#i swear some fics would be better if the writer had just chosen a different pairing

[mustard-minneola]

[mentally swaps out a character in the fanfic so its no longer incest]

[soliverse]

winter promises - q.kn

pairing: gangster au!kun x student!reader

genre: angst, a tiny bit of fluff

warnings: mentions of violence, death, injury and bullying (they weren’t explicitly shown but they were mentioned by the characters. nothing too graphic or triggering.)

word count: 2323

ps: hello @strykiss​! I got chosen as your secret santa this year. I debated whether to post From Home or Winter Promises at the last minute but this was the fic that I promised you at my ask. Sorry it took a while :< I hope you liked it.

Winter Promises is a part of the Secret Santa Collab by @lucaswithnoshirt and @bumblebeenct. This is my very first collab and I’m thankful that you have let me be a part of it.

If you want to read the other fics created by the other amazing nct writers, just head over to @neoculturechristmas​ for the other secret santa entries.

networks: @nctcreations​ @kdiarynet @kpopscape

The harshness of the winter has never felt colder than today. Just a few weeks ago, you planned to visit your brother James and spend the rest of Christmas break together. Everything changed when you received a call from the police a few days ago. You almost broke down when they told you about your brother’s passing.

You lived in a different area from your brother because you had to go to school. All this time, you believed that your brother is a salesman. That’s how he was able to pay for college fees and living expenses. Little did you know, he was actually hiding a secret from you.

The police found his body after a gang fight. After a bit of an investigation, they discovered that your brother is actually a member of one of the notorious gangs in the area. He is one of the Guardias. They are people of the night, lurking in the shadows and can only be identified by the tattoo of a black wolf in their forearms. That explains why he wore those long sleeves all of the time whenever he visits, even when in the blistering heat. He just used the excuse that he had to look professional at all times

What’s worse about his death is you had no other living relatives. You were both orphans that got kicked out of the systems when you got older. Nobody attended his funeral but the priest and yourself.

You stood at the middle of the field alone, the cemetery wrapped in a think blanket of snow. You did nothing for the past few hours but stood there in front of his grave and stared blankly at his epitaph.

IN MEMORIAM

JAMES Y/L/N

March 31, 199x – December 20, 20xx

A LOVING BROTHER

Reading the engraved letters made you tear up again.

You just can’t believe that he had to die like this, that he had to lie to make you feel better. You wondered how much he had to suffer just seconds before he dies, recalling the horrible state of his body when they discovered him. Just thinking about it made you shake from anger and grief. It didn’t take long before you broke down and sat right next to the grave hugging your knees.

“Hey…”

You were interrupted by a concerned Kun. He pulled you towards him and wrapped his loving arms around you.

“Sorry for being late.”

You desperately needed someone that day and him coming meant the world to you. If there’s someone that will understand what you are currently going through, it would be him. Just like the two of you, he’s also alone because he had to study overseas. He had a brotherly bond with James, like he’s an extension of your brother. James would always tell Kun that he would be the one to take care of you while he’s gone. It’s safe to say that he still fulfilled that promise.

“I’m sorry you had to spend Christmas like this…”

Eventually, he took your hands to find a nearby bench that you can sit comfortably. He started patting your head and never let go of you until you stopped crying.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for coming.”

He handed you a handkerchief from his pockets so you can wipe your tears away. His hand still remained your shoulders, patting it gently to calm you down.

“If it makes you feel any better, I got a gift for you.”

He started patting all over his winter coat and his pockets to look for something. Taking it out on one of his inner pockets, he pulled out a box wrapped with a tiny red bow on top. You opened it right away and there was a unique bracelet inside of it.

“Merry Christmas Y/N. I made a promise to James when he’s still alive...”

He took your hand and placed the bracelet in your palms.

“As long as you’re wearing this, James and I will always be with you…”

Your heart melted as he said this to you. You couldn’t help yourself but to hug him once again. His touch felt like summer on this cold, winter night.

///

About a few weeks passed by and your classes resumed once again. You used that supposed break to mourn over James and help yourself to get over from his loss. Kun had a part-time job to attend to, but he always made sure to check on you from time to time.

Wintertime still surrounded the area, but some people already took down their decorations and things went back to normal. As you skipped across the snowy road, you couldn’t help but stare at the thing that’s jingling in your right arm. You stopped on your tracks and held it up to the sky. Your eyes squinted, trying to look for something special in the bracelet that the Kun gave you for Christmas.

It was the single thing that made you smile every day. His words repeated in your head like a broken record and you can’t help but blush at the thought of it. You always this little crush on him even before, but his caring nature the past couple of weeks make your heart flutter even more. This made you unconsciously touch it. You raised your arm up to your eye level and you finally realized that the bracelet is held together by two wolves, one on each side of the bracelet. You wondered why this was the design that he chose, considering that it doesn’t look that girly. It was weird, but you just shrugged it off when you realized that you still have to walk to school.

