#and yes i know the jagged outline thing is from twisteds art but i wanted to try it here too okay

[funky-dealer]

i don't really like touched all that much but damn id be lying if i said its artstyle for promo art was shit. wanted to do a piece imitating it ft. quasar !!! say hi guys !!!!!!! shes here !!!!!!!!! oh my god !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

alts under cut

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Hi y'all!

So I realized today that it's been about three months since I started cross-posting my stuff to ao3 (those of y'all who were here for After Each Midnight while it was still a wip will know that I've been writing for longer than that but anyway). With the latest fic I just posted, I now have 30 works published to ao3 within those three months! Which is wild to me!

Since that averages out to ten fics a month and I like round numbers, I decided to celebrate by listing my 10 favorite fics...of my own lol. Narcissistic? Maybe! But it's fun anyway!

This is a really long post as each rec includes a summary, an excerpt (or a few), and some personal notes/anecdotes about the writing process or what inspired me to write the fic, etc. so I'm putting it all under the break. If this doesn't sound like your cup of tea then of course please just skip over this one, but for anyone who wants to revisit some of my older works with me, or if you're curious about which fics I personally like the most, or if you want to talk about your favorite fics of mine in the replies or anything, then that's cool too! I just wanted to find a way to mark this down because it feels like something of an achievement ^_^

Thank you!

1. After Each Midnight Begins A New Day, (54,401 words, Rated E) Ship(s): 3zun, Wangxian Summary: When Lan Xichen wakes up the morning after the fifth anniversary of his life crumbling to rubble around him in Guanyin Temple, he's shocked to find both Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao in his bed, both whole and alive and...married to him?! (A time travel fix-it in which the time traveling and fixing of things has already been done by Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, and Lan Xichen accidentally gets dragged along for the happily ever after.) Excerpt(s):

1. “Poor da-ge,” [Meng Yao] teases again, this time with a bit of an edge, and Lan Xichen cracks one eye open just enough to see him stripping first out of his shoes and socks, then his third layer of robes, then his second, until he’s dressed much as he had been the prior evening - in nothing but a black under-robe so sheer that it actually almost looks gray. It clings to all the petite, lithe curves of him and the sight makes Lan Xichen’s mouth practically water. “What if I want my turn with you now? What if I’m jealous that er-ge got to have you all to himself for hours , while your poor A-Yao had to go have a drink with Xian-didi just to pass the time.” “Oh gods you’re a beast too,” Nie Mingjue groans as Meng Yao slips on top of him gracefully to lean down and pepper kisses up and down his neck and shoulder. “Get off of me, foul creature. Go tempt our husband, I’m temporarily immune to your wiles.” “You’re never immune to my wiles, da-ge, and er-ge is meditating oh so diligently. He’s certainly not smiling and watching us through his lashes as if we’re not well aware of his tricks and what he likes to watch.” - 2. “It took years of practice, you with your painting and I with my answering, but when you were a teenager I finally decided on the best advice I could think to give you: Do not seek for every answer in this life all at once, Xichen,” he instructs with a smile as he returns to painting. “Let them come to you gently and in their season, and trust that all will be as it should in the end.” Lan Xichen takes another breath and returns to his painting with a slightly trembling hand - a trembling that ends up creating a lovely branch on the tree he is painting that, when he turns his head to look, is modeled almost exactly after the one growing in the garden behind the Gentian House, just beyond the window. “I don’t remember ever seeing this tree,” he whispers and Qingheng-Jun hums across from him in clear understanding. “And yet it flows from your brush all the same. Now we can all know that you have nothing to fear, your memories will also come to you in their season. Until then, allow yourself to rest, and remember that you have the support of your family whenever you need it.” “Yes, father,” he replies with a whisper and a tremulous smile, feeling lighter than he has in days. - 3. “I will go into seclusion.” The statement is a stone dropped into the gently rippling water of a spring-fed pool. The stone is jagged and pitted with all that the world has done to chip away at it, to make it rough and painful to the touch. It is sharp in his hands, heavy with all the hurts he still carries in his chest, all the grief he has no more room to hold. He feels lighter with it out of his grasp, the words settling into the ensuing silence with some bittersweet relief.

Notes: I know I've said it before but it bears repeating: this entire fic exists solely because of the smut scene in chapter 1. I thought of the smut first, and then the lead-in to it, and I intentionally left the end of chapter 1 ambiguous - it could have ended right there as an angsty one-shot with Lan Xichen believing that it was all a hallucination, and there's nothing really in the text to say that it's not because Lan Xichen is a very unreliable narrator in this fic. But then I wanted to write the backstory for the smut if, in fact, it wasn't a hallucination - and everything kind of...butterfly-effected out from there to become what it is now, along with all the extras in the series that's now roughly 120k long altogether and still not finished. Oops. Oh and also: this fic that started the ball rolling only exists because for some reason the servers for Omegle went down for months where I live, and prior to that I used to spend hours rp'ing. Without that creative outlet, I filled the vacuum with writing fic instead and now here we are. So if you're grateful for my fics then thank Omegle for sucking for a few months lol --//-- 2. Loving, Loud, Wild, and Theirs (7386 words, Rated T) Ship(s): Xuanli & Gen (kidfic), 3zun (briefly) - an extra for AEM Summary: A brief look at how in this kinder world, Jin Zixuan managed to find and legitimize his three siblings as well as a snapshot of the chaos of love and fun that is his family with his siblings, his beloved wife, and their seven children. Excerpt:

