#her universe is all sketchy and looks like a wip!!!

[skinyaard]

SPIDERSONA WOOOO!!!!

[rhosyn-du]

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

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

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

Link on AO3

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

Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck, I needed that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dammit.

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

~~~

"I take it the date went well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[aipurjopa]

★ INTRO POST ☆

I’m Ai aka Purjopa

she/her

I draw stuff 👍

Main blog: @purjopa (except I don’t post anything there but when I submit asks or reply to stuff it’ll be on that blog because this is technically a sideblog. All my posts will be here though)

Here is my handy dandy website: https://purjopa.carrd.co/#info

(interests section on it is probably not up to date, everything else is though!)

How I Tag

Art tag: #purple’s art

A side note about my art tag: tumblr broke a while back so there’s two of them yet they look identical. One of these two tags is missing half of my old art while the other one has everything. Not sure why, keep that in mind!

Text Post Tag: #sketchy.txt

Reblogs: #reblogs!

Spoiler tags: #[media name] spoilers

Commenting on a video/stream I am currently watching: #[cc name] liveblogging

Main Interests

Mcyt: Unstable Universe, Lifesteal, Hermitcraft, Life Series, (ex)DSMP (as in: I’ll probably make references to it or rb the stray post but I don’t give 2 shits about that series anymore)

I often draw: Spoke, Parrot, Wemmbu, Minute, Zam, Grian, Scar, Joel.

Nothing mcyt related that I draw is intended to be ship art (so please don’t tag it as such either) unless I’ve specifically used a ship tag on the post/specified it’s ok (ex: if it’s clownzy art I’ll tag it as clownzy and also lifesteal shipping). If it is ship art, it’s between the characters and not the cc’s!!

Generally speaking tho I personally don’t really like romantic shipping in mcyt spaces (mainly because of how muddled the line between cc and character can get sometimes) so i’d appreciate it if you don’t send asks to me asking me to talk abt a romantic ship or smth.

Rhythm Games: Project Sekai, Bandori, Enstars

My Favorites: Airi, Akito, Saki, Aya, Hina, Ran, Souma, Tori, Esu, Hinata, Yuta

Other Games: Sky Children of the Light, Genshin Impact, Minecraft, Honkai Starrail

Other Media: Frieren, How to Eat Life Series (by Eve), Skip to Loafer, Spy x Family

Other tags I commonly use

#🌌: Havoc duo (parrot and spoke)

#🪐⚡️: pride duo (planet and spoke!)

#words per second: unstable universe protagonists (wemmbu parrot spoke)

#🌀: FOCUS (squiddo, 4c, mr.cube)

#devotions: mapicc and zam

#destiny: spoke and zam

#devious: spoke and mapicc

#laurels: golden laurels (minute and wemmbu)

#☀️🩵: sunkissed (zam and derap)

#swap au: my prsk swap au (the one with runaways)

#vivid street: next gen! : my next generation vbs au (featuring chasing x destines, my ocs)

#long lived au: my frieren inspired prsk au

#mid week supplementals: doodles/not colored pieces

#sketchy sketches: my old tag for doodles/wips

#video: [video title] - [cc name]: title of the video that i’m talking about (usually when i show clips/screenshots). i’m like really inconsistent about using it tho…

#[abbreviated cc name] live blogging: when i’m watching a stream/video and posting abt it as i’m watching

#[series name] spoilers: spoilers for the current running season of that series

[therentyoupay]

OK OK OK I JUST TOTALLY THOUGHT OF THIS PET NAME ON THE SPOT HAVK CALLING ELSA “SNOW BUNNY” 🥹

kris' thoughts: i also love this one because my now-husband used to jokingly call me this 😂 it's not in the usual repertoire, but was a fun one that he would break out every once in a while when we did winter activities! and of course, "bunny" makes me think of Bunny, and oh no, do i make this drabble exist within the same universe as "snowpea????" oh no

oh no

i have turned this into another WIP

i have turned this into a christmas!fic

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

❆ snow bunny ���

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

It was nearing the end of Bunny's turn on the Elsa Rotation.

(Which Toothy called, "Onboarding," and North called, "Initiation," and for which Sandy conjured a hand-in-hand SnowQueen-and-SandMan duo, and which Bunny called, "Annoying."

But the Kangaroo was clearly full of it, because he'd returned from his last three shifts smiling wider and wider, and for the last week or so, Elsa was now calling him Aster and he was calling her Icepop—and she wasn't even so much as side-eyeing him for it.)

The Guardians didn't need to be in the Workshop for the Handoff (which Toothy called, "Shift Change," and North imperiously called, "The Passing of the Initiate," and which Sandy demonstrated with a giant frowny face, and Bunny called, "Off the Hook, Finally"), but North insisted that all changing of Elsa's Guardians happen "at home." North never bothered to explain himself, but Toothy whispered in Jack's ear during a gathering one night, "after everything that's happened, he just likes it when we're all together," and Jack didn't have it in him to mess with him anymore—well. Not on that point, anyway.

So, Jack was lounging on the seat by one of the windows in the main workroom, staring out at the Arctic and listening to the elves furiously build and paint and conduct quality assurance for the endless conveyor belts of toys—waiting for a rainbow-ish portal to appear with his (Un)Willing Charge ready to move from the Kangaroo's supervision to his. Jack waited on the ceiling. He sprawled on the floor. He hung from the rafters by his knees.

"JACK, MY BOY," boomed North from the floor below. A few of the elves closest by flinched and jumped, then kept working steadily on. Jack twisted to face him, but did not come down. "COME, MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL WHILE YOU WAIT FOR ELSIE."

"Yeah, sure," Jack grinned down, not bothering to pretend that he didn't hear him; North would only get louder. He raised his voice, though none of the elves flinched: "Not super enticing, old man!"

"I WILL TELL YOU SECRET."

Jack peered down suspiciously... but he couldn't resist.

"Ugh, fine," and dropped endless meters to the luxurious red rug, landing silently on his bare feet. "What level secret?"

"Level four," North winked, and walked to the back of the room.

"Huh. That's it?"

"Jack, you should really learn to negotiate—like our newest member!—before you accept so easily!"

The quick quip died on his tongue; instead, Jack settled for looking deeply unimpressed as North led him to the large window overlooking the glacial cliff face... but then didn't bother to indicate anything of note outside the window.

"You're being awfully sketchy for a level four?" Jack leaned on his staff, purposefully looking bored; in reality, this was a lot more interesting than hanging from the ceiling, but Jack had to keep North's enthusiasm in check sometimes.

Case in point—North's uproarious laughter carried through the large room (an elf flinched from ten meters away). "Jack, jack, my boy—do you not see what the elves are working on in the fifth-level office space down below?"

"Super clear instructions, old man, thanks—oh. What the—you hire some office admin or something? You're making Tilly do your paperwork too?"

A small team of elves—some familiar, some not—were clearly visible in the distant window of the fifth-level private office space. Their door was heavily guarded by two Yeti. They appeared to be furiously scribbling on scrolls, as well as a massive board behind them, but the board was mostly obscured by something, by—

"Are you using magic to conceal that?" Jack asked, aghast. He swiveled his head, suspicious. "That is not level four."

"No," North's eyes sparkled. "It is not."

But before Jack could pry any further, a tell-tale whoosh of energy signaled the incoming influx energy from altering time and space, and Jack knew his time was up. Well, he braced himself. Here goes.

Jack watched as Bunny and Elsa stepped out from the portal— laughing about something, no less—together—when North hinted, like a parting shot, "Christmas is not just about giving to children. Sometimes, it is about us, too."

"Yeah, man, I know, you're literally the one and only Santa."

"Am I?" North asked, with a glint in his eye, and hey, mischief was his job, there was no need for anybody else to start infringing upon his territory—

"Well, Frostbite, hope you're ready!" Bunny called to where Jack and North were standing, still near the window on the far side of the room. For someone who claimed that he hated "Babysitting," he seemed to be in an awfully good mood.

Jack leaned on his staff, smirking as Bunny and Elsa strolled up. North was doing his typical greeting, but Jack wasn't really paying attention: the portal still shimmered faintly behind them, casting rainbow hues on the workshop floor, until it blinked out of existence in a whisper of Time and Space—but the glow remained.

She glanced at Jack, and Jack forced his grin to stick in place.