///

You came just shy a few minutes before the class starts. The professor is still out of sight, so you bowed to greet everyone inside before you walk towards your desk. The class didn’t pay you any attention. It’s always been that way ever since you got admitted to the school. Making friends is hard when people judge you from the way that you dress or the life that you live in every day. You don’t get to wear nice cloths just like everybody else because you liked to save your money for things that are more important.

The other girls would roll their eyes out and point out how worn out your uniform looks or make gestures behind your back. It stayed that way for years, but you never had the guts to tell Kun or James. You have to be strong for yourself sometimes and just ignored their mockery.

You were taking out the textbooks from your bag when you overheard the other girls squealing excitedly at each other. One of them is your classmate Lilith. Everyone thinks she’s so cool because she has a gangster boyfriend that buys her expensive stuff. It’s probably another designer brand bag or something.

“It looks so pretty! Have you tried using it yet?”

You swear that you can sense Lilith’s condescending smirk even when your back is turned against her.

“I haven’t actually. But he said it’s suuuuppppeeeer expensive. Like, it’s worth more than anything he’s ever bought me. I can’t wait to use it at clubs tonight!”

She said in this exaggerated tone that you hate. She had this habit of making herself extra loud so that you’ll hear what she’s trying. You roll your eyes internally and just proceeded to open your notes and tried to recall the lessons that you had for the past few weeks.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t look that much…”

“Ugh…” She sounded so offended at her friend’s remark.

“This bracelet are only given to very special people. It means they are under the protection of the whole group. It means nobody is allowed to touch the very fiber of her being. I can basically do whatever I want and no one will stop me.”

Your hopes of concentrating on your lessons was completely thrown out of the window. At a desperate attempt to keep your sanity intact, you cupped both of your ears with your hands.

“Special, huh? Then why does Y/N have one too?”

“There’s no way…”

You yelped as you felt someone yank out your hand away from your head.

“What do you want, Lilith?”

She yanked it again towards her face and so she can get a better view of your right hand.

“Hey! Let me go!”

You tried grabbing your hand away from her at the same time that she lets go of your hand aggressively, the force sending you off to the floor.

“So, you got claimed too huh?”

You glared at her direction, but the bright red thing on her wrists caught your attention. It looked similar to your bracelet, the only difference being that it was red and the wolf was replaced with a silver dragon. It’s strikingly similar to the one you’re currently wearing.

“I wonder which lowlife scum you had to sleep with just so you can have one of those.”

She folded her arms and scoffed at your direction

“Of course. It had to be one of those filthy G-.”

A stern voice interrupted her from the front door.

“Watch your mouth, Lilith.”

The voice came from Kun, you looked incredibly pissed.

“Leave her alone. She just lost her brother.”

Lilith opened her mouth again but Kun just raised his eyebrows at her. His gaze seemed to be sending her a message that only the two of them can understand.

The stand-off have successfully shut Lilith down as she begrudgingly went back to her desk. The professor came right after, so Kun smiled sweetly at your direction before he sat down at his desk.

You got up from the floor and dusted the dirt off of your uniform, still completely oblivious at what just happened. It made you a bit more self-conscious now that everyone has their eyes on you. Thankfully, the professor caught everyone’s attention and your class proceeded as usual.

It didn’t take long before lunch break comes and the bell rang. As soon as the last professor left the door, everyone’s attention was back on you once again. You just sat there awkwardly as you waited for everyone to leave the classroom, not really sure what else to do about this situation.

Kun felt your uneasiness. He stood up from his chair and offered his hand to help you stand up from your chair. Your smile grew wider once again as you took his hand and you walked together to your usual place in the cafeteria.

The both of you took your seats and brought out your lunchbox with you. You took out your lunch, which was a simple meal composed of eggs, bacon and a cup of rice. When took out his containers, you remembered that your bestfriend is actually a bit of a masterchef. There were several varieties of home-cooked meals from his lunchbox. There are dumplings, warm chicken soup, and some of which you don’t even know the names of.

“I made extra so we can share...”

You can tell that there was extra care given to the meals that he made. This man just never fails to amaze you. Looking around the cafeteria, everyone felt the same way. Some of the other girls looked at you with what you can assume is jealousy written all over their faces.

“You know, the girls of this school hate me because they thought I’m your girlfriend right.” He laughed at your comment, his eyes completely disappearing from the stretch of his smile.

“If you’re actually dating me, then I’ll be the luckiest man alive.”

You felt heat coming up from your face, unsure if it was because of his laugh or the thing that he said. Instead of answering him, you took some of the fried rice that he made and stuffed your mouth to hide your embarrassment.

Time passed and you’re about to walk home as well. Kun called out your name and offered to walk you home. You felt some dirty glance being thrown away at your direction once again, but for once, you didn’t mind them.

“Just making sure got home safe.” He explained when you asked him on the way. It’s a sweet gesture from his part once again, but he’s been acting weird throughout the walk. His eyes kept on looking from left to right, as if he’s looking for something.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He relaxed and his cheery self appeared in front of you once again.

