which remains a WIP, that I can get confused and lose focus when it comes to details and how to reveal them in a way which stays paced and interesting.  I’ll certainly do that from now on with longer stories and cases.  How did you keep up enthusiasm for the work?  I want to write an original novel, so I am forcing myself to work through the knotty bits and blocks as a learning experience.  Not everything is destined to be finished or finessed, of course, but I’m finding this process is building my confidence that I can overcome problems and slow periods.  I also find I know when I need some external inspiration - some of my favourite scenes have come to me while out walking the dog or sitting on the beach.  I’ve also been inspired by books or other series or things going on in the world, as we all are, and sometimes that’s pushed me on.  Plus, of course, I’m a newbie - I’m very much in the honeymoon period of my writing, even though I’ve loved Sherlock for ten years! (Ten years! Bonkers.) 

You’ve got a knack for writing Sherlock’s thoughts and capturing his voice.  That said, which character do you find easiest to write?  Which is the hardest?  Thank you so much.  I absolutely love writing Sherlock and Mycroft, and I’m sure that’s because they suit my somewhat over-the-top writing style!  I find Molly and her POV really difficult.  I want the scenes I write from her perspective to sound completely different to Sherlock, but that means writing in a style which doesn’t come as naturally to me.  I’m a long way off happy with that at the moment, but I’m enjoying the challenge.

Is there a scene or character that specifically inspired you to start writing Sherlolly?  The whole of TFP, but especially from the moment Sherlock arrives at Musgrave onwards.  I am desperate to see what a Sherlock Holmes who has been reacquainted with his own heart would look like.  I find his emotionality in those final scenes hugely compelling (Mycroft’s office is one of my favourite moments from across all four series) and, as I have always believed in him and Molly, I practically jumped up back in May after watching it and said ‘right, where’s my notebook?!’.

There’s a lovely peaceful, quiet feeling to your fic ‘We’re All Right At The Moment’.  Can you tell us what inspired it and if you’ve thought of doing the backstory that goes with it?  Thank you!  Like everyone, I would go back to January of this year and start again in a heartbeat, but I am hugely fortunate to be able to say that I have a lot to be grateful to the UK lockdowns for.  I might never have begun writing in this fandom otherwise, for one, and I have had a brilliant time so far and met some lovely people. Honestly, I don’t feel able to do any sort of justice in my writing to what has happened in the world in any broader sense than drawing on my own experiences of staying at home and enjoying my family.  This particular super-short fic sees Molly cutting Sherlock’s hair at home in Baker Street.  I wrote it in the evening after I had cut my other half’s hair and had been reminding myself that despite how horribly worried I was - and still am - about everything, we were all right in that moment, and to focus on that as much as possible.  I wanted to try to capture that, if for no reason other than to look back on this entire experience and remember something lovely, so I am so pleased to hear you felt the fic did that.  It was only after I finished it and reread it, that I realised it is ambiguous as to whether Molly is worried about Sherlock contracting the virus, or whether she is remembering him being treated for it... As I say, I don’t think I could write more about these extraordinary circumstances - perhaps it’s just too close at the moment - so I don’t plan on extending it.  But you know how it is, the plot bunnies hop where they will... 

Do you have a Sherlolly music playlist?  What are your top five favs from the list? Here’s a run down of (6 🙊) songs I have been getting emotional over in the last little while, leading my brain to assign their significance to my favourite couple...

Kissing You - Des’Ree - It’s so 90′s, it’s a bit cheesy, it’s oddly disturbing.  It helped me write A Request, Made Properly, and that gave me an excuse to have Sherlock kiss Molly in the snow.

How Long Will I Love You? - Ellie Goulding - part of the playlist, but also in remembrance of a friend who passed away recently.  Life is very short, love is forever.

High and Dry - Jamie Cullum - It’s made me emotional for a very long time.  The original is my partner’s version of choice, this is mine.  

Think About You - Delta Goodrem - Okay, this one isn’t emotional, and it’s not my usual vibe!  Blame the zoom exercise class I do!  But oh my goodness, it’s Molly.  Bless her.

Blinded By Your Grace (P.T.2. F.T. MNEK) - Stormzy - One of the best ever, I reckon.  Spent an awful lot of time thinking about angels and demons, grace and what it takes to save someone, while writing my latest - The Pathologist’s Skeletons.  This has been in my head most of the (blimmin’) time!

Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Goulding - I didn’t know I was a fan of Ellie until I wrote this list... I don’t subscribe to the theory that the love Molly wants or that which Sherlock has to offer is any lesser because it isn’t ‘normal’ or expected. I don’t think romantic entanglement would come easy to either of them. But it’s still love and it would be beautiful.

Thank you so much for reading.  Thanks and love to @ohaine and @mybrainrots. And thank you @sherlollyappreciationweek for the event and for everything you do ❤️

Feel like I should sign off with a quote from the show...

“You’re not a puzzle-solver, you never have been. You’re a drama queen!” Dr John Watson (Moffat & Gatiss) 2014 😜

X

A fav fic of mine by @mybrainrots

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563193

A fav fic of mine by @ohaine

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562904

My stuff:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnglandsGray/works

[mallowstep]

daisy in “ashes”

or, nonspecifically, what are cats like goldenflower, ferncloud, and daisy getting up to, anyway?

this is tied to my thoughts on medicinery, so if you’re not caught up, a summary: med cats now only spend about 50% of their time doing “medicine” and it’s more osteopathic than in the books.

[1.7k words, 6 minute read]

daisy's kin (i just finished it)

so i just finished daisy's kin and 😗👌 am i happy with it.

i've always been exploring this, like, i'm lowkey obsessed with developing the role of the nursery queen, and...i don't know what i expected, but this was nice to read.

it was good both that thunderclan valued her and hnnng it was so good.

obsessed, i'm obsessed.

but curiously enough, i'm going to refrain from focusing (too much) on the story part of it. i just, this quote stands in my mind

That is important work.

snow, in response to daisy telling her about her role in thunderclan.

like, (a) it is, and it feels so good to read a book acknowledging that, and (b) it is, and i'm really happy that everyone agrees.

so anyway, i feel like the latest warriors release was tapped in to my brain.

first, it had all of this stuff that happens in mtbnsof (squirrelstar, if you don't read my fic/can't keep track of acronyms, which, understandable), or is going to happen in mtbnsof.

i kind of spoiled a lot of stuff in my book notes, but i'm not doing that again, so moving on.

anyway, i wasn't really excited for daisy's kin and spotfur's rebellion, i just wanted the blackfoot novella.

but damn, i was wrong.

i felt like someone had a line into my brain because daisy's life is exactly what i wanted it to be.