He had listened to [Madam Qin] and her handmaid, and he had believed them, and he had been unsurprised to find himself thinking quite uncharitably of his father following his promise to Madam Qin that he would do everything in his power to make it right, as much as he could. [Jin Zixuan and Meng Yao] return to Jinlintai the day after the next, once their business is concluded. He’s relieved when nothing needs his immediate attention as it means he’s free to retreat into his and Jiang Yanli’s quarters so he can tell her everything that’s weighing on his mind. “No more surprise siblings from now on,” he sighs into the comfort of Jiang Yanli's chest when he’s finished outlining what has happened and his plans to prepare a new suite of rooms in the family wing of the tower. For Qin Su. His sister. Jiang Yanli just laughs her tinkling laugh and kisses him, her hands gentle as she combs his hair back from his face with her fingertips. “You’ve got more siblings now than any of the rest of us,” she teases with a mischievous smile down at him that is a bit too reminiscent of, weirdly, both Wei Wuxian and Mo Xuanyu for comfort. “Two brothers, a sister, and of course we must keep Mianmian in her spot on the list. If you would like to count brothers-in-law as well you’ve also got A-Xian, A-Cheng, Huaisang, Wangji, Xichen, and Mingjue...” He groans and hides his face properly in the soft silk of her robes even as she laughs again over his head.

Notes: This fic is actually a request fill for someone and I had some trouble ending it because there's a lot more I want to write with this wild family, though I did eventually find what felt like a good place to cut it off with 3zun arriving in Jinlintai for the visit they leave for at the end of AEM. There is something of a follow-up floating around my wips that - if it ever gets written - is a direct sequel to AEM that continues where this extra leaves off, with 3zun getting to spend time with their hoard of niblings in Jinlintai. No promises about if/when that will get written though. --//-- 3. Performance Art (8106 words, Rated M) Ships: 3zun, Wangxian (briefly) Summary: A Modern AU inspired by the 'Hysterical Literature' performance art project. Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Meng Yao take turns doing their best to read aloud from chosen written works as they're filmed. The twist is that they're trying to do so as they're being pleasured with a vibrator controlled by one of their partners off-camera, each of their turns ending when the partner being filmed/played with has an orgasm. Excerpt(s):

1. “Engage people with what they expect; it is..- it…it is what they are able to discern and.. ngh.. confirms their projections. It settles.. ah settles them into predictable-“ He cuts off suddenly to set the book down flat and slap one hand down sharply on the tabletop. Meng Yao simply clicks another button and Nie Mingjue groans as his newly unoccupied hand twitches back to rest on the edge of the table closer to himself, as if about to drop down beneath it. Lan Xichen and Meng Yao both shift forward in their seats but Nie Mingjue catches himself before they have to intervene, returning his hand to the middle of the table and forcing a deep breath into his lungs so he can continue. “-Predictable patterns of..of response, occupying their minds while you w-wait for the ex- extra-“ he huffs out a sharp breath and curls his hand into a fist as he tilts forward and forces out the rest of the sentence in a rush. “Extraordinary moment — that whichtheycannotanticipate. FUCK!” - 2. It’s a few hours of quiet, peaceful work later when Lan Wangji shifts his weight in the way that means he wants Wei Wuxian’s actual attention and not his ‘ I’m sculpting so I’m periodically looking at you ’ sort of attention which he is, of course, quick to grant. He pauses in his muttering half to himself and half to Lan Wangji to say, “Hm? What’s up Zhanzhan?” “From Xiongzhang,” he says by way of explanation, holding his phone out for Wei Wuxian to squint at the screen. It takes him a moment to understand what he’s looking at, his eyes needing a second to adjust to the small black and white video that’s playing after having spent hours looking between Lan Zhan and the clay form taking shape under his hands. “What is this?” he asks as he leans in closer and squints a little harder. He blinks and his eyes go wide in the next moment as he realizes what’s happening on the screen as the woman’s tension climaxes ( literally ) - and then it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to figure out just why he’d been asked to create an eerily similar setup in his own studio the previous afternoon for three men he might as well consider his sort-of brothers at this point. His next exhale is a wheeze as his ears go hot and Lan Wangji is instantly shrugging into a robe to stand from his lounging position and approach, concern written all over his features. “Wei Ying?”

Notes: I don't really have too much to say about this one except that it brought me so much joy and laughter to write and it honestly kind of surprises me that it's one of my less popular fics - it's nothing but a fun, sexy time! But I'm also terrible at guessing trends/what people will want to see so that might be on me haha. Oh! Also - a minor thing but something I'm very mildly proud of: the narrator voice is dependent on who's behind the camera! I wanted a way to make the person filming feel just as involved as the other two and I thought that was a fun way to do it since within the narrative it's technically going to be their perspective used for the video they're recording. Just to give y'all a little insight into my decision-making when it comes to my writing style for this one. --//-- 4. Anything For My Nie-Zongzhu (6411 words, Rated E) Ship: NieYao - pre-canon (just barely) Summary: Meng Yao is Nie Mingjue's trusted right hand, intelligent and valued by his Sect Leader, at least, who has learned lately to appreciate him a hell of a lot in private too - and for much more personal matters than the minutiae of running the Nie Sect. Seeing as Nie Mingjue trusts him so much, he finds it in himself to ask for something new - for Meng Yao to top him. [Technically an extra for AEM but can be read as a standalone] Excerpt:

“Am I to play into this boorish act you’re putting on tonight?” he teases instead as he steps closer until he’s near enough to feel the way the steam from the bath has turned the air sticky and humid. Nie Mingjue finally looks up at him and Meng Yao is internally crowing with triumph as he watches the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth fall away, his expression smoothing into quiet contentment. He did that. His presence alone is enough to help Nie Mingjue relax. It feels nearly as good as the day the man had angrily defended him to his own disciples and promoted him on the spot. “It’s not an act, I’m plenty boorish,” Nie Mingjue gruffs, returning his gaze to the letter, but this close Meng Yao can actually watch his eyes do nothing but try to glare a hole through the center of the page. “Of course you are, Zongzhu,” Meng Yao allows, his tone openly humoring - as is the smile tightening the corners of his mouth. “Therefore I can only suppose that you would prefer it if I returned to my walk and left you to continue your...correspondence in peace.”