As soon as you got inside your house and closed the door behind you, he started to walk along the snowy road. His uneasiness crept back in, looking left and right to make sure that no one is following him.

His whole demeanor changed as soon as he entered his territory. The apartment that you thought he’s staying in is actually the headquarters of a secret gang that’s meant to protect the whole city. Men lined up in his path, bowing at his presence. At his room, he took off layers of his winter clothing, finally revealing a secret that he’s also been hiding from you. It was a tattoo of a black wolf, only given to the elite members of Guardia.

He sat on his couch and grabbed his phone to dial someone’s number.

“Yes, boss?”

“Hey Xuxi, would you mind giving the Kids a call?”

“Sure. What for?”

“Tell Chan that one of his bitches is misbehaving…”

He rested his head and closed his eyes, reminded of how you were treated earlier by Lilith.

“If he doesn’t do anything about it, I will. Make that very clear to him, unless he wants me to break his other arm.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

The call dropped and his phone was now showing his wallpaper, a candid picture that he took without you knowing.

The other gangs have been becoming bold lately and have orchestrating attacks from left to right. Knowing them, he’s sure that they’ll be going after the next Guardia successor, you.

///

“Protect Y/N at all cost. It won’t take long before the world knows about her real identity.”

That is a promise that he’s willing to keep, even to his death.

[andsmile]

why do you ship dramione?-coming from a romione shipper. like how does it add up? draco is literally so terrible.

took me a while to answer this because... well, i wanted to give you a good answer. draco and hermione are my favorite ship ever. if there’s a meaning to the word OTP, they are mine.

full disclosure, i ship ron and hermione in the canon hp universe. always have, always will. i think hermione in the books and how they were constructed as a narrative for children/teens, needed someone who would challenge her and entertain her and be a little ‘out-of-the-box’, and i think ron is perfect for that. he’s definitely a happy ending for her. 

more under the cut cause this is going to be a long discussion.

however, i started reading hp when i was really young - 11 - and eventually i found fics online, and they had “bad boy/good girl” tropes featuring sexy bad boy draco, and i wanted to read that. i was a kid, and no one’s gonna judge me, everyone went through the bad boy phase. there are a thousand books and movies about it.

but that version of draco wasn’t exactly what his character was, right? we first meet him as a kid and a bully, a little racist per se, but if there’s one thing that we learn through the years and the development of the plot, is that draco is a lot...less than that. he’s not a strong sexy bad boy, he’s a weak loser. he repeats what he’s told like a parrot. he’s a product of his environment.

and what an environment!

because, let’s face it. the wizard world is crazy prejudiced. it’s awful. we see it through harry’s eyes and we love it because he loves it and because it literally saves him from an abusive home and a sad, sad childhood, but the wizard world is actually dark and full of awful people. 90% of the characters in harry potter are highly flawed. it’s not just draco. from ~all slytherins are evil to the mudblood issue, to the goblins, centaurs, and people like ron who have such a good heart but mistreat house elves just because, you see that it’s a filthy world full of ugly stuff. it’s not just draco who’s terrible. it’s not just the slytherins. they all are. james was a bully, snape sucked, everyone is grey. everyone has light and dark inside them, even dumbledore. it’s what makes hp such a great story, how complex the characters are. ron’s character (who is MY FAVORITE i swear) deals with his own darkness, and bitterness, and fears. but ron is someone harry (the narrator) loves so much so we love him too (most of us), and we witness ron’s redemption through harry’s eyes, and we forgive him. draco doesn’t get that chance.

if you read harry potter you see the building of a world and a belief - that love, friendship and good will prevail, and that all magic blood is the same. that’s on harry’s point of view. harry, who didn’t really suffer with any of those big prejudices in the magical world because he was, after all, harry potter. a kid who grew up thinking he wasn’t shit but was actually the chosen one, the savior of this world that he loved so much. 

imagine reading that book through hermione’s eyes, though: the building of a very incredible world that you love but where you have to prove yourself at every step of the way because so many people in that world think you ain’t shit. in fact, there’s a lot of focus on draco’s prejudice because he’s the first one we see using the word mudblood and he’s the first one to tell hermione she’s worth nada in ~his world when everyone else was always praising her.

imagine reading that book through draco’s eyes: the deconstruction of this world that you believed in so bad, that you thought was the greatest thing ever. you were told you were the greatest, that your family worked for the greatest wizard ever, and then, little by little, you find out that all your beliefs were stupid and everything you’ve always known was a lie, and that the lord you praised was actually a murderous monster and that you weren’t special. you weren’t shit. and the very object of your childish hate is so much better than you.

so why do i ship draco and hermione?