"How was babysitting him, Elsa?" Jack called out, to which the Kangaroo rolled his eyes—and, unfortunately, so did Elsa. Determined not to be swayed, Jack leaned harder on his staff, and added, "Terrible? Boring?"

“Sounds like we could use a little de-Frost-ing around here,” he muttered.

But Jack's clever comeback was lost when Bunny turned fully toward Elsa, slinging out an arm to conjure up another portal in the same step. "Good luck with this one, Elsa. Remember what I said."

To Jack's dismay, she grinned up at him in playful annoyance. "How can I forget?"

Said? Said what?

"Right on. See ya, Icepop. North. Frosty."

And Bunny saluted his way into the portal, leaving behind the bustling Workshop, and three Guardians standing around—two, in awkward silence.

"Well, well!" North grinned wide, jamming his fists into his hips and puffing out his chest. "Our Elsie returns at last? Learned a bit more about Hope, we hope?"

Elsa smiled politely, but there was genuine warmth in her eyes. "We Believe so."

"Ah, clever, very clever—well, Jack, 'tis time. No Funny business!" his laughter cut off anything Elsa or Jack could have possibly said. "Get it? Funny business? OKAY, you two—enough standing around, get to work! Off with you!"

Jack looked to Elsa as if to commiserate as he pulled out the snow globe and tossed it to the floor, thinking of the mid-atlantic and how it was way overdue for a cold wave... but her polite mask was still plastered onto her face. Great.

"Have Fun, you two!" North called as Jack and Elsa stepped through the portal, and Jack didn't even have time to twist around and call out, That's my job! before he was stumbling onto the cold, green grass of an empty soccer field. Unfortunately, he'd miscalculated this landing a little bit, but Elsa had been paying better attention to the ground that he had. Jack only let one foot touch the grass before he floated himself up, hovering, like that had been his plan all along.

Jack hovered above the frostless soccer field, arms crossed and staff balanced against his shoulder. The grass was too green, the air too warm, and the whole place practically begged for a proper coating of snow. He’d been hoping to impress Elsa—show her the magic of bringing winter to life—but her blank expression didn’t exactly scream enthusiasm.

“Well,” Jack started, breaking the awkward silence. “It’s December twelfth, and they haven’t even had so much as a flurry yet. About time to give them a little blanket, don’t you think?”

After a beat, Elsa gave a polite nod, stepping forward. Her movements, as ever, were elegant, precise, and calculated; with a graceful wave of her hand, the sky above turned a muted gray, clouds gathering in soft, unhurried swirls. Moments later, snowflakes began to fall—each one pristine, symmetrical, and utterly perfect.

It rubbed him the wrong way.

She was checking boxes on a to-do list. The snow fell exactly as Elsa intended—no surprises, no quirks, no playful gusts of wind to scatter the flakes. No spontaneity. Artistry, sure. Beauty—no question.

But very little heart.

His fingers itched to create some flakes and frost of his own, but he held back, waiting for Elsa to take the first round. He'd also been hoping that today would be different—she was warming up to everyone else, right? Why not let loose a little?

She does with Bunny, but he stamped down the thought.

“You’re efficient,” Jack said after a moment, his voice light but probing. “I’ll give you that.”

She paused, looking at him out of the corner of her eye with her hands still poised toward the sky. “Is that intended as a compliment?”

“Sure,” Jack replied, spinning his staff. “But, uh, where’s the magic?"

Elsa stared, hands still raised, as snow miraculously descended from the heavens unto the earth.

"I mean—" Jack hated this, hated being flustered. "The spontaneity? The chaos? You know?”

Elsa turned fully to face him, lowering her arms, her expression neutral, but her incredulity—her skepticism, and still, after all these weeks, she didn't trust him—clear in her voice.

“Chaos?” she raised a brow.

Jack grinned, refusing to be discouraged. “You’re creating, but you’re still not... creating. You can, y'know—play. Uh. A little."

He might as well have grown two heads, the way she was looking at him. Jeez. How was he supposed to teach Elsa, of all people, how to be Fun—especially when she always seemed so determined not to enjoy herself with him? North had been so mum on her backstory, and he was certain that Toothiana had lured it out of her—and maybe even the Kangaroo, by now, a tiny little voice of Doubt whispered, before he squashed it—but she couldn't have despised fun in her previous life?

Could she?

But then, at last, Elsa finally lowered her hands. The snow continued to fall in fat, heavy chunks, a soft hush upon the playground and the streets and the little nearby houses; however, he could feel heat arising from Elsa's stare, and the ever-so-slight slant of defensiveness in the line of her stance.

"I 'play'," Elsa insisted, eyeing him hard, and there was just something about the super regal, hoity toity tone that got under his skin, and he was pretty sure she didn't even realize she was doing it. "Mine just looks different than yours."

Jack, half-desperately, refused to ask her what her idea of play looked like; until he realized that, perhaps, that was exactly what he should do.

"Oh?" Jack spun his staff behind his back, leaning back as he gazed up at the white sky and sidled up beside her, purposefully not looking at her face. "Care to demonstrate?"

"Our senses of humor slightly differ," she pointed out, voice drier than the air, but at least now they were getting somewhere.

"Okay...? Care to enlighten me, then?"

Elsa blinked her disbelief at him, clearly not appreciating his challenge. Jack held back his grin as he lowered his chin, finally facing her.

"So?" he challenged.

Elsa fixed him with a steady, unimpressed look. "Aren't you supposed to be the one Mentoring me?"

Jack’s grin widened as he leaned closer, spinning his staff lazily behind his back. “Doesn’t hurt to see what I’m working with, Snow Bunny.”

Elsa deadpanned. "Not this again."

“You’re stalling,” he shot back, gesturing to the snow-covered field with a sweeping motion. “Come on, let's go find some kids—show me your version of ‘play.’ Or do I have to do all the work around here?”

Elsa’s careful expression didn’t falter, but he caught the faintest flicker of exasperation in her eyes.

"Why are you calling me that?"

Instead of answering, he simply pointed out, “Better than Snow Buns.”

Elsa shot him a sharp look, the kind that could freeze an ocean solid. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Jack teased, spinning his staff lazily. He floated a few feet off the ground, and swirled around her, forcing her to follow him with her gaze; he liked doing that a little more than he should. “Snow Bunny’s way more flattering, don’t you think?”

Elsa exhaled sharply, the faintest puff of annoyance escaping her lips. “How about no names at all?”

“Sure,” Jack said, grinning wider now. “I’ll just call you Your Majesty from now on. Real casual.”

But the slant of her brow told him that maybe—maybe—he'd misstepped.

“Jack—”

“Relax, Snow Bunny," he played it off like he'd never seen the flinch on her face. "It’s a compliment,” he said, though his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fresh off your Hopeful adventure with the Easter Bunny himself, no?”

(What had Bunnymund said to her?)

Elsa’s brow furrowed slightly, and Jack wondered if she was actually reading his mind. He knew he was playing it a little too close—pushing her patience—

But the sound of laughter interrupted them. The snowflakes had done their job; they summoned the children out of their homes for the first taste of snow, in the white-purple glow of a snow-filled afternoon, and suddenly there is commotion. A cluster of kids had burst onto the playground nearby, bundled in cozy in their winter gear, their faces lighting up at the sight of the fresh snow. They must not have Believed in them yet, for no one seemed to notice the two Guardians on the field; Jack clicked a quick alert through the Snow Globe, signalling the North Pole. Ah, great. iPad kids, Jack sighed. Time for the elves to launch some new folktale storybook apps. The snow globe chimed with a shimmering chirp: Request Received!

The kids tumbled into the field, throwing hastily made snowballs and twirling under the falling flakes, plopping to the ground to make preliminary snow angels in the meager first two inch of snow. Without thinking twice about it, Jack flicked his hand and sent a push to the skies, sending the snow down faster, filling the playground just a little bit quicker.

Jack caught Elsa’s eye, and for a moment, something softened in her expression, before she planted another frown. Jeez. He could never do anything right.

"If you make the snow fall too fast, it will be dangerous," she warned. Well, Jack didn't really do too well with warnings.

"Most people are already home from work," he pointed out, and if his grin was a little bit fixed and his voice was a little bit strained, then so be it. "It's Friday. They have plows."

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t immediately retort. Instead, she watched the children as they laughed and rolled in the snow, their shouts of joy filling the air; skepticism oozed from her every perfect pore.