Notes: Once again not really many notes on this one! I just love NieYao, I think their dynamic during Meng Yao's Nie Sect days has so much potential and I love exploring it every so often. --//--

5. Bite The Hands That Feed (1590 words, Rated E) Ship: XiYao Summary: After being forced out of the Nie Sect, Meng Yao has to come to grips with the hunger that's been chasing him his whole life, and he finds temporary satisfaction over and over in Lan Xichen, who is always so generous with his time and his body and is willing to help him feel less empty even just for a night. Excerpt:

He would never bite the hands that feed him, that stuff him full enough to make him believe for a moment that he’s no longer starving. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t inflict pains. He bites and he scratches and he plants himself in the bloody furrows until flowering moans reward his violent care, until pleasure bursts sun-warmed and sweet between them, berries ripe for the picking. He stains his mouth red with them, his fingers purple with the bruises he paints so delicately on his devotee’s body. If Meng Yao is being clawed to a slow torturous death from within, then it stands to reason that his other half will be ripped to shreds from without. He keeps his nails sharp and his teeth bared to tear into his flesh and drink sweetly of the vintage he offers - sweat, spend, blood, saliva when their mouths meet for crushing kisses. All of it is his to consume. He puts his mouth to the feast of Lan Xichen’s body and eats until the hunger pangs are satiated, drinks until he feels dizzy with it.

Notes: So I wrote this one when I was getting a little tired of the straight narration style of all my other fics and I wanted to try my hand at something looser, a little more prose-like but also a little darker than my usual fluff. I'm not sure how successful I was - this is actually one of my absolute least popular fics, number-wise! - but it's one of my favorites anyway. --//-- 6. A Figure, A Mouth (2788 words, Rated M) Ship: Wenzhou Summary: A quiet, intimate evening spent in the comfort of the Four Seasons Mountain Manor sometime between their arrival/fixing up of the place and the confrontation with Ye Baiyi. Excerpt:

After a while of warming each other up Wen Kexing urges him back up to push the bed under the window just as he’d said he would. Zhou Zishu takes the opportunity to blow out the candles before he rejoins Wen Kexing in their bed, the sudden darkness leaving them free to admire each other clothed in nothing but broad swathes of cool, sweet blue light bisected by deep black lattices of shadow from the trees out in the yard, the shadows from the contours of the wall and decorations around the window blocking and revealing them in turns. Lao Wen is, of course, as beautiful like this as he has been in every way Zhou Zishu has ever seen him, and he takes the time to savor it, to indulge in the decadence that Wen Kexing presents for each of his remaining senses. He’s a feast for the eyes, all hard muscle and skin glistening with glittering diamonds of sweat along his shoulders and the soft curve of his cheek. He’s a symphony for the ears, breathless desire and tender calls of his name that Zhou Zishu never lets go unanswered when they’re like this. By now Wen Kexing is an expert at drawing pleasure from him in every unlikely way there is to make sure that the effects of the nails don’t keep him from reaching his peak at least once, occasionally more in spite of his fading sense of touch.

Notes: Wenzhou makes me so soft and emotional, y'all. The next one on the list is also a Wenzhou fic and I just can't seem to stop writing them in fluffy/smutty situations because it's what they deserve. I really don't have anything more interesting to say about this fic, I just love them haha. --//-- 7. Tease Him Just Enough (2537 words, Rated M) Ship: Wenzhou Summary: A possible outcome if the conversation post-face reveal in episode 6 had gone differently - i.e. if Zhou Zishu had called Wen Kexing out on all his flirting and challenged him to do something about it - and then he does. Excerpt:

They don’t need words to communicate that at least right here in this particular moment there’s no one else they would rather have in their arms, pressed up against their bodies, no one else’s tongue who would find a new home in each other’s mouths or any other body their hands would rather explore. Wen Kexing has already known that they’re fated, but for the first time it feels like they’re agreeing to be so. Even if it’s just for a night. (Not that he thinks it will be just one night for them, but getting Zhou Xu to agree to anything remotely of the kind is like trying to drag a stray back-alley cat into a bath so he’ll take what he can get.)

Notes: My first fic for Word of Honor! The whole time I was watching the show (read: obsessively binge-watching) I was like 'Okay I like this show a lot but it's not nearly as compelling as The Untamed, idk if I'll be motivated to write anything for it'. Then I got to the end and I was like NEVERMIND YES I AM. I played myself. --//-- 8. You Need Tending (12,108 words, Rated T) Ship(s): Lan Wangji & Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji & Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren & The Jades & Wei Wuxian (this is a kidfic so nothing romantic!) Summary: Wei Wuxian is alone and homeless on the streets of Yunmeng, unaware of the presence of his parents' old friend so nearby. Lan Wangji is a child grieving for the loss of his mother in silence, overwhelmed by the world his uncle keeps dragging him out into. It takes their paths crossing more than once for Lan Qiren to realize just who Wei Wuxian is and that he needs their help, but he gets there eventually. Excerpt:

He watches on as the man comes to a stop next to the boys and squats down to check over the one who had been lost and suddenly he remembers lying on the ground and looking up at a stern-faced man with gentle hands and a ribbon across his forehead. The man who had given him medicine and bandages after a small boy had defended him from dogs, and an older boy had talked to him so kindly and helped him to sit up off the dirt. Wei Ying gasps as the memory hits and he scrambles back down off the roof, landing on the packed dirt of the space between the buildings with an oof, excitement bubbling in his chest. Along with the memory comes a name and it flies from his lips as he scrambles up off the ground to push his way into the crowd again. “Master Lan!” he shouts, his tiny voice lost in the din of the market. He tries to shove closer but the little family is already walking away, their backs to him as he strains against the flow of people much bigger and stronger than him. “Master Lan!” he tries again, desperation lending extra strength and emotion to his cry. Wei Ying stops struggling as he watches the two boys in white walk away, the pair of them flanking Master Lan in his sky blue robes as they move through the market, radiating serenity in the midst of the chaos. His vision blurs and he scrubs his forearm against his eyes angrily to dry them, trying to keep the three of them in his sight for as long as he can just in case they turn around and spot him. Just in case they remember him and maybe want to tell him to come with them.