i'm going to talk about that in a moment i just really don't want to understate how fantastic it is to see a warriors novella expand and develop these ideas. i strongly urge you to read daisy's kin if you haven't already. it's really, really good. i'm being deliberately vague about the plot to encourage you to read it.

i think this might go as far as repairing the hole in my heart from "leafpool's wish." i don't think there's anything that can fix the brain rot (although the line in SFR, where she's like "adoption is valid," is close), but the hole? that's healing because of daisy's kin.

and y'all already know how much i hate leafpool's wish.

chapter five: advent

so if you don't read my fic "ashes," chapter five (advent) was published april 10th, and the basic summary is it's the first 3 months of holly/jay/lion's life.

it's a chapter i like, we're going to do a quick breakdown. there are spoilers for this chapter, and also probably the future of the fic. depending on when i actually publish this essay, they may or may not have been covered, so read at your own risk.

so the basic summary of advent is this:

ashfur meets his children

daisy apologizes for not supporting squilf

ashfur announces his children to thunderclan

sandstorm offers motherly advice

squilf has a moment where she's like "i'm not ready for this but you are my whole world

cool.

anyway, daisy has this line that i like:

But Leafpool's young, and she's not a queen. I understand.

she's talking to squilf and is kind of..."i'm here for you."

the implication is that leafpool's job doesn't really extend to kits, past their physical well-being.

and later on, daisy (and ferncloud) are the cats squilf leans on. she's the one who provides a lot of support over jaykit, especially when they're all arguing all the time about it.

she's also a support to the kits. they would all die for her.

daisy gives advice about how well jaykit is growing and reassures squilf it's okay to be kind of bored when they're little and sleeping all the time.

she also has this moment:

"Oh, hush," Daisy said, "I'm just proud she knows so many words."

where hollykit says bb curse and daisy is like "ah yes my daughter! she's so smart!"

anyway, daisy is just...

when hollypaw doesn't know what she wants, she's going to ask daisy for advice. she's a neutral party: squirrelflight is her mother, but daisy is in a not-quite-mother role.

she's the one who notices when leafpool is With Kits. that's her job.

she really does take it as a failure that she didn't notice what was going on with squilf. in the clan, her role is to stop that from happening. i mean, no one really blames her because squilf's kits were early and leafpool was there but...it was 100% her job to not have that happen.

if something had gone wrong, she would have taken it even harder.

(also, ferncloud usually also serves this role, but she has her own litter right now, so that's consuming a fair amount of her time/energy.)

kinship (kind of)

okay, well.

i've been talking about kinship more and more lately.

it's because i'm working on "wing & feather" (aka the jaywing au where dove and jay are siblings), and kinship is a somewhat big deal there.

so anyway, first: my usual preemptive vocabulary lesson:

sraue

litter, littermates.

maach

blood-family unit, sibling (by blood)

maara

den-family unit, denmates (going over this another time)

rru

mother, mother's sister.

rruha

denmother (queen who nursed at same time, or nursery queen)

there, not so bad.

right, so i'm doing a full breakdown of kinship elsewhere, because while the maach side is fairly simple, the maara side is...there are just different rules. they're not more complicated, but they're a second set of rules.

(and then you can have situations where, say, in w&f, by maach, jay and dove are maach with squilf and leaf, but by maara, squilf is rruha to them.)

see so it's complicated.

but we're honing in on rruha for this.

rruha is a term referring basically to any queen who could have nursed you.

using ashes, daisy, ferncloud, and squilf as an example:

if squilf's milk didn't come in (as per canon), fern would have nursed HJL, so ferncloud is rruha to them. (she's also got a maach relationship, but rruha supersedes that.)

similarly, squilf could have nursed fox and ice, so she's rruha to them. (unlike with HJL, she doesn't have a maach relationship to them, because she's not related to ferncloud. the more you know.)

daisy could have nursed either litter (hypothetically? it's a little complicated and the cat bio section is later on), so she's rruha to both.

this relationship is one of the highest ones on the influence later. the maternal relationship (rru) is the only clear trump card. the paternal relationship (seya) can be more important, but it depends on the father.

(the littermate and denmate relationships are also very important, but in a different way.)

so, daisy is somewhere between a grandmother and a mother to pretty much every cat in thunderclan.

god bless you if you ever try to hurt her, because that's a lot of cats who would not let that happen.

queens

alright, so. the crux of it all.

what is the role of a (life-long) queen?

to nurture queens and kits.

it's that simple.

it's just a very important job.

i imagine they train each other, too. goldenflower offered advice and teachings to ferncloud, and ferncloud brought experience of clan life to daisy, and vice versa.

i hope someone takes up residence of the nursery with daisy, because otherwise that's a lot of leadership to just break up.

(as an aside, seriously, this is out of nowhere: i'm still thinking about moonflower's death. it has to be the saddest death in warriors, for me. i think because she's such a mother figure: soft and hazy and kind, and she dies. and she's...you know, you barely thought of her as a warrior. bluepaw still sees her only as mother and then she dies, dies in a raid that you know was questionable, and it hurts so much. moonflower might be the only warriors death i cried over. because it pulled at this raw, primal place of grief and loss.)

cat biology (naturally)

you know, i made this header, but i don't actually remember what i had to say?

huh.

well. there's a nonzero chance i remember later so...

yep remembered.

okay so y'all know. i have fucked over my google for you searching info about cat lactation.

someone better care about this.

okay so.

best i can tell, cats will lactate with kits around, pregnant or not. it helps to be around pregnant queens, but a cat like daisy should have no trouble providing milk for kits where necessary.

now, based on what i know about this (which is more than i want to talk about lest someone accuse me of...eh yeah), this won't be perfect for newborn kits, but it'll keep them alive.

the problem is it's not necessarily going to be instant.

what i'm saying is, the troubles in daisy's kin are valid, considering the nursery is empty.

the long night

okay so i've talked about the long night/"whatever is done only by me" enough and i don't feel like explaining it again.

but basically, it's daisy's job to stop that from happening.

daisy (again, using daisy as a filler for "queens like daisy") is supposed to check in on queens, make sure they're safe, support them.

she will drop kick anyone out of the nursery who threatens that.

and you don't want to mess with daisy because it won't be one drop kick so much as the entirety of the junior warriors.

this is the most important part of daisy's job. crisis de-escalation. tree has nothing on queens.

notes and touches

uh, let's see...oh fuck! going to edit something.

okay anyway.

i'm very sad they let daisy sleep alone in the nursery D:

cats are highly social she didn't deserve that

[pink-bird-30]

Becoming My Own Hero-Olicity & Robstar Crossover Fic

Ight.  I’m making this the go to place to find alllllllll the links to my story because tumblr has this astounding ability to make my story impossible to find.  Even using my own hashtag I have difficulty finding it!  