because they are, in my eyes, the two most complex characters in opposite ends. she’s the reason why the world he’s so used to is falling apart, she breaks his prejudices. she’s the reason why he ain’t shit. and he’s the embodiment of all the things she wants to prove wrong, and she’s so much stronger than him. she could teach him so much, she could teach him how to see the world through different eyes, through her eyes.

as for hermione, she’s always seen more in draco than harry or ron. she’s always seen a little bit past the bully even though she was often the object of his vile ways. he’s always affected her in a way that was very blatant, and i think that with her personality and tendencies, watching him change would be a way to change herself. she could become even more confident and self-aware, she could find a different meaning for love. he could teach her so much about the world she wants to be a part of, things she might never understand without someone like him.

the very meaning behind harry potter, that love should be bigger and better than hate, is what a relationship between draco and hermione could encompass, if written the right way. 

however, draco and hermione couldn’t work in a book written in someone else’s point of view. they’re not a canon hp romance, they can’t be, and it would’ve been a disservice to try and cramm a love story for them in the hp books. it can’t be treated as a fun hookup or something like that. dramione is a ship that would require patience, so many levels of redemption in his part, so many levels of forgiveness and growing up in her part. of course, if you’re in fanon and you’re already going past all of this, you can read a one shot and think ‘oh such fun dynamics’ but if you want to be convinced of dramione, you have to go for the big works that will give you a full analysis on their characters and place them together carefully. it’s not just the typical bad boy/good girl thing we all thought they could be.

the complexity of how to turn hate into love attracts me.

all the ways you can make them fall for each other and have them grow with each other attracts me.

i think hermione’s character needs and would thrive on challenge, because that’s what she’s made of. ron is a perfectly good pairing for her but imagine if she could have something even harder and more puzzling.

i think draco’s character is the weakest link and i love to see how people come up with redemption stories for him not at the expense of hermione’s character.

the dramione fandom is incredibly talented and some of the best writer’s i’ve seen in my life.

maybe they aren’t the healthiest. some versions of them are actually pretty toxic. but i think that both characters could stand being in a relationship like it if written the right way. the nuances of their ship are amazing, you just have to open your mind and think outside of the canon box.

11 year old me did that, and i’m glad, because i’m never going back.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Broken Pieces

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Being broken once doesn’t mean you stay broken forever. Sometimes you just need to find another way to fix yourself.

Quick facts: Romance – Bucky Barnes/Reader to Bucky Barnes/Reader/Steve Rogers – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, saaaaaaap, Reader meets Bucky as ‘James’ so that’s what they call him throughout the fic

Words: 10,603

Prompt: “You don’t have to fix me.” // “No one is trying to fix you.” for @barnesrogersvstheworld Challenge Challenge

A/N: Written for a lovely writer’s lovely challenge. The prompt is in there, I swear, it just sort of ended up that I got an immediate feel for the scene it came in and then decided to write about 7k words leading up to it. Oy vey. Sorry for the length, but I do like this one. When I do Steve/Bucky/Reader I tend to go with Steve and Bucky being established and bringing the Reader in, (naturally), so I wanted to try something a little different and have Reader be part of the couple before they become a throuple and so this happened. Anyway, please enjoy!

    There’s a man sitting outside your shop.

He’s hunched over, and with the sky still dark in the early morning hours he gives you pause. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to open or if this was just the best place he could find to sleep…or if there’s another reason. You walk closer, but he doesn’t budge, and he’s just far enough away from the door that you square up and go for it. He doesn’t so much as look up when you unlock the door, and even when you’re inside locking it back up again he doesn’t seem to have shifted at all. Poor guy. Maybe you’ll take a cup out to him later.

You get caught up in working to make sure you’re ready for the day and forget about him while you put out supplies, start the coffee, and set up the tables. When it’s time to open, Lin, your baker, opens the door on her way out and not seconds later does the bell chime with the first entry. You come up from under the counter and face a man who…looks somewhat familiar. But you don’t have time to place him right now; even working in a coffee shop it’s rare for you to find someone up before the sun because they’re enjoying a slow morning.

“Good morning,” you say. “What can I get for you?”

His brow is furrowed and messy dark hair hangs partly over his eyes, but he scans the display case. His face doesn’t change when he looks back at you. “Just coffee,” he says. Then, quietly: “Please.”

“All right, that’ll be–” When he holds out the money you take it and count out the pile of change. Perfect, down to the last taxed cent. “Any room for cream?”

“No.” Then: “Thank you.”

You smile to yourself and get the man his coffee. When he takes it and sits down, you think you have a second to go check for that other man from earlier. You fill up a small cup, grab a broken muffin, and go outside. Unfortunately, the sidewalk is empty. When you go back inside though, you see your customer, hunched over his table and– ah, so that’s why he’s familiar.

You roll your eyes and make a mental note to take this cup for yourself, since you obviously need it. But though you place the cup on the counter, you take the muffin over to the man, who snaps his eyes up when you set it down. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” you say by way of apology. “Are you hungry? This one came out a little mangled, but I don’t want to waste it.”