Notes: Baby Wei Ying T-T He just hits me right in the heart, and so does baby Lan Zhan! And baby Lan Xichen. All the babies. This fic was actually completely inspired by an utterly adorable fanart of Lan Xichen giving a grumpy baby A-Zhan a piggyback ride! I'd been wanting to write a kidfic type fix-it for a while and that art was the spark I needed to come up with something workable. (Edit: here’s my reblog of the art I’m talking about!) --//--

9. Familial Circumstances (5393 words, Rated G)

Ship(s): Lan Qiren & Original Characters, Lan Qiren & Jin Zixuan, Lan Qiren & Qin Su, Lan Qiren & Mo Xuanyu - An extra for AEM

Summary: Another kidfic extra for the horde of children in Jinlintai, this time as seen through the lens of their beloved Great Uncle Lan. It's a simple relationship-study-type look at how all the children love their Great Uncle and how much he loves and treasures them in return.

Excerpt:

An unusual stillness accompanies [Jin Ruhai's] playing. Jin Lu stops fidgeting with her fingers, the twins slip into the perfect stillness of those who are utterly aware of themselves at all times - a trait [Lan Qiren has] noticed in every skilled fighter he’s ever come across - and even Jin Ye relaxes, slumping further and further backwards until she’s slouched down against his stomach, legs dangling over his crossed shins.

The piece isn’t a terribly long one, nor as complex as the next score Lan Qiren intends to teach the boy, but Jin Ruhai’s mastery of it is impressive. Again, Lan Qiren is forcefully reminded of Lan Wangji, always most at peace when behind his instrument to play with and/or for the people he loves.

There’s silence in the room until the last note fades with a shiver into the air and Jin Ruhai pulls his hands back from the instrument. The stillness lasts for one more moment before it’s interrupted by Jin Lu sneezing suddenly and her siblings laugh as the quiet breaks.

“I had to hold that in the whole time !!” Jin Lu laughs as she rubs her sleeve under her nose, one eye screwed shut as she giggles. “I didn’t want to mess up A-Zhuang’s song, it’s so pretty!”

Notes: I'm definitely biased because they're all my oc's except for Jin Ling, but I genuinely love all of the Jin children in the AEM AU. If anyone is ever interested in knowing more about their individual personalities and the like please don't hesitate to ask me, I've actually put quite a bit of thought into all 6 of the kids I created wholecloth and I have a lot of feelings about Jin Ling getting the chaotic siblings and loving parents he was robbed of.

--//--

10. Opportunities To Practice (5710 words, Rated M) (*WIP)

Ship: Xuanli - An extra for AEM

Summary: Jin Zixuan is nervous for his..marital activities with Jiang Yanli - after all, who could he possibly ask for advice? His father? No thank you. Thankfully Jiang Yanli is sweet and patient and knows her husband well - he just needs a bit of time and he'll get it figured out.

Excerpt:

She shivers with an interesting combination of want and intense vulnerability as she stands there, feeling bare in spite of her remaining layer. It’s of a material so sheer as to be practically nonexistent, nothing more than a delicate veil of a red so pale it’s nearly pink that sits on her body like a second skin. Until it falls gently away at the knee to flutter around her ankles, it clings to every curve, every contour, and as she watches Jin Zixuan doesn’t even bother to hang the robe he had just removed on the screen. He lets it drop into a soft pool around her bare feet, his gaze roaming her newly exposed figure - she would perhaps feel strange about it did he not look so devoted , so in awe of seeing her practically naked in front of him.

Yanli gasps softly as he suddenly drops to his knees at her feet and oh - that’s heady. Her body, which she hasn’t really thought of too much in the past beyond the occasional irritation that it’s weaker than she would prefer, has put the man she loves on his knees. He’s looking up at her now, his eyes wide and his hands reverent as he raises them to rest on her thighs, thumbs caressing her too-warm skin through the barely-there robe that bunches up softly under the pressure of his grip.

“You’re right,” he finally breathes, sounding slightly strained. “I’d like this to stay on. If that’s - are you alright?”

“I am,” she reassures.

Notes: This last fic is technically a wip, the only one in the list! However! - it's going to be a collection of one-shots centered around Xuanli and their sexual exploits that lead to their seven children, and possibly also the ones that are just for fun (horny Yanli rights forever). It's not currently high on my list of priorities or anything and the one chapter that's up so far can stand on its own so it's a wip but it's not? I just love Xuanli so much and I want to explore their relationship in my happy fix-it AU whenever the mood strikes, and whenever that happens this is where those one-shots will go.

--//--

And that's it! My personal top 10 favorite fics of my own as of right now. I thought about doing my top 10 according to statistics like hit counts or kudos, but I genuinely love some of these unpopular fics and I wanted to give them some love and attention even if it's just for me. I know there's a lot here to sift through but if any of y'all enjoyed the list or any of the specific fics on it let me know! I liked taking this little pause to take a look at what I've actually been producing these last few months.

Thanks for reading!