But then Jack noticed the way her gaze softened for just a moment, though her expression quickly returned to its carefully composed neutrality. He practically had whiplash.

"Alright." She turned to face him fully. "What's next?"

Jack couldn't resist the way his body nearly slumped in dismay. It never ends! His grin came out lopsided, and she could tell. She's never satisfied!

And she still hadn't risen to his challenge—hadn't taken the bait—

Jack suddenly scoffed a laugh, a totally involuntary reaction to too much tension, and dropped to the ground in front of her, his staff thrown out to his side as he sprawled along the ground and directed his impatience at the sky.

"Fine. Go! Go do your thing without me!"

He could hear her disapproval. "You're... sending me off alone?"

"That's what you want, isn't it?" and as soon as he said it, he knew it must be true; she was suspiciously thoughtful and silent in response. Jack resisted the urge to sigh. Or roll his eyes. "Like, obviously, don't leave. But I'm not gonna be hovering over your shoulder or whatever. For real, Elsa—if you’re going to stick with this whole Guardian gig, you’ve got to loosen up. You’re part of a team. And part of the job? Is this." He gestured staff out wildly, in what he hoped was the general direction of the kids, who appeared to now be attempting to build a misshapen snow fort.

Elsa’s gaze lingered on the scene, and for a moment, Jack thought he saw a flicker of something unguarded—something wistful. "I’m... trying," she said quietly, almost too softly to hear.

That took the wind out of his sails. For a second, he didn’t know what to say, but then a grin broke out on his face again, a little softer this time. He lifted his head so he could see her expression.

"Trying’s good," he added, trying to be encouraging.

Elsa sighed, the barest hint of exasperation crossing her face. But then, with a graceful wave of her hand, she sent a perfectly formed snowball hurtling through the air, catching Jack squarely in the face.

He fell back in exaggerated shock, clutching his nose and cheek with one hand, with a completely dignified yelp. "Agh—not the face!"

But Elsa said nothing. She did, however... was that a smirk? Was that an actual, honest-to-goodness smirk on her face?

Toward him?

And she took off to the playground, abandoning Jack on the ground in the snow. He yelled after her.

"Okay! Fine! Snow Bunny’s got jokes!"

"Do not call me that!"

Jack barked a laugh, still lying sprawled in the snow as Elsa left him, arms flung wide as snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky above. For a fleeting second, he felt something warm stir in his chest, something like satisfaction—or maybe even pride. Victory. (Not that it was a competition with Bunny—or anything.)

After all, getting Elsa to smile—to smirk, no less—was no small feat. He found himself staring at the soft flakes floating down, wondering if maybe he might not have made just a teensy bit of progress today... He might even go so far as to say he Hoped.

Nah.

For a while, Jack stayed that way, basking in the What Ifs. On a pure impulse, he sent a rapid gust of wind swirling past her with a flick of his staff—tugging at her hair and cape. Her head turned just slightly, the faintest flicker of annoyance, like swatting a fly, but Jack only grinned back, and laughed, and let himself plop back down into the snow.

He listened to the children laugh and squeal in delight in the not-so-distance. On another whim, he stretched out his limbs and made a snow angel in the three inches beneath him.

“Yeah,” he said to himself softly. Not Hope. “Progress.”

❆ ao3

[carlos-in-glasses]

Tagged by the lovely @cinnaluminum to share a WIP (which I’m aiming to post in a couple of weeks).

The section under the cut is a recognizable scene from a not-too-alternate AU fic where breakup-era Tarlos find themselves drawn back together.

Because there isn’t a universe that could keep them apart :)

My other completed Tarlos fics are here on ao3.

“That’s because everyone’s accepted the reality of the situation. Brutal as it is.” Carlos says this like he’s talking about the winter weather, something completely mundane and unchangeable.

Marjan doesn’t buy it for a second. She leans close to the grill between them. She’s not meant to, and she doesn’t care. “Are you talking about the 126? Or are you talking about you and a certain paramedic?”

“It’s important to know when a thing is over. When to move on. ” Carlos answers by way of circumventing the actual question, and looks out at the white road ahead.

“Give up, you mean.”

Carlos emits a little laugh at the audacity.

“We used to be a family,” Marjan says quietly, staring out of the window too. From her angle, the sideways snow obscures her vision, and she’s disorientated. In some ways, it doesn’t feel like she’s in the real world anymore.

“Call it a slightly estranged family,” Carlos offers, trying to put an end to this silly argument, if you could even call it that.

“Some more strange than others,” she whispers.

Carlos places both hands on the wheel, slowing up behind traffic. “I don’t think they will press changes, for what it’s worth. You’ll have to pay a fine, but you won’t be held. Not for long, anyway.”

“I already know what’s going to happen,” Marjan tells him snippily. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

“Okay, Joan Crawford, calm down.”

At the same time, they both hold a silence and then snort-laugh. Marjan feels a little buzz that Carlos gets the reference, although finds it hard to imagine him watching Mommy Dearest, as much as it’s a cult classic.

“It means you’ll be free to go to Nancy’s hang tonight,” Carlos says. “I assume you are going.”

“Yep. We’ll all be there. She said she’s invited you.”

“She did.”

“So, you are coming too?” There’s strength in Marjan’s voice, like she’s trying to tell him instead of ask. “You should. It would be good to see you in different surroundings, you know? Talk to your face instead of the back of your head.”

“I wasn’t going to. I mean, it seems like overstepping. Because. You know.”

“Ah. That certain paramedic.” Marjan nudges his seat with her foot. “You’re as much part of our group as he is.”

Carlos squeezes the steering wheel and shuffles in his seat. Quietly, he says, “I’m not.”

This is a difficult thing for Marjan to hear. In a way, of course he’s right. Her contact with Carlos has been minimal compared to that with TK. She and the others had been adamant about not taking sides if they were both going to be so sketchy about what went down. But with TK being a former direct colleague, and more extrovert, he’s been easier to keep in touch with.

Marjan wants to rip away the stupid protective grill and wrap her arms around Carlos’ shoulders from behind. On her Instagram there’s a photo of them posing like that – which TK took in August when they were all at Austin Pride. Carlos was giving her a piggyback. They both wore matching mirror sunglasses that reflected the bold colors of the Pride flags around them. She’d felt so close to him, then.  

“Okay, well how about you come to Nancy’s, and if TK is there and things get weird, you and me can bow out early and go to Saxet Bar and hire a game. I’ll kick your ass at Scrabble.”

“I’ll think about it,” Carlos nods – not realizing just how true that will be. For the rest of the day, he’ll think about nothing else.

[oc-character-development]

I got tagged by the brilliant @eighthman-bound. I’ve never done one of these before, because I never get tagged in anything, so this should be fun!

Rules: Share the titles of each of your current WIPs and if your followers ask, share a preview of the title they find the most interesting. Tag 10 mutuals if you’re curious to see what they’re working on!

Ah, I have so many Work in Progresses that I don’t know where to start 😂 (most of these are going on my A03 account but I’ll probably post the links on here). I’m going to sort them into categories, give a title and a bit of a description to make it easier. And I’ll do the ones I’m determined to finish even if it takes a really long time, here we go;

The Tangent-verse/Society Verse:

(the Tangent-verse/ Society-verse is a Doctor Who AU my friends and I created last year and I love it to bits):

The Sins of A Father- Focuses on one of the companions, Henry Yates (who is the son of Mike Yates in this universe BECAUSE CAPTAIN YATES DESERVES BETTER!), having a run in with an organisation that basically tried to kill him when he was a kid and he learns a secret that potentially changes everything he thought he knew about his old man...

The UNIT Birthday Bash- January 1981, Mike Yates realises his five year old son is depressed, and decides to try and cheer him up a bit by throwing the best birthday party ever and bringing back UNIT birthday week (basically tooth-rotting fluff).

Redacted- a story that is told from multiple points of view in multiple parts:

The Doctor- The TARDIS, the Doctor lands at a nightclub on the 14th January 1995 with his young companions Violet and Percy after getting a distress call on the Tardis, to find Torchwood are doing something sketchy.

Scarlett- Future companion, Scarlett Latimer is having a terrible week, her terrible older brother is back out of prison, she handed in a assignment late and to top it all off she’s been broken up with, so when her coursemate and flatmate drags her to a nightclub, things can only get worse right?