His shoulders ease down a millimeter and he stares at the muffin for several seconds before he takes it. “Thank…you.”

“Don’t mention it,” you say, and leave him in peace.

He starts showing up every day, at the same time. After the first week you start asking him if he’d like to come in when you do. Nothing is set up but it’s better than sitting on the cold ground. He shakes his head and waits, and the same routine occurs. You open up, he orders a single coffee he does nothing to doctor, and you give him a pastry that didn’t come out quite right. When Lin catches a glance at him on her way out one morning, though, those ‘misshapen’ pastries become a little…

“Lin,” you say and wait for her to look at you. You hold up the heart-shaped croissant and she casts her eyes down in guilt. “I can start charging extra for these if you want to keep making them. Otherwise…”

“Has he– has he mentioned them?” she asks.

“He, uh…did a double-take?” you say, because he had certainly given you a weird look yesterday when you had handed it to him without even glancing at it. Lin looks mildly pleased, until she sees your face. Then she ducks her head.

“You’ve seen him!” she says.

And, yes, you can understand that. However. “Lin.”

“Okay, fine,” she grumbles.

“Maybe just ask him out?” you suggest gently. “Because it’s definitely a mixed message if I’m the one handing it to him.”

“Okay,” she says but the way she looks askance is–

You groan. “Who put you up to this?”

“I’m no snitch,” she says and slings her bag over her shoulder. “Anyway, I’m, um, late. Bye!”

You don’t even get to ask her what the hell she’s late for at (you check the clock) six in the morning, but unless she quits overnight you’ll be able to subject her to scrutiny tomorrow. As it is you treat your other employees to that gaze and while a couple of them are innocently confused, a notable suspect cracks almost immediately.

“Lin said he looks nice!” Melissa says.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say. “Thank you for your concern. I’m fine.”

She frowns, because she does know better than to just believe you. She’s worked here the longest, and she can be too headstrong for her own good sometimes. You have a chart in the back for ‘x days without a customer altercation’ just for her. Thankfully, today, she backs down.

“She also said he’s really, really cute.”

You sigh heavily. You’re going to have to make a chart of your own: ‘x days without wanting to fire all of my employees.’

“So is he?”

At this rate it’s going to be ‘0’ for a long time.

~

“Good morning,” you greet your new doorstop. He doesn’t respond, as per usual, but you flash him a smile as you unlock the door. “Would you like to come in with me?”

At this point you just wait for his response as a courtesy; it’s always a quiet, “no thank you.” However today he lifts his head and watches you. “Could I…help?”

You freeze with the door halfway open. “You’d like to help me open?”

He inclines his head. “If it’s okay.”

“Of course. If you want,” you say. There’s an awkward pause so you smile and add, “There’s a non-malformed pastry and extra large coffee in it for you if you do a good job.”

He smiles. It’s a small thing but it’s the first real relaxed expression you’ve seen on him. Lin was right– he’s beautiful. He gestures for you to walk in. “After you. Boss.”

You laugh but show him in. While you set up behind the counter you have “Bu– Sol– …just…call me James” take down the chairs and make sure the tables look nice. By the time you have the displays and coffee ready, James has buffed the tables to a near shine, the chairs are placed perfectly around each one, and even the napkins and cream containers are set up. All that and you still have ten minutes before opening.

“Wow, I think I even have time to have breakfast this morning,” you say and, hey, that’s a thought. “All right James; what would you like?”

“Same thing,” he says shyly. “Please.”

You grab the best looking croissant and fill the largest coffee cup you have with his preferred blend. After a moment you grab yourself a drink and make a breakfast sandwich (maybe you’ll entice him by the smell) and go to the table he has, as always, chosen. “For you,” you say and put his food in front of him. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Already a bite in, he glances at you, then the seat across, and shakes his head. You sit down, secure in the fact that over in this corner no customer is going to see you and think they can get in early. You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks for your help today, James. I never get to enjoy my breakfast anymore,” you say and take a bite.

To your pride, he does look taken by your sandwich. “It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles and scarfs his food down. A big guy like that can’t possibly subsist on coffee and one single croissant, but you don’t press. Even though you want to.

“You don’t have to. Lin is great at what she does, but not everything turns out perfect and I hate to waste things,” you say. “So it’s kind of a favor.”

James snorts. “Her food is perfect.”

“Yesss!”

You look to the side. James doesn’t look too concerned that Lin is hanging out of the back. His eyes barely flick at her and back at his drink, and you wonder if he knew she was there. Not that it matters; you give Lin your best glare and she wilts behind the wall. “I was just coming to say goodbye! Have a nice date! I mean– breakfast! I meant breakfast!” She then hefts her bag onto her shoulder and books it out the back.

You sigh and shake your head. When you look up again, James is staring at you oddly. “I’m really sorry about her,” you say. “She’s a good person but she and some of my co-workers try to set me up. All the time.”

He looks utterly mystified. “Even with some unwashed vagrant who just started showing up?”