[classywastelandbread-blog]

Honored Spirits - (Thanksgiving) Holiday

Not as silly as most of the chapters since having anyone explain Thanksgiving to the noodles would just be too much. But I like the idea of them not being sure about turkeys and chickens and WHY IS THAT SHAPED LIKE A HAND?

Udon bobbed its head. It was hard to tell how it saw and what kind of vision it had since it was a spirit that didn’t typically exist in the physical world, but more than once Angela wondered if it was near-sighted – that would explain the bobbing motion as it tried to bring the piece of paper in front of it into focus. In the end she decided that Udon was simply being difficult and the bobbing of its head was more of an expression (not unlike a facial expression) of what could possibly be annoyance.

(She refused to dwell on how the idea of interacting with a spirit of all things became so commonplace that she ignored the laws of…well, everything and just kind of shrugged it off. Such thoughts were for when the shadows grew too dark and the nights too long. Somehow Ramen seemed to know or perhaps sensed it for it would chase away the darkness with its gentle green glow enough that she could go to sleep.)

That is not a turkey, it sniffed.

Next to it, Soba bobbed and wiggled its head as well. It’s not nearly as ugly, it agreed. It’s still pretty…hideous to look at. And turkeys aren’t made of…is that pasta?

“Macaroni,” Genji said absently over his shoulder. “They were asking what it was,” he added when Ana made a curious noise.

Ana nodded and tapped the paper. It was stiff and slightly yellowed with age and a little uneven from the liquid of the glue soaking into the paper and contracting as it dried. A few pieces of the macaroni were missing and in a few places jagged pieces remained. “Macaroni art,” she told the spirits. All three flipped their ears toward her in interest. “Children do it.”

She watched in amusement as the spirits cocked their heads to the side almost in unison. But it is not a turkey, Ramen protested. Why are you telling us that it is a turkey when it is made of macaroni?

Turkeys are not flat, Soba said. And these are very small. Why are they so small? Are they baby turkeys?

From the sink, Hanzo sighed. “It’s just a piece of art,” he told the spirits.

“Fareeha did this when she was six,” Ana explained, guessing the vein of the spirits’ protests. “It’s just a fun little art project. Do you want to try?”

The spirits glanced at her. WE ARE NOT CHILDREN! Udon boomed.

At the same time, Soba said, HOW DO YOU DO THIS?

“Soba is intrigued,” Hanzo said dryly, taking a deep drink of his beer. There was no mistaking the bottle on the counter as his – the neck was smeared with blood. Angela had given up chiding him for it though she and Ana both made their displeasure known by clicking their teeth at him; predictably, Hanzo ignored them. “So is Ramen.”

Clearly sulking, Udon curled up around the decorative cornucopia like a radioactive snake. Its head rested at the top of the wicker decoration though, pointed toward the area that Ana was clearing to do a craft project for human children. Soba and Ramen bounced excitedly on the chair they shared.

“Hey,” McCree said, tugging Udon’s tail as he reached for another potato to peel. “No need to sulk, big guy.”

I am not sulking, Udon grumbled, wiggling its tail and the tuft at the end stubbornly. It flopped over the open sack of potatoes and McCree’s reaching arm.

Chuckling, McCree tugged – gently so he didn’t get bitten – on the tail again before slipping his hand under it to get another potato. Udon snorted in an almost-audible way and flipped its tail away.

Why is this holiday obsessed with turkeys? Ramen wondered as Ana set out pieces of printer paper for them.

Soba snorted. If it is obsessed with turkeys, then why are there so many chickens in here?

Those that couldn’t hear the spirits looked up in surprise when both brothers started snickering. “Yeah, Soldier 76, McCree,” Genji teased with a wide grin. “If the holiday is obsessed with turkeys, then why do we have chickens?” He punctuated the question with a thwack of his blade that neatly took off the head of the chicken he was breaking down. “Much less…whole chickens?”

Both brothers, competitive creatures that they were, had a pile of carcasses and a trash bag-lined bucket. There was something remarkable, disturbing, and (at least to McCree) surprisingly attractive about the speed in which the brothers (mostly Hanzo) broke down the whole chickens. His hands moved quickly, his knives flashed, and the chickens moved with strange speed through their stations.

But to their point, yes.

Chickens.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” McCree said though no one was. “It’s not my fault 76 volunteered us to host Thanksgiving two days before it’s supposed to happen.”

Such a dumb name, Udon grumbled, flipping its tail like an agitated cat. It wasn’t clear if the dragon was speaking about Soldier 76, the soldier that was supposed to be dead, or the name of the holiday.

The old soldier twisted to glare at McCree. It wasn’t as effective given his full-face mask, but no one had the heart to tell him that. (Well, they did but it was more amusing to let him think he was scarier than he actually was.) “You agreed that Christmas decorations shouldn’t be put up until after Thanksgiving,” he pointed out.

“Put your paw there,” Ana told Soba, gesturing to the paper.

I do not understand the point of this, Ramen said, bobbing its head as it watched Ana trace the outline of Soba’s talons.

“I can do yours, Ramen,” Angela said, coming around to Ramen’s side.

Ramen bobbed its head and rubbed its head against her shoulder – careful of its horns – before moving placing its paw where she gestured. This still doesn’t make sense, it said, twisting its head on its neck to peer at the doctor as she traced its foot. How does this become a turkey? Is this where turkeys come from?

Oblivious to the incessant questions and chattering of the spirits McCree said, “I agreed, but I didn’t agree to cook a Thanksgiving feast for everyone.”

That doesn’t answer why there are chickens and not turkeys, Udon grumbled.

“They ran out of time to get a turkey,” Hanzo explained since clearly no one was about to. “So they could only get fresh chickens but perhaps that was for the best.” There was a muted crunch as he neatly removed the head. He picked up a smaller blade and began scoring the tendons around the legs to remove those as well.