So here we go.  The links to all 7 chapters of Becoming My Own Hero:

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Full Synopsis: 

Oliver Queen Felicity Smoak had a daughter named Star Gabrielle Queen. On the night of her 8th birthday, her life changes forever. She is kidnapped by ARGUS and is recruited by Amanda Waller to protect the earth from Aliens, like Superman. But the genetic mutation she undergoes makes her stronger than they thought. To hide their mistake, they send her to her home planet Tamaran. Years later, the Justice League needs help from the Titans. The Titans head to Star City to assist in taking down a greater enemy, but how will Starfire handle being home after 11 years of being away, and her family believing that she would never come back?

This is a slow moving story.  If you can tell by the publish date, I’ve been working on this for 3 years. A lot has happened that I haven’t been able to keep up with this story, but I’m trying to do better.

I hope you guys enjoy this story and my latest chapter!

As always, Happy Reading!

                                                   Chapter 7

                                                  Trained Pt.2

I can’t believe this is happening

For as long as Robin could remember he’d always had some sort of attraction to Starfire.  Don’t get him wrong, its undeniable that she is this beautiful person, but standing there with his arms around her, deepening their ‘first’ kiss was blinding.  He hadn’t truly realized how much he cared about her, how much she means to him, how much this could ruin everything.

What if they broke up?  Would she still be his friend?  Would she leave the Titans and never come back?  Would she go home!?

Robin abruptly pulls back, allowing his doubts to control him, and puts Starfire at arm’s length.  Starfire gives him a hurt expression and steps away from him, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Richard?”

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.  He’s standing there like a fish out of water.

Starfire feels her whole world come crashing down.

How could he…I’m so stupid.

Not waiting for the ‘we’re teammates and shouldn’t date’ conversation, she turns her back on him and reaches for the elevator button.  Once it reaches the ground floor she walks inside and finally turns to face a grief stricken Robin.

“I do understand why you wear the mask; you’re eyes tell a story the different than the actions.  Night, Robin.”

The doors to the elevator closes and she lets her tears fall freely knowing he will never understand how much he hurt her tonight.

Down in the garage, Robin beats himself up for allowing Batman to continue to dictate his life.

“Dammit!”  Robin punches the wall of the garage and immediately regrets it.  He crumples back in pain, his hand throbbing.  He can already feel the bruise spreading across his hand, creating deep shades of purple.  But he doesn’t care.  He finally had the opportunity to be happy for once in his life and he chose to listen to his hero side while standing there as Richard.  

What did I do?

--------------------------

Gotham 1996

“Mr. Wayne,”  Bruce looks up from his desk taking note of his PR lady, whose name he can’t seem to remember; Rebecca?  Leslie?  “The press is ready for you.”  

Bruce stands up from his desk, straightens his tie, and checks his hair one last time in his cabinet mirror before leaving his office with…Vickie, Vickie Vale!

“Thank you, Ms. Vale.  Lead the way.”  He smirks and winks at her, knowing how his charm needs to be on full blast for what he’s about to do.  He gestures for her to walk out of his office first and follows behind, adjusting his cufflinks as they make theie way to the conference room.

The large windowed room held Gotham’s top reporters from: Gotham Gazzett, Channel 9, The Gotham Times, and Gotham News Network. The first wave of flashes startled Bruce, it’s been many years since he was exposed to the media, and having all these news stations here today is jarring compared to his secluded life back in Nada Parbat.

“Mr. Wayne, is it true you are the Batman?”

“Mr. Wayne, did cha’ really crash your new Bentley?”

“Mista Wayne, are you single?”

Bruce takes a deep breath, allowing himself to adjust back to his playboy swagger; concealing the person whom only a select few know.  He opens his arms wide and smiles dazzlingly to the press,  “Ladies and Gentlemen, I understand my disappearance has been hard on everyone in Gotham, especially the single ladies.”  He winks at Vickie again, making her blush, and continues, “I know my families influence in Gotham is important.  And for that, I am apologetic.  But there is reason for my disappearance.

“Since the death of my beloved parents, Martha and Thomas Wayne, I’ve always wanted to discover if I had family elsewhere.”  Bruce moves across the room, passing the large wooden table in the center of the room, and leans against the glass windows looking down to the city below.  He can clear as day see all the destruction his absence has caused in such a short period of time.  The thought sending a deep blow to his gut, knowing he chose to leave, but wished there was someone who could have kept Gotham free from evil.

Bruce looks back to the press, taking note they are waiting for him to continue.

“I went across seas to search for a missing relative on my father’s side.  My butler, Alfred Pennyworth, had informed me of a long lost niece.”  The crowd of reporter gasping at the new discovery.  “I’ve brought her here today for you all to meet her.  Her name is Gabrielle Wayne.”  On cue, Alfred walks into the room pushing a black stroller and stops in front of Bruce.

“If you’d like to take a photo of my niece, please turn the flash off.  It can harm a baby’s eyes.  She’s only a few weeks old.”

Gently, Bruce reaches into the stroller to pick up Star and holds her in his arms.  The room stills at the sight of the new Wayne child.  No one never thought the Wayne bloodline would continue considering Bruce’s relations with women has never lead to a serious relationship.

“Excuse me, Mr. Wayne.”  A young brunette woman from the Gotham Gazette pushes herself through the crowd of reporters.  “Gloria with Gotham Gazette, what are your plans for taking care of Gabrielle?  Will Alfred be her primary caretaker or will you be heiring a nanny?”

Bruce smiles down at Star as she stares back at him, a small giggle escaping her.  “Alfred and I will be responsible for her.  If I do need additional assistance, it will be taken care of in private.  Gabrielle deserves to live a relatively normal life.”

Gloria reaches her tape recorder out further to Bruce, “Follow-up question:  How can you raise a child in a dangerous city such as Gotham?  With the rise of the Falcone crime family, and unrest in the deep underground of Gotham, how can you guarantee her safety?”

“Excellent question, Gloria.”  Bruce shifts Star in his arms, moving her to rest her head against his shoulder.  “Given my new status as her guardian, it will be my top priority to protect her at all cost.  With that being said, today I will be announcing the charity event I will be hosting for GCPD.  We will be holding an auction to raise money for the police department and expanding their crime division to include metahuman training.  In our ever changing world, we must be prepared for the impossible.”

“Final question Mr. Wayne.  How does it feel knowing Oliver Queen is alive and well?”  Bruce’s mind goes blank realizing he’s been gone far longer than Oliver has been back in Star City.  He feigns shock, “O-Oliver is alive?  Since when?”

“He was discovered on an island in the North China sea about two years ago, Mr. Wayne.”  Gloria supplies.  “Why are you unaware of the sudden reappearance of your long-time friend, Oliver Queen?”