You shrug. This has been going on too long for you to feel embarrassed anymore. “You’re not that bad. But…that’s what they think my dating life is. I guess.”

He looks mildly alarmed. “You shouldn’t do that. You don’t know if someone’s safe.”

You smile at the chiding tone. Apparently protectiveness is such an inherent part of him he can’t help but be more expressive now. “True,” you say. “And don’t worry; I’m not exactly…jumping at the chance to be with just anyone. Not being in a relationship is better than being in a bad one.” You leave it at that and so does James, seemingly content to sip his coffee while you finish your breakfast in the peace and quiet of a relaxed early morning.

~

This becomes your new normal. Eventually James doesn’t even ask anymore; he just follows in behind you and silently sets to work, every single day. You do get him to try the sandwiches, among other things. You also offer him a proper job helping out but he declines. “I’m a free agent,” he says with a ghost-like smile. You’re missing something but you don’t think the joke is yours to get.

On the less positive end (for you), being a fixture means you stop noticing him so much. Especially when it’s an odd time and the shop is empty and you’re dealing with an asshole on the phone who can’t see your nonverbal ‘I’m going to break a coffee cup and shove the pieces down your gullet’ warning signs. You slam down the phone in frustration, lean your elbows on the counter, and start rubbing your temples to prepare for many more headaches to come. It’s not even seven yet; how is this day already going so poorly?

“Headache?”

“People need to fuck off,” you mutter. You hear a broom stop and realize who you just said that to. You don’t know James’s stance on swearing, but you wince and turn anyways. “Sorry,” you say to his startled expression.

He actually cracks a smile. He ducks his head fast and goes back to sweeping, but that oncoming human-induced migraine goes right away, and you think that this morning isn’t going so badly after all.

~

Melissa and James have met briefly, but he’s never stayed more than ten minutes after she comes on shift. Lin, however, might actually be in love with him.

“Can I let him in in the mornings?”

It’s an innocent question after a few minutes of good-natured bickering while Melissa pretends to ignore the both of you, but you drop your pen. Expenses are boring anyways, but there’s no explanation for why you react to her question with such a…well, you wouldn’t call it a violent start (god, no) but if you had feathers they’d be ruffled. And you have no idea why.

“Uh…” Lin shares an odd look with Melissa, who stops washing dishes. “Sorry; I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No! No,” you say to her, and you tell yourself to get your shit together. “No, it’s fine. In fact you should; he’s fine to come in and there’s…there’s no reason he should…wait outside. For me. It’s fine.”

Her eyebrows go way up. “Uh huh.”

You slump. “I don’t know why I reacted like that,” you say. “I guess I just like seeing him when I come in.”

Again, Lin and Melissa share a look. “Stop it,” you warn them.

“Don’t get so defensive,” Melissa says, lips curling up. “It’s nice to have friends too, you know.”

“Yes, it is good to have friends,” you say. You then pretend you don’t see the next look they share.

You do, however, reset your personal counter to zero.

~

It’s cold and raining hard enough to fill your ears with the cacophonous sound of water crashing upon pavement. Still, a familiar shadow looms by your door and as soon as you see him you run forward, despite slippery ground and endless puddles. Shit, shit, shit; you should have told Lin to let him in.

“Come on,” you tell him and unlock the door as fast as you can. You get inside and turn to lock the door behind him, but he doesn’t follow. You toss your umbrella to the side and frantically motion for him to come in.

He looks down at the floor and then to you, squinting when the wind bursts and blows rain sideways. “I’ll get the floor dirty.”

You roll your eyes and– because the rain is starting to come inside– you grab the front of his shirt and yank him towards you. He stumbles but doesn’t fall, and you slam the door shut. You flip the lights on low and James is– “God; you look like you jumped in a lake,” you say. “You’ve got to be freezing.”

“I’ve been colder,” he says, like that’s a reasonable defense. The water must have flooded his brain.

“Lin!” you call out. She scrambles into view, phone in hand and one earbud dangling precariously. “Do we have any spare towels?”

“Yeah,” she says and drapes the cord over her shoulder. “Do you want me to bring them to you?”

“No, just go get them out,” you say and motion for James to follow.

This time he does so without protest, though when you have your resident drowned rat sitting down in the bright lights of the kitchen, he stares sullenly at the watery trail. “I’m going to have to mop all of that.”

You roll your eyes and Lin snorts as she hands him the first towel in a pile. “I’ll give you a good enough breakfast to make up for it,” you say and glance over at the backpack he’s started carrying around. “Do you have a spare set of clothes?”

“Shirts,” he says and uses a new towel to squeeze some excess from his sleeve. The fabric wrinkles and sits awkwardly on his arm.

“Hopefully they didn’t get too soaked,” you say as an idea slowly worms into your head. It’s not a great idea, on first glance; in fact it’s probably terrible, but…you already trust him with your shop, your employees. That’s so much more than this.