The dragons all twisted their head to look at him. Ana clicked her tongue disapprovingly as Soba moved its paw and gently moved the paper and the paw back into place for her to finish tracing the last of its talons. “All done,” she said. “You can remove your paw now.”

Excitedly, Soba obeyed and bobbed its head as it looked at the paper. Is it a turkey? Is that what a turkey looks like?

No, Udon said sourly. It looks like an ugly chicken.

Angela finished tracing Ramen’s talon and leaned back. “All done,” she told the dragon who bobbed its head excitedly at the paper in front of it. “Now we can decorate.”

I thought you eat turkeys, you don’t decorate them, Ramen said.

Udon bobbed its head in annoyance as Ana pulled out a few bottles of glue, old boxes of macaroni, beads, and other obscure craft items that Tracer had found with the decorations.

(It was easier to blame it all on Tracer, even though a good amount of the team had went with her into the forgotten storage rooms and found the old decorations from Overwatch’s heydays. Reinhardt was also a major culprit – the two of them had been the most excited about decorating and celebrating even the most obscure holiday.)

“I wonder how well this stuff kept,” Angela said absently as she pulled out a chair beside Ramen. It bobbed its head at her until she scratched between its shoulders. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

Udon watched with waning interest as the “turkeys” were colored in with various materials glued down to the tracing of a spirit’s talons. Instead it turned to watch McCree peel potatoes, bobbing its head with its dewlap extended.

“I know that look,” McCree said, shaking the peeler at it. “Don’t be startin’ nothing, now.” It seemed to grin though it lacked the malleable lips to do so; if he hadn’t been familiar with their “expressions”, McCree would have thought the gesture was threatening.

The dragon drifted up as if gravity had lost its hold on it and “swam” through the air toward McCree. It alighted on one of his shoulders, letting the rest of its body drape across the back of his chair. With a warm chuckle, McCree reached up with his free hand and tapped the tip of its blunt nose with a hand whitened by potato starch.

That is disgusting, Udon grumbled.

You cannot taste or smell, Soba grumbled back, twisting its head to shake its dewlap at the other dragon. And you like the attention.

Udon bared its teeth at Soba who replied in kind with a hiss. It wasn’t aggressive so everyone ignored it and soon enough Soba was distracted by Ana opening a jar of colorful beads. (Not that anyone really could hear the hiss, but the motion was explanatory enough.)

The cowboy would make a fine mate for Hanzo, Ramen said, bobbing its head.

McCree knew something was up by the way Hanzo’s spine stiffened and Genji leaned over his cutting board with a wheeze. “What?” he asked suspiciously.

You would make a good mate for Hanzo, Udon told him. We all approve.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hanzo said stiffly.

Udon shifted out of the way as McCree reached for another potato to peel. As a reward, McCree scratched gently at Udon’s nuchal crest before resuming his appointed job. Dissatisfied, Udon slid into McCree’s lap, forcing him to adjust to make room for the spirit. It didn’t seem to mind the motion of McCree’s hands as he peeled the potatoes, letting its neck drape over the bend of his elbow and letting its hind legs dangle over the edge of the chair. From the stability of the spirit in his lap, McCree suspected that its hind claws were hooked over the strut of the chair to keep from slipping off.

“This is what my life’s come to,” McCree said with a laugh when he caught Angela and Ana looking at him with smiles. “I’m just a chair for a spirit.”

The kitchen fell silent save for the incessant chatter of the spirits and the times that Genji or Hanzo translated or answered their questions. There was much fanfare when Hanzo won the race of breaking down the chickens, much to Genji’s open distress.

(McCree could see the subtle signs of distress and the shaking in Hanzo’s arms when Ana commented that she had always thought Genji to be the swordsman, not Hanzo and said nothing about it. If Hanzo sat a little closer to him and Udon than was typical afterwards, he didn’t comment on it save to nudge his elbow into Hanzo’s arm reassuringly. The conversation went on and no one commented - that he could hear - about their closeness.)

Hanzo cleaned his hands and joined McCree in peeling potatoes, starting on the sweet potatoes that McCree would later use to make some of the desserts. He nudged Hanzo’s knees with his own and they shared shy smiles before bending their heads to their tasks.

A while later Genji joined them and began chopping onions at the other end with his faceplate to protect him. It was quite a sight to see a ninja cyborg dressed down in a hoodie and sweatpants chopping onions and garlic so McCree took a quick picture. A moment later Udon shoved its snout into his phone and McCree obeyed the silent command, switching the camera around to take a selfie with him and the dragon.

That of course turned into taking pictures of and with the group in the kitchen, even the reluctant Soldier 76. He even had pictures of the dragons, Soba and Ramen holding their claw-turkeys in their jaws while Udon bobbed its head in disapproval in the background.

Just before dinner, when their artwork was completely dry, they hung all of the decorations up with the help of the dragons - it was easier than finding a ladder. Dinner itself was a loud and messy affair, unsurprising given the number of people that attended. They went around the table saying what they were thankful for despite everyone’s protests - If we’re doing this, Soldier 76 had said, slamming a fist down on the table emphatically, Then God damn it we’re doing it correctly - and ate dinner with much teasing to McCree and Soldier 76 regarding the chicken-or-turkey debate.

Fareeha was mortified to find that Ana had hung up some of her childhood Thanksgiving art but they all cooed over the talon-turkeys (as they were beginning to call it) that Ramen and Soba had created. They all took a picture next to it and the proud dragons who bobbed their heads with their dewlaps extended.

The most adorable thing, everyone agreed, were the signatures at the bottom of the pages: Soba & Ana Amari, Ramen & Angela Zeigler. Since no one could agree on how old the spirits actually were (time being a very human concept, apparently) they settled for adding “Thanksgiving” and the year.