Alfred clears his voice, the attention of the media shifting from Bruce to Alfred.  “Master Wayne did not have access to the news overseas, he spent his time searching for his belove niece.”

Gloria scrunches her eyebrows in confusion and pushes forward, “Sir, it’s 1996.  The media is everywhere.  I find it hard to believe Mr. Wayne was unaware of Oliver’s reappearance.”

Bruce’s jaw locks in a straight line, “Gloria, please understand.  If I weren’t overly set on finding my niece, leading to deep parts of Europe where there was hardly an internet café, I would have been in Star City when he arrived home.  Trust me when I say, he’s like a brother to me.”

Gloria raises a brow at his claim, still seeing through the holes of his story.

I’ll find out the truth later…

Star becomes restless in Bruce’s arms.  He rocks her gently but it doesn’t seem to be calming her down.  He casts a slightly panicked look at Alfred who gestures to her stroller. The media watches as Bruce kisses the top of Star’s head, a few camera shutters going off, and he sets Star back into her stroller.  He buckles the small black belt across her chest and between her chubby little legs.  Almost instantly she starts to nod off, cooing softly.  Bruce smiles down at her and places a light blue knitted blanket over her legs.  Alfred steps forward to take her back out of the room.

Bruce turns back to the group of people and they are all silent in awe if this new Bruce Wayne.

“Gloria,”  Her attention snapping to him, realizing she was entranced by his care as a new father. “I’m grateful my friend is alive and well; I’ll have to check up on him at some point in the future.  Until then, thank you all for coming here today to share in this great day.  I look forward to mingling will you all at the GCPD Charity event.”  Bruce waves to them as he leaves the room, ignoring the onslaught of questions being hurtled his way as he backs out of the room and heads back down where he once came.

Out in the hallway, Vicki Vale walks ahead of Bruce, her maroon heels clicking against the marble floors.  He can feel himself releasing a slow breath.  This was a journey he never envisioned for himself.  He never thought he’d take on such an important responsibility without much thought.  This wasn’t like him.  But the second he met Star, he knew he needed to protect her at all costs.

He knew it was time to reach back into the Bruce he shut off a long time ago, the young man who didn’t know his purpose in life.  The young man who lost everything he cared for and became a playboy that he knew his parents would be disappointed in.  The young man that shut himself off from anyone who cared for him and pushed them away.  He needs that innocent, vulnerable part of himself back for this new challenged.

He needed to be Bruce, not Bruce Wayne.

---------------------------------

Titans Tower 2012

Starfire lays in bed tossing and turning all night until the first peak of light start to sneak its way into dawn.  Starfire growls at the ball of fire that typically greats her happily each day, but after last night, she wanted to be left alone.

She felt a new wave of tears gather in her eyes thinking about last night’s events.  Why had Robin pushed her away?  Why did she think it could be easy?  Why does this human boy have such a hold on her heart?

“Richard…”  she sighs into her pillow, hugging it close to her chest.  She wants nothing more than to be with him.  The feeling of his arms wrapped tightly around her, making her feel safe.  The taste of his lips still ever present even hours later.  And his eyes, he trusted her enough to show her who he was.  And that’s what hurts the most.  Robin was so vulnerable with her but pulled away.

What is wrong with boys…

A subtle knock on her door gains her attention.  She scrunches her brows in confusion, knowing no one would be up at this ungodly hour besides her.  Starfire always rises with the sun, wanting to take in the first few rays to power her through the day.  But today was the opposite, she wanted her room to keep the light out.  She wants to be alone and bask in the darkness her curtains can provide her.

The knock comes again more urgently, “Star, we really need to talk.  I fucked up bad.”

Starfire stills hearing Robin’s voice ring through her door.  Why does he think he can  pull a stunt like he did last night and not expect any consequences for his actions?  Does he expect Starfire to accept an apology and be happy he finally acted on his feelings for her?

He knocks again.

“Star? Please, open the door.”  The desperation in his voice was enough to make her eyes roll.  Starfire huffs in frustration and weighs her options.  It’s either deal with this now or have the entire team butting in when they are trying to hash it out.  That thought alone was enough for Starfire to sit up in bed and make her way to her floor length mirror.

Starfire runs her fingers through her hair and checks herself in the mirror.  She’s wearing shorts and a string tank top, nothing too risqué, but enough to short circuit any teenaged boys’ mind.  She walks over to the door to unlock it, letting it swish open revealing an equally tired Robin.

“Hello, Robin.”  Starfire turns away from him and walks back over to her bed, not bothering to wait for him to reply.  She hears him clear his throat and step into her room, letting the door swish close behind him.  She doesn’t bother to look up at him; she didn’t want him to see how much he hurt her.

“Star—I.” he stops just short of her bed, keeping a friendly distance between them, but close enough that he can still reach out to her.

“You what?  You have the regrets?  If that is so, please do the leaving.  I rather save myself the humiliation.”  She crosses her arms and huffs, her hair slightly flaming at the ends.

Robins sighs, already feeling defeated.  He spent the last three hours trying to find the right words to express himself, but he’s never really been in a relationship with anyone before.  Barbara doesn’t count too much.  They were only 14 and she ended up having feelings for someone at their high school.

“May I sit?”  He gestures to the space next to her on the bed.  He’s never asked permission before, he’s always felt comfortable enough around Star to be there with her, but now everything was different.  Her bed didn’t seem oh-so innocent anymore.  If anything, it made him very much aware her pajamas cover very little of her.

Her green eyes are sharp and sizing him up, “You may.”

Shaking away all impure thoughts running through his head, Robin sits down next to Starfire on the bed, turning to take her hands in his.  “Star, I didn’t mean to push you away last night.  I was—”  he pauses feeling Starfire pull her hands from his slowly.  Robin feels panic settle in his chest for a moment.

Oh god, she doesn’t even want me to touch her anymore.

Tentatively, she touches the corner of his mask, silently asking permission to remove it.  Robin sighs in relief and nods, understanding why she wants it off.  He has nothing left to hide from her; he’s ready to be open and honest with someone for the first time in years.

Her fingers are soft against his cheek as she gently pulls at the mask, letting it fall to the ground next to her bed.  She brushes her thumb against his cheek before dropping her hands to her lap again.

“You may proceed.”

“What I was going to say is that I was—I was scared, Star.”  He stares at her with his intense blue eyes, the fear showing bright within them.  “All these negative thoughts of what could happen if this doesn’t work out came rushing all at once, and I-“ Robin takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice.  “You’re the last person I want to lose.  I’ve already lost too many people I care about.”