Tom- The next morning, Torchwood’s head medical officer, Tom Mackintosh, storms into the boss of Torchwood One’s office at Canary Wharf after learning that they’d retconned the entire night club, and promises to bring hell on Earth if he finds anything has gone wrong with it, but he has a very valid reason to be concerned about it...

Henry- Henry Yates wakes up to his phone ringing with little to no memory of what happened the night before, except that he’s meeting a girl he met at the night club for a coffee. he chalks it down to a bad hangover, but as he realises years later, that wasn’t exactly the case.

When You’re Dying Of A Dalek Virus- Stuck in the early 1970s and whilst The Doctor, Scarlett, Sergeant Benton and The Brig are all out looking for a cure for a fatal Dalek virus, Henry, infected with said virus, has a chance to talk to his father, Captain Yates, before he’s even born, he just needs to he careful not to give anything away which is more difficult when you’re dying...

Carry On- After being suspended for fighting at school, eleven year old Henry runs away from home, in the four hours it takes to find him, panic ensues.

Hijacked- Violet, a feral fifteen year old test subject from the 26th century, decided to hijack the Doctor’s adventures, or at least, that’s how she likes to tell it...

Futility- Seventeen year old companion Percy Newman is trapped in a dire situation, and he’s not coming out of it alive. (This one is really dark, like the darkest thing I’ve ever written dark, my friends can vouch for how messed up and dark it is so I’m sorry in advance).

A Prehistoric Event- Mike Yates is drinking his sorrows away at a bar, fortunately, or unfortunately for him, an friend of his enters and as it turns out, she needs his help chasing down a stupid Pterodactyl.

The Ginger Beer Incident- When The Doctor accidentally gets drunk, shenanigans ensue.

Never him- The Doctor is refusing to regenerate, fortunately the hallucination of an old friend is there to convince him otherwise.

Crossovers:

You Should kill Us- A self indulgent, Endeavour/ Doctor Who crossover: Morse, Thursday and the series 6 Oxford crew take down the Silence after the moon-landing with a bit of help from The Eleventh Doctor and the Ponds.

The Atlantean Paradox- okay this is technically a Tangentverse set thing now but losely so it’s going in here- A multi-fandom crossover, The Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness and a UNIT solder, Millie Stone, arrive in London in the 1800s, only to find the city ransacked by Reapers, and they soon discover something is going terribly wrong with the universe...

Other:

First Decision- Fallout 3, James has just lost Catherine, and now has to make a decision about the future of his child, The Lone Wanderer.

The Sandford Mystery- An original story, that I’ve been working on since I was about twelve. Jeff Baker wakes up with a gut feeling on the day of a school trip that something terrible is going to happen, everyone tells him to stop being stupid, but he’s proven correct when he, his twin sister Dawn and new girl Amy are stuck in a time loop and the only way to get out of it is to complete the instructions given. Play the game and work out the correct solution to the sequence of events given. However Jeff soon realises that there’s more to this game that meets the eye... and could link into the disappearance of another student, Kit O’Connor...

Who I’m Tagging: I get ridiculously nervous about tagging people and and I’m not really mutuals with anyone on here (except obviously the person who tagged me), so I’ll come back to this once I think of someone to tag.

[dragonnan]

16, 17 and 19 for the most recent ask thingy, should you feel the mood sway you. 😁

The mood will ALWAYS sway me lol!

16. Describe your WIP that currently has the highest word count.

Simon and Simon and Psych (Psych/Simon & Simon) Word count: 24,323

So this one, in spite of not being updated in YEARS, is a story I’m still absolutely on fire to resume because I’m just thrilled af about the concept. It’s a crossover between 2 series I love - Psych and Simon & Simon (an 80s Private Detective series).  What excites me most about it was the reimagining of Simon & Simon for the modern era while still retaining all of the things that made the characters what they were.  

A little back story on Simon & Simon as I feel more people will be less familiar with that series of the two.  The series is about 2 brothers who decided to open a detective agency together after the younger brother, AJ (Andrew Jackson), left the larger detective agency where he had been working for several years.  

AJ is blond, surfed a great deal as a younger man, attended law school, and was considered the “golden child” growing up somewhat sheltered and cherished and maybe a tad innocent of the world.  When his brother went to Viet Nam, AJ took part in the peace protests - primarily because he was terrified for his brother and wanted to do anything he could to make the fighting stop.  AJ tends to be the more mature of the brothers - nearly always wearing a suit and usually takes lead in dealing with clients (assuming Rick doesn’t interrupt him).  

Rick, the older brother, left home after they father died and bounced around from various interests, including being a biker for a time, before going to Viet Nam.  He would come back from the war with a boatload of PTSD and a very fierce drive to protect his younger brother (probably far more so than he’d even felt prior to Viet Nam but to be clear - Rick is VERY protective of AJ).  All of that, however, might take the casual observer by surprise as Rick is incredibly irresponsible (on the surface) and nearly always in a good mood or quick with a joke.  Just don’t threaten baby bro other their mother.  Really, just do not.   

So that’s a bit of backstory so I can mention my changes for the modern era.  Instead of Viet Nam, Rick is now a veteran of Desert Storm.  They now both carry cell phones instead of relying on pay phones or other land lines.  They have a website.  I’ve updated their cars.  Before, AJ drove a red Camaro T Top so I changed that to a 2008 Chevy Corvette.  Rick, in the series, drove a 1979 Dodge Power Wagon so that one... did not change lol!  I seriously cannot picture Rick in any other vehicle. 

So after ALL OF THAT there’s actually a story in progress...

The plot thus far is that the Simon brothers are in Santa Barbara because AJ is running in the annual Half Marathon (an actual one cause I do like to blend some real events with my fiction lol).  While in town, Rick goes to run an errand - picking up an item his buddy Carlos had shipped but wasn’t able to pick up himself because Carlos is... sketchy (an actual character from the series that we hear about anecdotally from Rick).  Meanwhile, Juliet and Lassiter are at the shipyards as well, having set up a sting on suspicion of drug activity.  So, of course, when Rick goes to collect this item for Carlos, he ends up being stopped by the cops who confiscate the item after finding it filled with drugs and they arrest Rick.  THIS, then, is how the crossover comes into play as Shawn, of course, horns in on the investigation and immediately suspects that Rick is being setup so he volunteers to help out the Simons.  Various things happen which ultimately leads Shawn, Gus, and AJ back to the shipyards and a suspicious warehouse (aren’t ALL warehouses suspicious?) where suspicious men are rapidly emptying it of product.  The 3 men get caught and are bundled off in the back of a suspicious vehicle to a suspicious location.  At about this time Rick is let out on bail (thanks moooom....) and in a panic as he hasn’t heard from his brother.  When he realizes AJ must be in trouble, he ends up tentatively joining up with Juliet and Lassiter who are trying to find Shawn. Nobody is entirely thrilled with being teamed up in either group...

And this is roughly where things stand after the last update!     

So after I’ve subjected you to all of the above, how about a snippet from chapter 1?

___

Shawn Spencer spun slowly in his father's chair – maintaining just enough speed to make a full revolution before kicking himself into another circuit.  Typically he enjoyed his time at the station, provided he wasn't behind bars or being subjected to an interrogation.  Okay, scratch that.  He did enjoy an interrogation provided his hot pants girlfriend with a personal pair of handcuffs was the one dressing him down.  He leered. He didn't even have to try to make that sound dirty.  

Right.  Back on the subject at hand. Naughty cop Jules would, sadly, have to wait until they could have some private time.

If they could have some private time.  Of course, the way things were going lately...

And that brought him back full circle to his original beef.

Dad was being cagey. Like, Nick Cagey complete with diminished mane and sneaky covertness. Sure, he pretended he wasn't being covert but his dad sucked almost as bad as Lassie when he tried to fake acting casual. He was way too sour in the shorts to pull off that level of none chalice.

Like now, the old man was going for coffee. Like anybody with half a badge couldn't see right through that act. Shawn pulled together a mild sneer as his dad returned to his desk.

“Really? You put sugar in that too?”

His dad didn't look at him as he set his coffee on the desk. “Stop glaring at me. And get the hell out of my chair!”

Shawn didn't budge. “I am on to you.” He enunciated with immaculate exaggeration.

“The only thing you're on is my chair. And too many Pop Rocks; I thought Gus had cut you back to one pack a day.”

“I'm allowed two packs on the weekend.”

“It's Wednesday, kiddo. Maybe it's time you invested in a calendar.”