Lin waves her hand in your face. “Ground control to Major Tom.”

You flinch back from how close she is. She starts to apologize but you say, “I’ll go start the coffee. Lin, give him something really good.”

“Everything Lin makes is really good,” James says.

“A man with excellent taste!” Lin says, chest puffing out with pride and she goes to check on whatever she has in the oven.

“Suck up,” you say.

James gives you a sly smile and a wink.

~

He’s damp but he has a hot drink and a pile of food in front of him. You don’t know what he said to Lin after you left, but apparently she melted like butter on a hot muffin. He eats, seemingly unconcerned with anything else, and you– well, you literally mind your business. The rain slows down over time but the morning is fairly quiet. Even the first rush is less than usual, which gives you plenty of time and reason to send a quick text.

James is still nursing his drink when Melissa stumbles in, fumbling with her umbrella and right on time. As far as you’re concerned, at least– James lifts his head to look at the clock and he frowns at what he sees.

“Thank you,” you tell her as she passes by.

“No problem-o; just give me a minu–” She stops and faces James. “Oh geeze, James, you really got caught in it, didn’t you?”

“It’s just rain,” he says like a sulking child and hunches over his cup.

Melissa rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, you big manly man you,” she says and gives him a very dainty pat on the shoulder, earning herself quite a dirty look.

While she goes to set her things down, you square up your courage and approach him. He stares at you, waiting, but you’re not sure how to do this. In the end you blurt out: “Do you trust me?”

He gives it some thought. “Mostly,” he decides.

For a man as stand-offish as him, it feels like a stamp of validation. “Then come with me. Melissa’s going to watch the shop and I’ll take you to where you can dry your clothes and have a hot shower.”

He blinks. A few times. Then his forehead creases. “Are you…sure?”

You nod. When all is said and done and Melissa is handling the counter and you have your things ready to go, you hand James the umbrella. He gives you a weird look so you say, “You’re taller.”

“I’m already wet.” He tries to hand it back by pushing it at you. “You’ll get wet just by being near me.”

“I don’t know what you and Lin have been talking about, but I don’t actually melt when I come into contact with water,” you say. “Besides that, you’re not dripping anymore, which means if we keep you from getting wetter it’ll mean less water on my floor, and my jacket can handle…” you gesture at him, “–this. Now take the damn umbrella.”

He takes the damn umbrella and the two of you make the trek down the street to your apartment. It’s a little awkward; James is stiff and you’re trying so hard to ignore it, but the rain is coming down enough that you need to pack in together. Thankfully, you make it to your place relatively quickly.

When you step inside, James does a double-take that you’ve become accustomed to. “Yeah, I know,” you say and shrug off your jacket. Fresh starts don’t come without a cost.

“When did you move in?” he asks and looks around. Not that there’s much to look at in this room besides a couch and a coffee table. And your kitchen, with mostly bare counters, aside from the obligatory coffee maker, which…actually you can’t remember the last time you used it. Whenever you want a cup you just go to the shop to get one, or you’re already there. Most often the latter.

“A year or so ago,” you say, even though it’s been more now. “But I got really busy opening the shop and ever since then I spend more time there than here.” You clear your throat and go to open the laundry closet to gesture at the stackers. “Ta da. Washing, drying; soap is on the shelf here. And the bathroom is right down the hall.”

He inclines his head. “Thank you. But…”

You wait. “But?”

“Why are you letting me in your home?”

It’s a good question. Thankfully there’s an easy answer. “I let you in my home every morning,” you say. “At five am. I let you around the biggest investment I ever made, around people that I need to look out for. This?” You wave dismissively at the space. “I sleep here, do laundry, and take showers. You can too, if you like. Just let me know.”

He’s silent and completely blank for several seconds that feel like minutes. Then he takes a shaky breath.

“Thank you.”

~

He comes in every morning with Lin now. You’re not sure what he does while she bakes, but she gushes about what a good listener he is, and he seems content to join you in the front when you get in. In the first few weeks you have to prod him about whether he would like a shower and a nap, and he always shifts nervously at first before inevitably acquiescing. When you get comfortable enough to just hand him your keys, he soon gets comfortable enough to start asking you, and eventually all he has to do is walk up to you and hold out his hand for you to drop your keys into his waiting palm.

One night though he comes around while you’re home. The soft knocking gets you up and checking the peephole to see the surprise visitor. James looks wet and miserable– odd, since the sky is clear– and as soon as you open the door you’re met with a stench that makes you gag. “Oh my–” You cover your mouth and nose with your hands. “James, did you fall in a sewer?!”

“Something like that,” he mutters, head down. “I’m sorry, but can I–”

“Please.” You move aside so he can get through and you eye the muddy (please god let that be mud) footprints he leaves in his wake.

“I brought my own soap,” he says.

“Do you want bleach too?”

“Very funny.”