Starfire sits there in silence allowing Robin’s words to hang between them.  She can see the panicked expression settling across his face.  His hold on her hands starts to loosen, but she’s quick to tighten the hold, preventing him from fleeing again.

“Ouch.”

Starfire is confused by his sudden pain and looks down to look at his hand.

“Oh!  Richard, what did you do?!”  she examines his right hand, running her delicate finger over the deep purple bruise, touching it tenderly to feel for any broken bones.  He hisses when she touches the darker stain across his knuckles.

“Ah, yeah.  I sorta punch the garage wall last night after you left.  I was angry because I still let—”  Robin realizes what he was about to say and freezes.

“I am the confused, who are you allowing to do the controlling of you?”  Starfire asks as she stands from the bed and goes to her adjoining bathroom for a first aid kit from under the sink.  She settles back on her bed, close enough that her knee brushes his thigh.

Robin frowns, “I-my adoptive father.  He’s…you don’t know about my family, do you?”  Robins asks.  Starfire frowns.  Of course she knows who Robin’s adoptive father is.  It’s her uncle, but Robin doesn’t know that she has her memories back yet.

She’ll have to pretend not to know.  But then again, Bruce Wayne is a very public figure…

Feigning confusion Starfire shakes her head, “No, I am unaware of your k’norfka.”  She continues to rifle through the first aid kit trying to find a disposable ice pack.

Robin flexes his fingers, feeling the pain radiate through his fingers.  “Let’s just say he’s a very public figure and the reason why I have to keep my identity hidden, if they know who I am-“

“Then they will have the knowledge of whom the Batman is.” Starfire looks up to meet Robin’s eyes.  She can see the sadness embedded deep within, but she still can’t shake the fact he rejected her last night.

Breaking eye contact, Star pulls the ice pack from the kit and breaks it, letting the beans cool up.  She takes hold of Robin’s hand and gently lays the ice pack on his hand.

Robin hisses at the weight of the ice pack, but then relaxes once the cool pack starts to numb his hand from the pain.

“Thanks.”  He smiles at her making her heart jump, seeing his eyes crinkle at the corner and the warmth radiating from them.

He really cares for me…

Starfire shifts closer to him, positioning his hand on her thigh, and takes a small pack of pain medication from the kit and hands it to Robin.  When he doesn’t reach for them, Starfire looks at him quizzically; confused by his distracted state.

“Richard?”

“Hm.”  His eyes are still focused on his hand resting against her thigh.  The warmth seeping its way from his hand through his veins.

“Here, take the medication of pain.”  He open his hand, accepting the pack of pills.  Her hand grazes his, a soft brush of her fingers against his gloveless palm.  It sends a small spark to his heart, and he can see Starfire is just as affected when she doesn’t retract her hand right away.

Feeling brave, letting his fears go and taking responsibility for his actions, Robin closes his hand around hers.  “For a long time, I let him dictate what I could and couldn’t do.  And sometimes that younger, more obedient version of myself overclouds my judgment and I make poor decisions.”

Robin releases Starfire’s hand, letting the packet of pills drop to her bed, and reaches to cup her face.  At first she freezes, unsure where this conversation is going, fearful he may reject her again.  But when his thumb brushes her cheek tenderly, she leans more into him, accepting the small comfort he is offering her.

“When we formed the Titans, I didn’t want to be the version of myself I was before I came to Jump City.  This isn’t Gotham, the threats aren’t the same and the people aren’t the same.  I had to become a different type of hero for those kinds of people because there’s hope here.”  He smiles lightly, making Starfire smile in return.  “ This city isn’t on the brink of destruction; sure there’s been plenty of villains attempting to take over, but the five of us are able to keep them at bay.  Each and every single one of us is able to not only protect one another, but ourselves.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is: I’m afraid of something happening to you.  To all of you, but I can’t let that fear dictate my happiness.  I know you can handle any situation, but I still can’t help that small voice that tells me otherwise.  I trust you Starfire, and I trust that us, together, can work.”

The only sound in the room was the distant rumble of waves hitting the island rocks down below.  Could he really mean it?  Does he…does he really want to be with her?

Starfire’s eyes widen at his words, “Richard, I do not want to do the reading of the words, but are you—are you asking me…?

The ice pack on Robin’s hand plops to the bed as he moves his hand up her thigh, causing a slight blush to cross her cheeks.  He moves up her side, grazing it softly, feeling the soft fabric of the tank top against his hand.  As he reaches her shoulder, he inches his face closer to hers before his hand finds home threading slowly through her long auburn locks.  Starfire can feel her skin burning from where his hand traveled, leaving a wake of gooseflesh bubbling her sun kissed skin.

Just like the night before, the magnetic pull between the two was undeniable.  Starfire rests her head against Robin’s, “Do you promise not to do the freak out again if we have the lip contact?”

Robin chuckles deep in his throat, “I won’t.  Not this time.”  He brushes a strand of hair away from her face, “I’m all in if you are.”

Wrapping her arms around his shoulder’s, Starfire pulls Robin towards her as she lays down against the pillows, leaving him hovering over her.  Robin gazes at her warmly finally feeling content.

Her green eyes glowing bright with glee as she drags him closer to her again.  Their bodies flush together, and her hand weaving its way into his hair.  His injured hand rests against her hip and the other cups the side of her face.  He tilts his head down allowing their lips to brush lightly as Starfire’s hand caresses the side of Robin’s face.

“I very much am, Richard.”  She whispers against his lips and gives him a slow, chaste kiss before pulling back completely, watching Robin’s eyes open slowly.  A smile spreads across his face making Starfire giggle in return.

“But—“  her face taking on a serious look, making Robin squirm.  “—If you do the pulling of the yesterday events, I will not have the pleasantries for you once more.  You have the understanding?”

Robin visibly gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.  “I promise, Star.”

She smiles brightly and gives him another slow kiss.  This one sending waves of happiness through the young alien.

“What are we going to tell the others?”  Robin asks as he pulls back and reluctantly untangles himself from Starfire.  He lays down next to her on the bed, propping himself against the soft purple pillows.

Starfire moves to her side facing him and takes his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together.  Will they be upset?  Will they celebrate?  Should they keep it a secret for now?

Starfire’s train of thought is cut short by Robin’s hand slowly grazing up her side, sending shivers down her spine.  She find herself cuddling closer to him, allowing his arm to wrap around her fully.

I can definitely get used to this.

Feeling more and more comfortable Starfire feels herself succumbing to her exhaustion.

“I do believe—”  She lets out a yawn and blinks her eyes sleepily.  “—it is the problem for later.  I did not have pleasant shlorvax last night.”  She yawns again, emphasizing her tired state and snuggles closer to Robin’s warm body.  Robin shifts to lay on his back, leaving room for Starfire to rest her head on his shoulder and her arms to wrap around his waist.