After dinner the entire team chipped in to clean up, creating a long chain of people to do dishes, take out trash, clean up the dining room, or put food and chairs and extra tables away. Much to his surprise, the noodles did their best to assist as well though lacking hands that could easily grasp things, it was much slower going.

Late that night, wide awake from nightmares despite his exhaustion, McCree found a dim blue glow in the common room when he went to make himself a glass of water. “Hey bud,” he said quietly and the spirit swirled in midair before coming over to greet him. When it was in within range, he scratched its nuchal crest the way it liked and smiled when it bobbed its head happily.

“What’re you doing up so late?” he murmured to it as it draped itself around his shoulders almost shyly. It was Soba’s spot, after all - Udon typically didn’t use him for a perch but that day seemed to be a day of firsts for the dragon.

Udon bobbed its head and McCree thought he heard a voice but realized that it was probably just the whisper of the wind outside.

“Where’s Han and Soba?” he asked instead. “They awake?” Udon awkwardly shook its head “no”. “Still sleeping?” Udon confirmed this with a nod, an easier motion for its neck to make. “So what’re you doing up, silly?”

The dragon bobbed its head at him as if to say, I am not silly.

McCree smiled and rubbed its jaw fondly before it tossed its head again and drifted off. He followed it with his eyes as it drifted toward the wall where Soba and Ramen’s talon-turkeys hung. “You know,” McCree murmured. “It’s not too late to make one.”

Udon twisted to look at him with an almost incredulous look on its scaly face. From its not-quite expression, he hit the nail right on the head. Finishing his water, he put his glass in the wink and went to the cabinet where Ana had stored the craft stuff.

The next morning, the team found another talon-turkey hanging on the wall, signed “Udon & McCree”.

[abutterflyobsession]

Doctor Who AU: Part 27

prelude/one/two/three/four/five/six/seven/eight/nine/ten/eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen/sixteen/seventeen/eighteen/nineteen/twenty/twenty-one/twenty-two/twenty-three/24/25/26/ao3

A firm push swung the art gallery door inward, but it stopped short of opening far enough to allow easy entry, catching on the uneven floor. The view of the gallery's interior, now visible through the partially open door, was of a space made up of varying levels of shadows. The shaft of light that had been permitted to enter only served to deepen the shadows on either side of it, illuminating only a sliver of bumpy floor and ripped up plants. Of Bog there was no visible sign, only the soft sound of tired sobbing.

This was not an encouraging sign.

The Doctor hesitated outside the door, considering the option of just pulling the door shut again. However, the door had opened when she pushed it, which meant Bog had allowed her in willingly. She had half-hoped he wouldn't. If he had kept shoving her away she would have had an excuse to leave. Drop off the apology and fly on to the next thing.

“Fix this,” Dawn had said.

“I literally can't,” the Doctor had told her.

Yet the Doctor was still there, squeezing her way through the jammed door and stepping carefully into the dark. She shuffled over the rolling hills and jagged cliffs of the floor, one arm stretched out to feel her way through the darkness as the door closed behind her. She could only spare the one hand to scrabble at the dark, her other arm occupied with carrying a prop meant to accompany her apology.

Apology sort of thing, anyway.

“What do you want now?” Bog asked from behind his fortress of the up-swept floor and the dark, his voice hoarse, “Need another idiot to sacrifice himself?”

“If I needed an idiot,” the Doctor's hand found the console and she trailed her hand along it for balance until her path took it out of reach, “I'd look in the mirror. I need to return something that you lost.”

“Like my life?”

The words were said in sarcasm but they still made Bog's dry throat close up and fresh tears well up in his tired eyes. He was worn out with crying, but the tears kept coming because he was trapped in this room, probably alone, forever. There was no future to look forward to, no dreams to soothe the pain of the present.

It was funny. Bog hated being around people, he made every effort to be left alone. Now he was faced with a future of nothing but solitude and the thought was horrifying. Maybe that was why he had let the Doctor in.

Something bumped against his back while he was laying there on his side. Bog grunted, thinking the Doctor had walked into him in the dark. Something batted at the cables in his back.

“Watch where you're stepping,” Bog growled, turning up the lights so the Doctor would stop tripping over him. A yellow glow was cast over the room, just enough for Bog to see the Doctor's boots were in front of him, yet something was still moving behind him. He twisted around awkwardly to see what was going on.

“Crackers?” He blinked, meeting the yellow eyes of a brown tabby cat.

The cat gave a chirp of recognition, it's mouth lopsided from the number of teeth it was missing. It was apparently delighted just to be looked at and squinted its eyes lovingly at Bog. Bog turned over and carefully scratched the cat behind the ears. Its fur was greasy.

“Why is my cat here?” Bog asked, watching Crackers rub his chin against Bog's fingers, “My cat who died when I was fifteen?”

“Technically, he just disappeared.”

“You—did you go back in time and steal my cat?”

“I saw him when I got a look at your memories earlier. I knew he had disappeared and you never found him so I went back to that day and got a sample of his fur from your house. I used it to trace him to a town twenty miles from your house. He had climbed in the back of somebody's truck and taken a ride. Side note, cats don't like time travel and he scratched me five separate times before I got him here.”

“You timelooped my cat.”

“Yes.”

“My childhood cat who never learned how to bathe himself and was more grease and matted hair than actual cat.”

“Yup.”

“What, didn't they have a 'sorry I got you turned into a tree a merged with an alien supercomputer' card at the drugstore?”

“No. I checked.”

Crackers settled down against Bog's chest, tucking his paws underneath himself and starting up a purr. He had always had a weird purr, like the rattling engine of a car on its last legs. Seeing as Crackers had been eighteen years old when he vanished he had been on what should have been his last legs for years. He didn't seem to mind. He loved everything and everybody. If you looked at him he got excited that you had graced him with your attention.