“Well maybe it's time you invested in hair plugs!” Shawn paused as his father crossed his arms. The pointing hand dropping back to his lap. “Too Terence Stamp? Sorry, I was caught up in the moment.”

“What do you want, Shawn?”  Giving up on patience, Henry opted for shoving his son until he toppled out of the chair.  Ignoring the yelp when Shawn flopped to the tile, he scooted closer to the desk so he could pull up the report he'd been working on.  Fingers just coming to rest on his keyboard, he scowled at the active game of Pitfall taking up his screen.  He tapped a button but rather than taking him back to the SBPD mainframe, it caused the character to jump into the green shapes he assumed were meant to be alligators.  Behind him, Shawn gasped.

“You just killed my last guy!”

“Be grateful that's all I've killed.” Slapping a few more keys he finally found the right combination to get back to his report.  

Still sitting on the floor, Shawn drew up his knees up and propped his chin on both fists.  Not even managing to type a single word, Henry sighed and swiveled towards his moping son.

“What, Shawn?”

Now that he had the desired attention, Shawn pushed his lower lip out the tiniest bit.  “Jules is busy and she said I can't help with the stakeout cause it's “super stupid important, Shawn” and Gus won't let me borrow the blueberry so I can follow her cause deep down inside I know she wants me to help cause, please, like I don't always make a stakeout better – I mean, who else is going to remember to bring an extra container of cheese dip for the nachos because one cup is just never enough and believe you me you do not want to short cheese a guy packing tear gas...”

Henry held up a hand to cut off the ramble that could easily go on another five minutes.  With his other hand he rubbed at his aching eyes.  Of course Shawn would find out about the sting.  However, Chief Vick had been adamant about keeping him out of it.  Henry had actually lobbied for including his son on the details – the memory of the last big operation that had temporarily cost him his job was not an easily healing wound.  Rather than even attempt reconstructing the word barrage of bitching, Henry latched on to the least pointless detail.

“Where is Gus anyhow?  I thought you two left an hour ago for dinner.”

Shawn shrugged.  “I don't know for certain...  I mean, by now he could be anywhere.  He's always expressed an interest in touring with Alicia Keys...”

“Shawn.”

“We went to Taco Louie's and he insisted on the deep fried beef and bean mini burrito...”

Henry raised his hand again.  Enough said.

“Well whatever you were thinking, I'm still not talking the Chief out of her decision.  You're bored?  How about you work on the burglary case I gave you.”

“Daaaad... the Redbox robberies?” Groaning, Shawn flopped on his back and sprawled dramatically. Officers passing back and forth shot glances at the display and Henry rubbed his face in embarrassment.

“Dammit, Shawn, get off the floor! You look like an idiot!”

Shawn sat up but didn't stand.  Nor was he ready to let go of his latest complaint.

“Come on!  Dad, Redbox?  That is so... not sexy!”

17. Describe a fic that is still in the ‘ideas’ stage.

This one is an Iron Man character exploration regarding Tony’s relationship with Obie and that, with hindsight, he realizes Obie had been grooming him.  It will never cross that crucial line but the potential leaves Tony reeling.  This will be in the same universe as another short fic titled “Simple Math”.  Here’s the bit of writing I’d put together so far:

_____

He'd thought it was bonding; at the time.  His dad had never been one for just hanging out; shooting the shit; telling tales out of school.  No, Pops, when he bothered to interact, led with questions.  “You keeping your grades up?” “You still seeing that floozy?” “When are you going to pull your head out of your ass and grow the hell up?” “You do realize it's my name you're disgracing every time you go on a bender?”

With Obie it was just, easy.  Obie might ask about school but it was always with approval and pride.  He would discuss Tony's conquests as though Tony had climbed Kilimanjaro wearing nothing but underwear and a cape.    

Obie was there when his father wasn't. Which meant that Obie was always there.  The first time he got astoundingly drunk on his father's scotch, Obie was the one to help him hunch over the toilet and vomit expensive, aged booze into the toilet.  Obie was also the one to replace the depleted bottle to keep Howard in the dark.  For a fourteen year old kid still trying to gain his dad's favor, that had meant everything.

He saw his first porn with Obie; sex education ala Traci Lords, three months shy of his fifteenth birthday.  That was the same time he was introduced to weed.  Obie had cautioned him to use it sparingly; didn't want to fry that genius brain, he'd say, and ruffle his hair.  The porn had made him uncomfortable.  Obie had turned it off and told him they could watch whatever Tony wanted.  They'd ended up changing the station to Knight Rider; smoking and munching Cheetos and laughing over their orange fingers.

It was Obie who was there, arm around his shoulders, after his parents died.  He desperately didn't want to sob in front of the man.  Things were so complicated with his dad that all he felt was blinding guilt... as though some part of him had caused this.  But Obie had filled him with bourbon until the emotions got soft around the edges and he'd sat beside the older man, head tipping gradually to the right until he was held up by Obie's bicep. Obie had just slung and arm around him and let Tony pass out while he rubbed a broad hand up and down his arm.

It was strange, now, looking back with adult perspective.  A perspective that included Afghanistan and his intended execution and Obie's arm around his shoulders while he talked about legacy and responsibility while Tony's lungs slowly seized.  He'd taken the time to sit there – arm around Tony's shoulders while one broad hand traveled up and down Tony's bicep – just like when he was a kid and Obie was the whole world.

He'd tried to remember if it had felt so tainted... at the time.  Or if he'd always believed it was love.

Obie had never quite crossed that line. Though hindsight offered a peek into that possibility with enough clarity Tony had fought with his cramping gut for nearly thirty minutes.  He'd staved off vomiting though he was fairly certain his dignity had still been in tatters what with Bruce wandering in on his misery.

19. What’s your favorite character headcanon?

Gosh... It’s funny that when asked the question the first thing that I ponder is “what head canons?? what are characters??? Do I even watch tv???” So I needed to ponder a bit.

As far as it goes my favorite head canons are not typically ones that I myself have come up with.  And going with that maybe the best one I know is for the series, and character, Sherlock.

I’m am 100% all in on Sherlock being on the autism spectrum.  Yes, I know this is attributed to MANY characters but consider the fact that those reasons have a ton of validity.  Sherlock has very strong indications of being on the spectrum and having read quite a number of essays on the subject, many of which were written by people who are also on the spectrum, I’m completely convinced.  It’s to the point I don’t even like calling it a “head canon” as that implies it’s only a fan concept and therefore has less likelihood.  It just feels so deliberate with that character.  

So going off from that I would say, in a more general sense, my favorite head canons are they type where we can discover neurologically atypical traits in characters - especially heroes.  Too long anyone neurologically divergent is portrayed either as a victim or, FAR FAR worse, as the “crazed villain” and frankly that is disgusting.  So it is beyond refreshing to suddenly have this amazing, brilliant, layered person who also displays autistic traits.  In going back over characters that I’ve loved most there are many who have traits of this sort that, only in hindsight, do I recognize.  Just a few off the top of my head; Malcolm Bright, Shawn Spencer (100% ADHD), Rapunzel, Rick Simon (remember him? lol), Adrien Monk (his OCD was very deliberate), as well as characters who’ve developed trauma after horrific events such as, well, most MCU characters but particularly Tony Stark and Stephen Strange.  Malcolm Bright also very much was built from trauma but I also am convinced there are neurologically atypical traits at play.  

Thank you so much for the great ask!!        

[espytalks]

ive been drawing for quite a while. and looking through my old art, i found ive been drawing online for a whole flippin decade. wow.

so here’s 10 drawings ive done over the last 10 years, with commentary. it’s a long one, though, so be careful.

2010:

I had to dig through my deviantart for these first two. This pikachu is the first thing i ever posted online! i remember drawing this in ms paint with a mouse. i remember being very proud of this, and in a way, i still think it’s cute. it has a “drawing my kid done that i hung on a fridge’ vibe. 

i didn’t do much around this time. i barely knew how the internet worked, and i mainly read instead of drawing. i did some pokemon sprite edits though, for some reason. i remember really liking doing that.

2011:

i’m pretty sure i drew this mew in gimp. also with a mouse, because i had no idea tablets existed. ive always been super into pokemon, and around this time i think i was watching a lot of mickey mouse cartoons? it’d explain the weird style. 

i’m impressed with the shading, though. i did the best with what i knew, and what i could figure out on my own. not pictured is the hundreds of mickey sketches i did around this time, or the self insert oc i made lol.

2012: oh no it’s pony time. i spent about 5 years drawing primarily these things. kinda wish i hadn’t in hindsight, but ah well.