Sleepily, Robin yawns as well, feeling the events of the past few hours finally catching up to him.

“Sounds good to me.” He whispers, feeling his eyes grow heavy.

“Pleasant shlorvax, Richard.”  She kisses the underside of his jaw and falls into peaceful sleep.  He wraps his arm tighter around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and drags the blanket over the both of them.

“Night, Star.”

-------------------------------

Starling City 1996

Felicity finds herself wander down the long winding staircase of the foundry.  Her still protruding belly stretching her black knit sweater uncomfortably as she waddles down the stairs.  She can hear the grunts of someone working out on the gym mats and the sound of keys being clicked on her keyboard.  The thought alone sends Felicity to waddle down the stairs at a brisk pace, making her shoes thump against the hard concrete floor.

“Who the hell is touching my keyboard?  Is it Roy?  How many times have I told you not to touch—”  

“Felicity!?”  John Diggle shoots up from her desk chair as Felicity approaches.  She does a double take to see she’s really seeing who she thinks it is.

“Dig?”  She says in disbelief.  The past year has been extremely hard on Felicity and finally coming home, but without her love and daughter, she didn’t think anyone would be down here.

Diggle wipes a tired hand down his face and lets out a short laugh that could pass as a choked sob.  “You’re okay?  Really?”  He looks down her body.  She looks paler than usual, her hair showing her dark roots and her belly, hanging low.  This catches Diggle’s attention immediately.

His eyes widen, “Are you pregnant?”

Felicity bites her lip, knowing this was not how she wanted to tell Dig she and Oliver had a child together.  She thought it’d be like when Sara was born.  All of them huddled in a hospital room wanting to take a turn holding Star in their arms.  They’d take their first Team Arrow photo together.  But Ra’s took that from her, from them.  

Felicity presses a hand to her bulging stomach, he lips quivers from the onslaught of emotions facing through her.

“I was pregnant, Dig.  Oliver and I—”  her voice cracks and the damn breaks.  Diggle pulls her into a tight hug, wishing he could take all the pain away.  She sobs into his chest, wishing Oliver and Star were there with her.

After a few moments, Felicity steps back and wipes away the tears with her black sleeve.  She sniffles as she walks over to her forgotten computer desk and sits down in her chair.  The chair where she watched Oliver for hours using the salmon ladder.  Where she and Oliver would talk about their future together, how they both wanted a family…

And now she sits there alone.

“Dig.”  Her voice rough from tears.  “We need to help Oliver get out of the league, no matter how long it takes.  I need my family back.”

Diggle nods in understanding.  If it were Lyla and Sara on the line, he’d be raising hell to get them back.

Felicity begins her research on Ra’s al Ghul in order to develop a plan to bring down the League of Shadows.  She starts by listing anyone and everyone that is in association with the league:

Sara Lance, Malcom Merlin, Maseo, Talia al ghul, Nyssa al Ghul, Star Queen...

The last name catches Diggle off guard, “Felicity, whose Star Queen?”

Her fingers stop moving on the keyboard and turns to him sadly, “That’s our daughter’s name.  Star Queen.”

Diggle feels his throat tighten realizing this baby girl is stuck in one of the scariest places on Earth.  Why would Felicity leave her there?  Why not bring her back?

“Before you ask, I did not have a choice.”  She looks up at the celling of the foundry her eyes growing wet once more.  “She had to stay and be inducted to the league as an heir.  They took my baby from me Dig,  my baby.”

Diggle places a comforting hand on Felicity’s shoulder.  Not truly knowing how to comfort her in this situation.  How could he?  His wife and child are safe at home, far away from these kinds of monsters that Oliver and Felicity find themselves fighting against.

“Yo, Dig!”  Roy bellows from the training mats.  “Did you see the news?  Bruce Wayne is back in Gotham.  And he has a kid!”  Roy comes barreling in from the sparring mats, sweat dripping down his face.  He takes a good look at the small blonde perched in her usual seat.  Roy stops short of the med table, the shock overwhelming him before he rushes at her, and engulfs her into a big hug.

“Felicity, is it really you?!”  Roy asks in disbelief.  How is it possible that she is back?  It’s been almost a year since she and Oliver went to Nada Parbat to resurrect Thea.  Thea came home right away and told them how Oliver had to stay to be the Heir to the Demon Head.  And Felicity was subjected to stay, but did not understand why.  But standing there, taking in Felicity’s appearance, it wasn’t tough for Roy to put two and two together.

“That’s why you stayed.   You were pregnant…Where’s the-?”

“Roy.”  Dig says warningly.

Felicity looks away from them, feeling her throat tighten.  She clenches and unclenches her firsts trying to control her emotions, but post-partum has already kicked in and she couldn’t help the few tears that fell.

“She is safe.”  She whispers.  Roy steps forward and wraps his arms around her again, giving her a tight hug. Felicity reacts immediately feeling safe in her friend’s arms.  Roy was always like a younger brother to her, and she missed him terribly for the year she was gone.

But why did Roy come in here again?

“Bruce Wayne is back in Gotham.  And he has a kid!”

Felicity abruptly pulls back from Roy and swings her chair back around to face her desktop.  She rapidly types in a series of codes and brings up the local news.

“Good Morning, Starling City.  I’m Summer Gleeson and here’s Today’s breaking news.  Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham City after being gone for nearly 7 years.  Not only is his reappearance suspicious, but he has a child!  Before you all lose your hats, here’s the dish.  Our sources at the Wayne conference earlier today confirm that it is a long lost niece on Bruce’s father’s side.  Here is the first look at the new baby of Gotham, Gabrielle Wayne!”

The tv cuts to the press briefing at Wayne Enterprises.  They watch as Bruce makes this grand speech before Alfred rolls in a stroller.

Felicity feels her chest beat fast as she realizes what is happening.

“Oh, frack.”

Diggle looks questioningly to Felicity before watching the screen once more.

“…her name is Gabrielle Wayne.”

“That’s my baby…”  Felicity sobs, clutching at her still round belly.

Roy’s eyes widen, “Why would Bruce Wayne…”

“Oliver, this was the plan he didn’t tell me about.  But I don’t think he thought Bruce would be so public…”  Felicity’s voice drifts as she watches her baby girl giggle on screen, bringing a smile to her tear streaked face.

A warm hand lands on her shoulder and she leans her head against it.  “She’s beautiful, Felicity.”  Diggle gave her shoulder a squeeze letting her know he’s here for her and ready to take on whatever it take to bring her home.

With a renewed feeling of ambition.  Felicity takes a deep breath, sits up in her chair, and squares her shoulders, causing Diggle’s hand to fall away.

“So,”  Roy steps forward to lean against the desk, facing Diggle and Felicity.  “What’s the plan, boss.”