“He still stinks,” Bog remarked.

“I know. I'm going to have to burn this jacket,” the Doctor said from up above.

Crackers rumbled happily, a warm little bundle of greasy fur and contentment. Bog stroked Crackers, the repetitive motion grounding Bog enough that his breathing evened out and some of the tension left him. His head cleared enough that he couldn't ignore how dry his mouth was.

When the Doctor crouched down and offered him a bottle of water Bog accepted it, even though he wanted to throw it back in her face.

“I suppose you want me to thank you,” He said after draining the bottle.

“No, but you owe me two bucks for the vending machine.”

“Take if off whatever you owe me for turning me into a tree and gluing me into an alien computer.”

“Yeah, okay, I guess you get this second bottle for free.”

“Hey,” Bog crinkled the bottle in his hand, digging the edge of his thumb under the label, “Am I really stuck here? Forever?”

He already knew the answer. He knew enough about the Doctor to understand that while she would trick him into thinking things would work out, she would not lie about the bad things. But she was still changeable, her answers changed so much, why not this one?

“Yes,” the Doctor said, the single word stabbing like a dagger into Bog's chest, letting the stewing mess of anger, fear, and sadness start to leak out again. Crackers wiggled closer to Bog's face and started nosing at the dampness left by tears.

��I can't fix this, Bog. I'm sorry.”

“I can't even die, can I? I mean, obviously I could, but, what would happen to the primrose if I did?”

“You're part of it now, without you it would die.”

“And all the history lost and Aunt Aura wouldn't be able to keep an eye on the Cheem here on Earth. I figured.”

Unless he decided to die as he lived—worthless and destructive to everyone around him—he was completely trapped.

“You know,” Bog said, his throat so tight that it was hard to speak, “It didn't really bother me that much to think I would die stopping the plant army.”

The Doctor said nothing.

“I'd have been finally doing something with my life. Making a meaningful sacrifice. I mean, I haven't had a future in a long time anyway. Finally get to be the hero I wanted to be.”

The dark had settled across the room again and Bog could only just make out the Doctor's outline sitting on the floor, absolutely still. He waited for her to say something, offer another apology so he could spurn it. She said nothing.

“Then,” Bog closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, Then, for one impossible moment I saw . . . I saw a future. A life worth living. I can't even remember the last time I wanted to live, and then you made me want to. I was excited to live, to see what happened next. The crazy, impossible woman did an impossible thing and gave me hope. It was a win either way. Die saving the world, or save the world and live. Really live again.”

Bog would have followed the Doctor anywhere. Into the sky, across the stars, far away from the drudgery of the mundane world and his empty life. He would have followed those golden eyes, those golden eyes that held galaxies. But those galaxies, that universe inside of her, was only beautiful at a distance. The closer Bog got to the Doctor the more he saw the great chasms that had been ripped between the constellations, filled with the suffering of centuries, the pain that fired her to save people, the ruthlessness that overtook any kindness she had to offer.

“But it was all a lie,” Bog said, “There was never anything there. I was never worth anything. Just a means to the end of cleaning up pretty boy's messes. Everything else was just a lie. A trick.”

“It's worse than that,” the Doctor said, her voice crackling a little after her long silence, “I lied, I deceived, I tricked you . . . but I also used the truth to trick you.”

Crackers stretched and flopped on his side, legs out, back feet braced on a cable. Bog rubbed the cat's stomach, glad of the excuse to fidget.

“I tried not to like you, Bog. I try not to like anyone. It's terrible, to like people, know their faces, then watch them burn because of what you did or failed to do. But I liked you and then . . . you kissed me.”

“And you saw an opportunity?” Bog asked sarcastically.

“I saw stars, actually. I realized all in a rush how much I liked you, it made me dizzy. I also realized bad it was going to be when you found out what I really was. But I tricked myself, too. I imagined for one crazy, impossible moment that I had found . . . I don't know. Someone who didn't know what I used to be, just me as I am, and somehow still wanted to stay.”

“Has Dawn left, then?”

“Not yet. But she'll leave in the end. I want her to stay. I should make her go. Monsters don't get happy endings. Now, later, it doesn't matter when. Dawn will leave and it will be with a broken heart. That's how everyone leaves.”

“It's your own fault,” Bog said, refusing to feel sympathy.

“I know.”

“All this is your fault. You and your crazy ex.”

“Roland is a monster of my own making,” the Doctor sighed, “I'm sorry I led you right into his trap. I'm sorry I kissed you. I'm sorry I liked you.”

“Are you going to leave, now that you apologized?” Bog asked roughly. He hated her, he hated her so much and he didn’t care that she sounded tired and sad. He didn’t care that he knew something of the painful journey that had brought her to this place in life. It didn’t matter, she had still used him.

“I assumed you would want me to,” the Doctor replied, voice neutral.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh,” she paused, “Oh, now? Yes?”

The Doctor unfolded her legs and braced a hand on the floor to push herself up.

Bog's hand darted out, dragging cables and making Crackers chirp in surprise, and he grabbed the cuff of the Doctor's jacket, “No!”

“No?”

“I mean--”

When she left Bog would be alone. The pitiful scraps of his dream of a life worth living would be be scattered in the wake of her departure.

The Doctor sat back, and remarked, apropos of nothing, “Your night sky needs some stars.”

The sonic screwdriver whistled and Bog could feel it tweaking and pulling at things in the primrose and the computer. The black void of the room was sprinkled with stars, glittering swirls of galaxies trailing from the ceiling to the walls and floor so that they were not just sitting under a night sky, but right in the middle of it.

She touched the back of his hand, “I won't go until you ask.”

They sat in silence, watching the stars.