i had this program on my ds that i could draw and post my art on, and i was using it a lot around this time. a lot of my art has this sketchy look to it, because of that. i remember i had quite a few followers on it, or at least i think i did. i dunno if that website still exists, or if anyone even uses it anymore.

but anyways, this drawing is super cute. ya can’t go wrong with a sleeping pone. i forgot the cutie mark, tho. i always forget minor important details like that. either that or i drew her as a filly. can’t remember.

2013: yeah, i think this as vent art? can’t remember, but i drew it on that same program. i put a lot of effort into the perspective. this was based on my room at the time, btw.

2014: i believe this was for a new artist’s training grounds on eqd. i must’ve had a tablet by now, cause i can see tapering in the lineart. it was a big deal for me, and it sucks that i can’t remember what the first ting i drew with it was. i think it was some sketches.

but you can definitely see some improvement by now. i was really getting used to drawing this one thing. but a lot of people following me seemed to like my art back then. it was called cute, and expressive and cartoony. 

i think this was around the time i was at my best, as far as notes and interaction goes. 

2015: *megalovania intensifies*

i was super into undertale at the time. and 2014-15 was when i started to try and draw other things aside from ponies. you cal tell my poses and anatomy is mega awkward and kinda bad here, but this was a major improvement for me. 

2016: i was a fan of steven universe since it first aired, but i very rarely drew fanart for it. but as i was getting more comfortable with drawing peole, i got more ambitious with the characters i tried to draw.

i also from around this point on tried to get better at traditional art. and i think this was the first inktober i tried, but i don’t think it was the first i finished.

i really liked this drawing. and i may or may not have a wip redraw of this going on right now. wish me luck!

2017: KNOOOOOXXXXX I LOVE YOU, YOU PRECIOUS BOI

this is my favorite drawing. i peaked here and i will never be as good and pure as this single icon i did. it’s purple, he’s happy, it’s PASTEL AND SPARKES!!!!

i also got super into bendy and the ink machine this year, which sparked a renewed interest in trying to improve in drawing, and also led me to create my favorite oc ever.

i think i improved a lot around this time. my shapes and anatomy became cleaner and more consistent. on a technical level, i think this is where i started getting really good as an artist.

2018: i don’t think i improved a lot this year. i honestly feel like ive stagnated since then, and depression hasn’t helped. 

it’s a tough choice between this and the hollow knight drawing for best drawing of the year, but this is my personal favorite. sorry, mm, but mickey will always win out in my opinion. i know ya liked the other one though, and it’s also really good. 

i like how this turned out, and i’m so glad it’s got the most notes of anything else ive drawn. it’s pretty, and i love the style. this is how i wish i drew all the time.

2019: and finally we have this.

i don’t care how poorly this did. i was proud of myself for doing this. it’s cute and pretty and i like it. I created a vague story where she’s a little astronomer who’s like, caged for some reason, but now she’s free.

in hindsight, i think i coulda done a lot better, but i still like it. it’s one of my favorites that ive done this year. i wish i drew more this year, but the last few months ive been super depressed. it’s been hard to want to draw anything, and i feel so uncreative and mediocre. 

i’m hoping next year i’ll be better, and i’ll have stuff in my personal life more sorted out, and i won’t feel as bad.

this was nice, though. i’m glad i looked through my old art. maybe i’ll figure out what i’m missing, and get back on track. and maybe i’ll finish these wips i have going on lol. we’ll see.

happy new year, everyone. and may this next decade be even better for us all as creators, and as people.

[bookenders]

Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Odin :)!

Alright. @aslanwrites​, my friend, I have waited to do this one until I had the time to delve into the black hole of tunes that is my Spotify. Let’s do this.

From this ask post!

Fionn Mac Cumhaill: Songs with lyrics that best represent your wip.

(This mythical hunter-warrior of Irish mythology is SO appropriate for my WIP, hot dang. Like, as I’m reading about him, I’m having weird déjà vu with my own story. I didn’t realize I was sort of retelling it if you squint and look sideways! Cool! Thanks for asking this one, you have made my writerly way a little bit clearer!)

I have a playlist for my WIP here, but let’s look at some other ones, eh?

Kaleidoscope - A Great Big World [Appropriate for a lot of different moments.]

I closed my eyes to the orange skiesLiving all of my days the sameThen you came along, and you sang your songAnd the whole world around me changed 

Everything’s Magic - Angels & Airwaves       [Title and plot joke!]

And do you ever feel like you’re alone?And do you ever wish to be unknown?I could say that I have

Love Potion No. 9 - The Clovers     [Okay this one was mostly for the joke.]

I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink

All Together Now - The Likes of Us

Pretty little thing with your pretty little dreamsI can see you I can see youPassing everyday waiting for a chance to sayI am here too I am here too 

Hold On - RIVVRS          [Dear Mel, ]

What you’re looking for is not hard to findYou can place the blame but it wont change anythingOr make it rightYou are where you belongSo hold on 

The Masquerade - Go! Child      [Welcome to Linsay!]

Breathing irregular,The door to the world outside is open,Who knew that we’d find our way while we’re so broken?We take a step and let theseDisastrous visualizations,Run their course and finally take their leave 

Odin: Character that would do ANYTHING for knowledge.

This is a combo answer: Gemma and Mel. Gemma does dumb things for knowledge. Like steal from university libraries, anonymously buy rare components from witches on the internet, and conduct her own sketchy experiments in her free time. Mel, though? Her backstory involves doing some sketchy things for knowledge. But like, righteously sketchy. If that’s a thing. 

[afroboydyke]

11/11/11

I was tagged by @chrysanthos-writes !!!

Rules: answer eleven questions, ask eleven questions, tag eleven people. This is my WIP Of Galaxies and Diesel Fuel

1) What’s the worst possible way to summarize your characters - that’s still technically accurate? 

Sofia: Flashy rebel nerd with too many insecurities, has never truly worked a day in her life, annoying rich prick, bad at feelings

Arden: Nerd who hides behind her camera, social anxiety but make it vogue, someone help her she hasn't eaten real food in two months

Tammi: Art Hoe Aesthetic to the Max, would spit on a cop with no hesitation

2) If you had to pick one meme to describe your character, what would it be?

Arden:

Tammi:

Sofia: 

3) What are your characters’ artistic pursuits or favorite art styles?

Arden wants to be a famous photographer. Like, she wants to perfectly depict her life through her eyes. 

Sofia has no Particular art style, but she has considered being a makeup artist 

Tammi: She’s a painter and fashion designer!! She would look up to Picasso and Van Gogh (if she knew who they were that is)

4) How prone are your characters to accumulating physical objects?

Arden: Not very easy. She is very minimalistic yet sentimental. She doesn’t like to keep so much junk, so she takes pictures! Everything needs to be clean, so she throws away trash as soon as it appears.

Sofia: Too easy. She keeps anything she deems valuable to her because she’s extremely sentimental of even the slightest moments that bring her joy. Even things like receipts get kept either because a) she forgot to throw it out or b) it reminds her of a crazy night with her friends. She lives in a messy kind of harmony.

Tammi: A bit of a hoarder. She needs art supplies like she needs air. Most of the supplies she doesn’t even use! Does she organize them and keep them safe? Yes. Does she need them? Absolutely not. It’s a curse.

5) Is their typical amount of stuff different from their ideal amount?

Arden: No, she keeps her ideal amount in mind whenever she thinks she’s getting cluttered. 

Sofia: She doesn’t really have an ideal amount? She prefers to live in the present and doesn’t bother with clutter. Her maids, however, think she’s messy.

Tammi: She has a Lot more than her ideal amount but does she care? Not in the slightest.

6) How good is your character at making spells, powers, or technology that are seemingly useless for the situation actually work?

Arden: Seeing as she’s a mechanic’s daughter, she can definitely come up with something in a pinch. Yes, it may look questionable, but it’ll get the job done.

Sofia: Now, her objects would be hit or miss. She’s done enough sketchy work on her space pod to keep it functioning but she can’t promise anything. If it blows up, it blows up.

Tammi: She’s an artist, not a mechanic. This is why she’s friends with Arden and Sofia.

7) If your character has a chance to wield tremendous power, but that tremendous power might cause similarly tremendous and unknown consequences, what do they do?

Arden: She’s too sensitive for that. Arden overthinks and overplans. She wouldn’t be able to go through with it, especially if she knows there are grave consequences.