Felicity smiles for the first time in months,  feeling hope after all the darkness she was exposed to for 9 months.

“We’re getting them back.”  She reaches out to take Diggle’s and Roy’s hands.  She needed their team to get this done.  They will need all the help they can get to bring Oliver and Star home.  

“Let’s get to work.”

[im-fairly-whitty]

If you're still taking prompts for the witcher wolf fics, may I suggest Jaskier and Geralt using the wolf transformation to sneak Geralt through a castle where he's been forbidden to go, with a side of Geralt taking advantage of his form to act like a cursed fae horror again, like when he killed the bandits?

So clearly this got away from me a bit. Enjoy part 1 of 6 my friend.

In Plain Sight

Chapter 1: Into the Fire

“What if Calenthe doesn’t even let us near her?” Jaskier asked, tipping another log into their campfire as it crackled in the darkness. “I’ve been welcome enough at Ciri’s birthday parties over the years, but not even the princess’ fondness for me will temper the queen’s anger if she so much as remembers you and I know each other.”

“Calenthe has to listen to us, Cirilla is our child surprise.” Geralt said grimly from where he lay on their bedroll, propped up on one elbow under the blanket as he watched Jaskier. “She already knows what can happen if you try to deny destiny, she won’t be foolish enough to try to keep her from us. Not with the Nilfgaardian army advancing.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure when they’d started referring to the Cintran princess as their child surprise, but Geralt had never bothered correcting it once they’d started. It had now been nearly two years since Geralt’s medallion had become enchanted and they’d shared everything since then anyway. Walking the same Path, warming the same bedroll, keeping the same secrets, and—evidently—guarding the same destiny. Sometimes as Witcher and bard, quite often as bard and wolf, but always together and caring for each other. No matter whether they were on the road hunting a contract, performing for a tavern crowd, or wintering at Kaer Morhen.

Or—as had happened several days ago—spotting an entire Nilfgaardian army at Amel Pass who were beating a grim march toward a certain child surprise.

Jaskier chewed his lip as he looked north through the dark trees of the forest they were camped in. North toward Cintra, only a day’s ride away now, a trip he’d made alone many times over the past twelve years.

He hadn’t exactly made a mission of checking in on Geralt’s child surprise every few years without him knowing, it had just…happened… He was one of the continent’s best performers after all, it made sense he’d be in high demand whenever he could slip away from Geralt’s side to play for the charming princess who taken quite the liking to him, a feeling that was mutual between them.

He’d wondered before about whether destiny was involved with how fond he’d become of her. Looking back now it felt very much like Jaskier was a handful of carefully placed colored threads being sharply pulled into place as a tapestry picture was woven with increasing speed. Threads that were tangled him and Geralt and Ciri together into a tightly woven image that was coming into focus both too quickly and not nearly quickly enough.  

“Queen Calanthe had no qualms trying to keep Pavetta back from her destiny all those years ago.” Jaskier said. He walked back to Geralt and lay down beside him. He slipped back under the blanket and tucking himself up against his witcher’s warm body. “She only gave in at the end because her castle was about to be ripped apart around us, and I can promise you her stubbornness hasn’t worn down one iota over the years. If you ask me, we ought to slink in the back way and sneak off with the princess before her dear old granny has even realized what’s happened.”

“That’s a spectacularly bad idea.” Geralt said, pulling Jaskier’s back against his chest as he curled around the bard. “I’m finally wearing off on you if your court etiquette’s fallen so far as to allow royal kidnappings.”

Jaskier turned in Geralt’s arms to face him, poking a stern finger at his chest. “If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t even know Cirilla’s name before you went barging into the palace.” He said sternly. “I’m always the brains when we visit a royal court, and as the brains I’m saying it’s going to be no use trying to ask the lioness of Cintra for her last cub and expecting her to take it well, no matter how polite you manage to be.”

“And this isn’t a party we’re dealing with, it’s a fanatical invading army.” Geralt said. He huffed. “And I would have have found out her name even without you, surely I’m not that hopeless.”

“Says the man who had been referring to his own child surprise as a prince for years out of assumption before I corrected you.” Jaskier said dryly. “And I know, all the more reason for us to be careful. We’ll likely only have one chance to make sure she’s safe and if we leave it up to your interpersonal charm you’ll be thrown into a dungeon to rot until the Nilfgaardian soldiers tear the cell down around you.”

“Well then, what do you suggest we do, oh expert of all things Cintra?” Geralt said with a thin sigh, resting his head against their pillow.

“Well first of all, I suggest that we do not parade Geralt of Rivia the Witcher through the front gates of the city for all of Calenthe’s spies to see.” Jaskier said, running his fingers meaningfully along the chain of Geralt’s Witcher medallion. “She forbade you from ever returning to Cintra over a decade ago, she’ll have you killed the moment she catches your scent near her granddaughter. But she won’t be wary of a favorite bard who’s performed in her court several times, along with his new pet wolf.”

“Oh, you’re her favorite bard?” Geralt said with a smirk.

“Calenthe’s favorite bard is the soldier who sounds the war horn as she rides into her latest over-aggressive military effort.” Jaskier said dryly. “If it was up to her I’m sure all royal parties would be replaced with sparring matches between visiting dignitaries.”

“Sounds like an improvement to me.” Geralt said. “Probably get more done that way really.”

“You’re impossible.” Jaskier sighed. “But what I meant is the princess. Ciri knows me and likes me, Calenthe knows that too. It makes me harder to turn away if I were to show up to a party, even without an invitation.”

“Which helps our current situation because…?”

“If you’d been listening to my gossip swapping at the last three taverns we’ve passed through you’d know there’s a Cintrian Royal banquet tomorrow. They’ll be bestowing several titles of knighthood and throwing a party about it.” Jaskier said, idly smoothing a hand down Geralt’s chest. “It shouldn’t be too hard to convince the steward that my wolf and I would make an excellent replacement for the musical entertainment that just disappeared under somewhat mysterious circumstances.”

“We are not killing a bard to get invited to a party.” Geralt said flatly.

“I said disappeared mysteriously Geralt, not killed.” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “Honestly. Just give the poor sod a blast of axii once we find him and we’ll pocket his invitation, we’ll say he lined us up as his replacement after a sudden last minute attack of bad stew. It happens in performing circles all the time, the steward won’t care a bit as long as I’m dressed for the occasion, my lute is in tune, and you’re well groomed and polite.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt stared past him and into the trees, quiet for a long moment. “We’re only just ahead of the Nilfgaardians. We’ll arrive tomorrow but they’ll only be a day behind us at most. It doesn’t leave us much time. We just need to know that the princess is safe.”

“Which is why we have to be careful with our one chance.” Jaskier said firmly. “We keep a low profile, get into the castle, eavesdrop until we learn what we need, and then slip out the back way before the Nilfgaardians even arrive. With Cirilla safely in tow if need be. It’ll be over and done before midnight tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Geralt said, mouth still twisted into a worried frown. “We’ll try it.”

“Everything will be alright my wolf.” Jaskier said gently, kissing the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Destiny is on our side and we’re playing our cards wisely, working together we’ll surely win this round.”

Geralt said nothing, only pulling Jaskier closer to bury his face against his neck.

 ***

 “Stick close.” Jaskier said, fingertips idly brushing Geralt’s wolf ears as they wove through the Cintrian marketplace together. “Now isn’t the time to go trailing after cats or meat carts.”

Geralt nipped playfully at his bard’s fingers for his teasing, earning him a smile and a real head scratch as they continued on, simply a bard and his pet wolf to any onlookers.

After two years Geralt could no longer say whether he preferred being a Witcher or being a wolf, because as far as he was concerned both forms were equally his true self. Running on all fours was as natural for him as swinging a sword, silently shadowing Jaskier as his supposed pet was as easy as brewing his hunting potions.

The day was overcast and the market was busy, an oppressive buzz of grim preparation seeped through the marketplace as the Cintran people purchased extra grain, swapped rumors, and sharpened all manner of weapons.

From what they’d gathered from the marketplace chatter the queen had made no public decree concerning the nearing Nilfgaardian army, aside from the command that every citizen should be ready to fulfill their duty should they be called upon. But the clear anxiety of Calanthe’s subjects belied the royal confidence such a bold non-move displayed, information that did nothing to settle Geralt’s fears about the princess’ safety.

Luckily Jaskier had already managed to find a lead on where to find their banquet lutist with a few well placed questions and a handful of coin. Even better, the roaming peacekeeping soldiers had barely given Geralt a second glance when they passed. He idly wondered what might have happened if he had come to the city as a Witcher, but shook off the thought, having more important things to worry about as they ducked out of the way of a tanner’s cart. They just had to-

“I am not. You’re just a sore loser!”

A young girl’s voice slipped through the noise of the crowd from somewhere nearby, catching Geralt’s attention. Geralt stopped dead in his tracks so abruptly it felt like his very bones had made the decision to halt, trapping the rest of Geralt with them as the bustle of the market around him faded away.

“Let me try again, give them here.”

Geralt turned, ears flicking toward the voice. Before he knew it his feet were pulling him along and toward whoever the owner of that voice was. He wove between legs and around market stalls as he followed the sound of young laughter and spirited teasing without even thinking to wonder why.

The source of the laughter came into view: five teenagers kneeling around a mat rolled out on the ground, jeering and smiling at each other as they played what looked like a game of knucklebones.

Or rather, four teenage boys and a young girl who seemed like she was very much trying to look like a boy, wearing a pair of pants with her hair tucked up into a tight cap.

“I said give it-”

The young girl trailed off, sitting up and looking around as if she’d heard something odd.

Geralt found himself trotting right up to her, feeling a small electric jolt when she turned to meet his gaze. She showed no surprise at a massive collared white wolf coming up to her, only reaching out to pet him, her expression a bit confused.

“Hello.” She said, tipping her head to the side and smiling as Geralt wagged his tail. “Where have you come from?”

“Ciri, that your dog?” One of her playmates asked.

“It’s a wolf you idiot, of course it’s hers, look at the expensive collar it’s got.” Said another, socking the first in the shoulder.

“How am I supposed to know what pets princesses have?” Complained the first boy, rubbing his shoulder.

Geralt’s eyes widened and his tail stilled.

That’s why he’d been pulled toward her, why she’d seemed to sense him at a distance. This was the Princess Cirilla.

His child surprise.

“I’m Ciri, what’s your name?” She said curiously, ignoring the boys as she scratched behind his ears and checked his collar for a name plate. “Do you need help?”

Geralt whined, shifting from paw to paw as his canine excitement got the better of his usual stoic self. He pressed his cold nose against her palm and she laughed, making a warm excited feeling rush through him. How many times had he idly imagined meeting his child surprise? It had never gone like this in his imaginings, usually involving far more grandmotherly interference for one thing.

“I like you.” Ciri declared to only him, kissing his forehead. “If you’re lost you can stay with me.”

Geralt whined again, half knocking her over as he pressed against her side, tail wagging wildly as she giggled.

“So he’s not-” one of the boys started, but the teenagers all stiffened at the clatter of hooves.

In a moment they’d scattered like pigeons, leaving Geralt and Ciri alone in the road, looking up at the four riders who pulled to a stop before them. Geralt stepped in front of Ciri protectively. He’d had his child surprise for less than two minutes now but felt surprised at the certainty he already felt that he would absolutely rip a man apart with his own teeth to protect her.

“You need to come with us.” One of the horsemen—all of them royal guards—said, eying Geralt warily but saying nothing as Ciri got to her feet, putting a hand on Geralt’s collar. “You’re needed back at the castle your highness.”

“Alright.” Ciri said primly, her demeanor entirely different than it had been a moment ago with her friends. More serious, now drained of happiness. “But you didn’t have to bring an entire regiment to fetch me.”

“Are you bringing that…dog with you?” the soldier asked, dismounting and handing his reigns to another soldier to accompany the princess on foot.

Ciri looked down at Geralt, he could see her biting her lip in indecision, doubtlessly hesitating to take a wolf with her who was clearly already owned by someone. Geralt panted, whining happily and pushing his nose against her palm in a clear show of encouragement. Take me with you, it’s alright. Keep me by your side.

“Yes.” Ciri decided, petting his head with a smile and looking back at the soldier. “He’s lost, I’m keeping him until his owner can be found.”

“As you wish your majesty.” The soldier said, already looking disinterested as they began making their way back to the castle in a small procession of hooves and sabers.

Geralt’s ears pricked as he heard a shrill three note whistle, the signal Jaskier always used if they were separated and calling his real name was inadvisable. Geralt looked back just in time to see his bard wander through the crowd, whistling and looking around worriedly.

Jaskier spotted him through the crowd and his eyes widened. Geralt wagged his tail in reassurance and Jaskier must have gotten the message, hanging back as Geralt turned a corner and out of sight with the others.

This was not the plan, but Geralt knew he could trust Jaskier to be clever enough to continue his half without help.

Or at least he had to hope so. Because without Jaskier and the medallion he guarded Geralt would be trapped as a wordless and weaponless wolf in the court of a queen who hated him as an enemy army bore down on the city.

Geralt would only be able to keep his wits about him and hope that this was a gamble that would pay off in their favor.

[Read chapter 2: Old Friend]