Sofia: She’s selfish. She knows how to take, and will take what she needs. So, yes, she would take the powers without considering, or caring, about the consequences.

Tammi: She would consider it but she wouldn’t actually do it...would she?

8) How would your characters react to meeting an AU, Mirrorverse, or timeline divergence version of themselves?

Arden: Nah she would freak out. She doesn’t Need more of herself and would probably avoid them. Arden fears that an alternate version of herself will have all the traits that she tries to keep at bay.

Sofia: She’d go straight into interrogation mode. Knowing her, she’ll want to know every little bit of her alternate self’s life.

Tammi: Tammi is naturally sociable, but also wary. Depending on the timeline, she could either bond immediately with her au self or completely reject them.

9) How would your characters react to being dropped on a mysterious new world? (e.g. as in the isekai genre)

Arden: Honestly, she would freak out. New situations are terrifying

Sofia: Adapt adapt adapt. She’s quick at switching personalities when needed and would try and take everything in stride.

Tammi: She would want to get to the nearest civilization and gain as much info as possible. Then she’d decide from there.

10) Any art forms other than writing you like? E.g. drawing, painting, dancing, singing…

I draw actually! I want to go into animation, so I’m taking three art classes this last year of high school. 

11) What is the one book you recommend to everyone?

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe. I have read this book so many times and it brings the same reaction each read. If you want a gay coming of age story with Mexican main characters, this is the book for you.

My Questions!!:

1. What are your character’s biggest regrets?

2. How did you originally imagine your characters vs how they are now

3. What parts of your personality made into your characters

4. Do your characters have any obsessions and if so, what?

5. What fandom do you think your characters would be in if they existed today?

6. Who is most likely to get themselves in a hostage situation?

7. Which time period would your character want to go back to? (Ex: roaring 20s, Ancient Greece, 2002, etc)

8. Where do your characters see themselves in 10 years?

9. What is something that would absolutely break your character?

10. How much do your real-world interactions/people you see or meet affect your writing?

11. Have you ever based any characters of real-life people?

Tagging: @theswordofpens @cometworks @io-sono-il-sole

(Anyone else who sees this, feel free to jump in, too!)

[mousedetective]

No More Regrets (22/25)

This one I may actually finish for WIP Big Bang! Here you guys go (especially you, @ladysolitaire), after a long wait: Molly meets Victor Trevor.

No More Regrets - Molly Hooper prefers a life limited to her teaching at King's College, the occasional consult for Scotland Yard and evenings with her cat and a good book, but her best mates think she should expand her horizons. On one of their regular "Let's get Molly a social life" nights, Molly meets a man who saves her from a sticky situation, but before she can get to know this Sherlock fellow any better she has to leave the pub. She thinks it's a fleeting "what might have been" moment, but Sherlock has other ideas about that.

Read Chapter 1 @ AO3 | Read Chapter 22 @ AO3 | Buy Me A Coffee? | Send Me A Prompt

She hadn’t gone to Oxford often in the recent past, but she knew her way around the train station well enough. It was strange to be here for a reason that wasn’t academic and even stranger knowing she was going to meet Victor Trevor face to face. She had so many questions, wondered so many things. And now she was going to find out answers.

Victor had sent her a photo of his husband, Aaron. She spotted him almost immediately, as he was one of the tallest people at the station, standing at almost two meters. He had a shaved head and dark brown skin, just as he had in the picture, though he was wearing a grey and red turtleneck sweater and black slacks instead. She had sent a picture as well and he smiled when he spotted her. “Dr. Hooper?” he asked.

“Molly, please,” she said with a smile of her own. He reached out and extended his hand and she shook it before he pulled away and offered to take her bag. Once he had a hold of it, they turned and began walking. “How long have you known Victor?” she asked.

“Since university,” Aaron said. “I was a few years behind him and Sherlock and that bastard, and when Victor was paralyzed I made an offer to help take care of him in exchange for room and board at his new flat. Sherlock introduced us and one thing led to another, and by the time Vic went back to university we had entered a civil partnership.”

She nodded. “So you know the whole story?”

“I watched it all play out,” he said quietly. “But it’s better to hear the story from Vic. It’s his story to tell.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment before Aaron began asking her questions. It seemed as though he knew a lot about her on some levels, but the questions he asked and the stories he told her in response to her own seemed to be geared at getting to know her better. She was sure if she didn’t tell Victor these same things his husband would, but it was alright. By the time they arrived at the home Victor and Aaron shared, she knew now why Sherlock had thought so highly of Victor and she, herself, was thinking quite highly of Aaron.

Still, she was a bit nervous when they got into the home. It seemed to have been custom designed for someone who was in a wheelchair on a permanent basis, with the knobs lower and no steps to be seen. She remembered the flat had been Victor’s idea and mainly Victor had paid for it and wondered if this home was something he had modified once he was moved in completely or had designed from the ground up.

Aaron showed her to a room that was filled with plants and sunlight and books, a place she sorely felt that she wanted to steal the design for should she ever get a home of her own. Victor was at a desk, reading something on a laptop situated on it, and then he looked up and gave her a soft smile. “You approve?” he asked.

“This is a lovely room,” she said, looking around as she made her way to the chairs nearby the desk. “This is a room practically out of my dreams.”

Victor chuckled. “I have to have some place to go to remind me of a hothouse,” he said. “I used to have botanical interests in my spare time. Now, as a professor, there isn’t much time for it.”

He moved away from the desk and she could hear his chair before she saw it. She tried not to stare but she was afraid she couldn’t help it. But Victor didn’t seem to mind, going to the table near the window for tea. “You get used to it. I know it’s rather a shock, even though you knew.”

“I think what’s more of a shock is how easily you maneuver it,” she admitted.

“I’ve had time, and I’m lucky that I have money to get the best mobility aids and access to some of the best therapies and therapists to help,” he said. He gestured to the tea set on the table. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

“Feel free to look around while I make your cup. How do you take it?” he asked.

“Sugar and milk,” she said, getting up. She started to look around the room at the lovely varieties of plants he had there. She stopped at a purple flower that she had never seen before. “What’s this?”

“A rare member of the orchid family that I managed to grow from seeds that most people thought would produce no plants,” Victor said. He finished making her tea and then took the cup over to her. She took it from him and took a sip. “I do still play around a bit with plants, just not as often.”

“It’s lovely,” she said.

“You can take it with you if you’d like,” he said. “I have three.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at him. “I couldn’t!”

He laughed. “Sherlock’s tried getting it for a year now. This will teach him not to be an arse about the situation. And then if you should move in together, he’ll finally get his wish.”

Molly smiled sadly, shaking her head. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to get past this. He...”

“Has the emotional maturity sometimes of a toddler,” Victor said, and Molly’s smile warmed before she took a sip of the tea. “But he is loyal. Fiercely loyal. And if he cares, you won’t have a better person on your side.”

She nodded. “He does care,” she replied.

“It was obvious the first time he talked about you,” Victor said with a kind smile. “He just sees caring about you in a different way than he cares about others, and that leads him to make...stupid decisions.”

Molly looked down at him. “What happened?”

Victor nodded, his brown curls bouncing slightly. “He told you how I ended up in the chair?”

“Jim had been doing a drug trade at school and you were caught up in it by virtue of being in the flat when someone wanted to leave him a message,” she said.

“That’s pretty much the entire story, at least about how I ended up in the chair,” Victor said. “Sherlock was the first one called because I didn’t trust Moriarty or Moran. He felt horrible, that this was all somehow his fault, and he set out to prove Moriarty and Moran had been behind so much more than just the drugs. He wanted to expose them completely. It became an obsession.”

“And I take it it didn’t end well?” Molly asked quietly.

“Not for Moran. He took the fall for Moriarty and is currently in prison. But Moriarty’s reputation was damaged by association. And Sherlock called in favours from his brother so that people who really look into his background for more than a cursory glance find evidence of the sketchy things he was associated with in uni. It’s cost him quite a bit over the years.”

“He still managed to get hired at my university,” Molly said, a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

“Oh, he’s done a lot to scrub out the damage that Sherlock did to his reputation. It’s cost him a lot of time and a lot of money, most of which I’m sure he didn’t come by legally. It was bound to happen that an imbecile like Carmichael would give him a position with prestige.” He looked over at the flower. “I just imagine he never dreamed one of his colleagues would be Sherlock’s weak spot.”

“I’m not that,” Molly said, shaking her head.

“No, you are,” Victor said. “I’ve never seen him try so hard to keep someone he cared for safe, even to the point of pushing them away. You’re more important to him than you realize.” Victor then backed his chair up and went back to the desk. “Fortunately, while Moriarty has been scrubbing away at the stain on his reputation, I’ve been keeping tabs on him and those around his web. And I think I have a way for you to solve your problems, especially know that Carmichael’s resigned.”

“Oh?” she asked.

He nodded and motioned for her to come over to the laptop. “Let me show you what I’ve been doing. Sherlock did his best, but I was going to make sure if Moriarty ever got retaliation, this time I would be able to take care of Sherlock.”

Molly set her tea on the saucer and then went over to the desk. For the first time in days, she felt a bit of hope inside her that maybe, maybe, this would have a good resolution after all.

[redrikki]

I'd like to hear a commentary for Nothing To Write Home About, please!

I started writing this after a half-joking conversation with @flaminganakin about how a pen pal would revolutionize Anakin’s life. So far there are three chapters. I have a terrible history with WIPs, but I hope to complete this one. Just don’t ask me where it’s going. You can read it here. DVD commentary on the first chapter below the cut.

There was a message from an unknown sender waiting on Anakin’s com channel when he finally stumbled into his bunk after three straight days of fighting on Muunilinst. According to the time stamp, it had been there for awhile, but he must have missed it under the constant barrage of orders and battle updates of the last few days. Anakin could barely keep his eyes open, but his heart raced at the sight of the blinking notification. Padmé. It must be from Padmé. Who else would be writing him from an unlisted com frequency?

The man’s life is shit and he just wants to hear from his wife alright?

It wasn’t from Padmé. Anakin, it read, you hardly know me, but your mother would have wanted us to look after each other. I know the Jedi are involved in the fighting. Are you alright? Please, don’t be a stranger. Cliegg Lars.

Cliegg Lars? Cliegg Lars?! How did he even have Anakin’s com frequency? Anakin certainly didn’t remember giving it to him. But then, he didn’t remember much about that last trip to Tatooine. Just the rattle of his mother’s dying breath, the weight of her body, and the stench of burning flesh as he cut down Tusken after Tusken. The rest of it was lost in a haze of rage and grief and sand.

For a moment, Anakin wanted to ignore it, delete it, smash the comlink on the floor. He didn’t need this reminder of his failure as a Jedi and a son, not when he’d just spent the last three days failing over and over again to protect his men. No, Anakin didn’t need this, but maybe Lars did. His mom always said that the biggest problem in the galaxy was that no one helped each other. She would want him to look after her widower.

Both Anakin and Cliegg enter into this relationship believing it’s what the other person needs. My goal is to have it be of benefit to both of them. Cliegg feels helpless and unnecessary within his family, but Anakin helps him to feel useful again. For Anakin, Cliegg is a source of alternate views and paternal support without all the baggage and agendas he gets from Obi-Wan and Palpatine. 

Yawning hugely and struggling to focus his eyes, Anakin sent out a quick reply and feel asleep with his boots on.

Poor boy is so sleepy, Can’t you just picture this? He’s lying on his back and snoring with his mouth open.

****

Cliegg woke alone to the smell of caf and frying eggs. Lying with his eyes closed, he imagined Shmi must have gotten up before him and started making breakfast. But when he reached across, her side of the bed was cold. A few of her dark hairs still clung to her pillow, but it had lost the shape of her head. His wife slept in sand now and Cliegg would sleep alone until he joined her. He let his grief wash over him, then pushed it aside and started his day.

Haha, ow. I think Cliegg genuinely loved Shmi. I’d like to believe that they fell in love and then he saved up to buy her freedom rather than something more sketchy, like him buying her and then offering her freedom if he married her. This story runs with the more romantic rather than creepy version. 

In the kitchen, Beru puttered around the stove while Owen methodically shoveled forkfuls of egg into his mouth. He grunted a greeting as Cliegg floated to the table on his power chair. Since Cliegg’s injury, Owen had taken over more and more of the farm work. He needed to eat fast if he had any hope of staying on top of it.

Shmi’s death and Cliegg’s maiming hit the family hard, not just emotionally, but economically. They lost two valuable workers. I imagine it caused Owen to speed up his plans to marry Beru, just so they could have someone to replace Semi’s missing labor. 

“Good morning,” Beru said as she set a plate and steaming mug of caf down in front of him. Cliegg took a sip of the caf before digging in. The eggs weren’t quite like Shmi’s, but the caf had just the right about of blue milk mixed in. Beru joined them with her own breakfast a moment later. “There’s a message for you on the comm channel,” she said as she settled down on the bench next to Owen.

“Really? Who from?”

“Anakin,” Owen grumbled between mouthfuls. “Days late and a few hundred credits short as always.”

Canon gives us zero clues as to how Owen and Beru viewed Anakin. Like, Owen feels Luke being like him is unfortunate, but that’s about it. I decided Owen would vaguely resent him because a) drama, and b) it kind of made sense. Owen clearly loved Shmi, but Anakin was her kid and he knew he could never compete with that. 

Beru frowned at her husband, but Cliegg just sighed. After years of Shmi’s stories about her sweet, talented boy, the strange young man who had walked off into the desert and came back with her corpse had been something of a disappointment. He’d fixed every broken thing on the farm, but had barely spoken to any of them. What Cliegg chalked up to grief and shock, Owen put down to Jedi pride and standoffishness, and no amount of tutting on Beru’s part would change that. Cliegg had hoped that maybe getting to know Anakin would. It had been a disappointment that when Cliegg reached out and the boy never reached back.

“What does it say?” Beru asked, leaning forward to get a glimpse as Cliegg pulled the message up on a data pad. He read it over, then read it again, and a third time just to make sure. Weren’t the Jedi supposed to have educated the boy? Shmi had been a slave her whole life and she wrote better than this.

Anakin’s writing is usually much better when he isn’t literally falling asleep. In fact, he tends to write very formally. He was teased mercilessly about his manner of speaking when he first arrived at the Temple and is, as a result, hyper aware of how he uses language. That’s why he often comes off as stiff or awkward when nervous, upset, or around authority figures. See, and you thought it was just George’s bad writing.

“Well?” Owen put his fork down and joined his wife in trying to sneak a peek. He had a man’s shape and bore a man’s burden, but, by the suns, he looked just like a boy at that moment.

I went with ‘by the suns’ because Cliegg needed something to swear by and there’s literally only one mention of god in existing canon. I figure what people swear by varies from planet to planet. No one on Tatooine seems to know about or have use for the Force, so that was out. The suns would have to do.

Cleigg chuckled and read Anakin’s message aloud, word for word as he’d written it. “Sorry. Tired. Three days fighting Muunilinst. Lost rt arm Geonosis. Hop u r well. Anakin.”

Autocorrect kept trying to fight me on Anakin’s message. 

Owen and Beru blinked at him as they tried to process Anakin’s incoherent jumble of a message. Owen took a long gulp of his caf to help and shook his head.

Beru’s fork clattered on the table as it slipped from her fingers. “He lost his arm?!” Beru exclaimed. She pulled the data pad from Cleigg’s hand to read it over herself. “He lost his arm and they sent him fight?” She slapped it down on the table with a bit more force than necessary.

The Star Wars universe has some pretty miraculous medical technology, but it’s pretty unevenly distributed. As a Jedi living on a core world. Anakin had access to high-tech prosthetics where a poor farmer living in the middle of no where like Cliegg almost certainly didn’t. It greatly effected their health outcomes. 

What? Cleigg pulled the pad around read the message again. Lost rt arm Geonosis. The fighting there had happened just after Anakin and his woman had left, a little over a standard month ago. Even with all the medicine a Hutt could afford, there was no way he’d be well enough to tie his own boots, let alone fight in a war. Yet, from the sound of it, that’s just what he was doing. The Jedi had promised Shmi that they would take care her son and provide him with an education. Based on Anakin’s message, they’d done neither. Well, someone needed to look after this boy and it might as well be his family. Cleigg Lars set aside his breakfast and began to write.

Man, I misspelled Cliegg’s name a bunch of times in this. Whoops. Well, I’ll go back and correct that on the original. My bad. 

Cliegg is right about the Jedi having failed Anakin, just not in the way he understands. By the end of this, I hope to have Anakin realize that fact too and do something about it. We’ll see how it goes and how I get there.