As soon as he’s in the bathroom you break out a mop and cleaner (you weren't completely joking about the bleach) and go to town until that smell is covered by chemicals. For good measure, you wipe down the front of the door and prepare a fresh bucket for whatever your bathroom looks like.

When James comes out he’s wearing fresh sweatpants, no shirt, and has a towel draped over his left shoulder and arm. You can’t see much of that half, but you can see some pretty thorough scarring peeking out over his (nice, really, really nice) chest. “Do you think a backpack can go in a washing machine?”

“I think it’ll be fine,” you say. You watch as he places a hand over the spiderweb scars and he shrinks back. “Um. I have a robe you can use if you want.”

“Really?” he asks. When you nod he looks relieved. “Thanks. Do you have a mop?”

“All ready to go.” You gesture at it. “I changed the water and everything.”

His forehead crinkles. “You– oh.” He looks at the floor and frowns. “You should have let me do that.”

“I’ll let you do the bathroom,” you say. He doesn’t look appeased so you use the mop handle to shove the bucket across the floor to him. “Get your laundry going and mop the bathroom; then you can have the robe.” You just weren't sure he’d want to keep it once he saw it.

~

“Do you have bunny slippers to complete the look?” James asks dryly as he comes back out of the bathroom tying the sash. He’s wearing one black glove, you can’t help but notice, but he looks a lot more relaxed. Also, the black is accentuated nicely by the bright pink. “Also, why the hell is this thing so big?”

“David bought it for me as a gag gift one year and that was the only size they had, or so he said.” You put your book down. “Joke’s on him– it’s really comfortable.”

“It is.” He rubs the sleeve between two fingers of his ungloved right hand. “Soft. Who’s David?”

“He works afternoons.”

“Ah.” James then stands there awkwardly. Probably because the couch is all he takes when he’s here.

You get up. “Hey, are you hungry?”

“Sort of,” he says hesitantly. “But I can get my own food.”

“That’s fine. However, if you want to help me out…” You dig in your freezer and pull out a few boxes to show him. “Melissa recommended this brand to me and I bought a bunch of dinners when it was on sale, but it’s just not doing it for me. If you want them, they’re yours.”

James looks at you like he’s trying to see if you’re hiding something. Then he says, “Okay. Thanks.”

“Re-thinking how much you trust me?” you ask jokingly and put the food back.

He smirks and lounges on the couch, making that fluffy, ruffle-y robe look real good. Comfort suits him, you think. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

“You’ve seen how much time I spend at the shop,” you say. “I barely have five minutes to stab someone, let alone get rid of a body.”

“Right.” He pauses. “Too bad– this place really looks like it’s just for chopping up bodies.”

You stumble on your way to the linen closet. “Hey.”

James laughs.

~

That’s how James comes to live with you. Unofficially, and not all the time, but often enough that you get him a spare key. He then starts contributing in…strange, but not unwelcome ways.

“Here,” he says and opens his arm over the masterpieces on the counter.

“Oh my god, you made cupcakes?” You immediately dig in. They’re so good and you haven’t eaten since morning.

“Yeah,” James says, a pleased smile forming on his face. “Don’t worry; I bought my own supplies.”

Like you’d care if he raided your bare pantry. You swallow. “Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure I don’t have a box mix.”

The way he crinkles his nose is familiar– you see it anytime you discuss anything even remotely food-prep related with your baker. “It’s not from a mix.”

The look on your face must speak for you. “I can cook.” He rolls his shoulders and looks away. “And Lin’s been giving me pointers on baking.”

You think you might be willing to spend more time in your apartment if James is going to be here.

~

James has something to tell you.

Unfortunately you’re afraid if you let him come out with it on his own, you’ll be old and gray and he’ll have formed into a literal ball of tension. So you’re going to ask him about it. You want to, at least, but you wonder if his secret is that he’s psychic because as soon as you decide this he becomes impossible to get one-on-one.

As soon as you have a minute to sit down, he’s gone. When he comes in, he stays with Lin. When you try to get him at the door he escapes out the back, despite you getting Melissa to run interference.

The final straw comes when you go to bed without seeing him and wake up much the same– but you do see the neatly folded blanket on the couch that tells you he was here.

You sigh and take a moment to write a quick note.

‘James, I won’t ask you about whatever it is you don’t want to talk about. You don’t have to sneak around. I’ll leave you alone.’

You sign your name and leave the note on the blanket.

When you get to work you’re unsurprised to see James isn’t there. Lin, however, slumps with disappointment when you come through alone. “Is he not coming today?”

“I don’t know,” you say and toss your keys on the desk.

“Did…did you guys have a fight?” she asks warily.

“Not that I know of,” you say. You make sure your jacket is firmly on the hook and start for the front. “I’m going to put the music on early; is that okay with you?”

“Oh boy,” she mutters under her breath just before you leave her radius.

But she doesn’t bother you for the rest of the morning, and apparently she also gets the word out, because even Melissa and your new employee Devika leave you alone. That, or they can feel the annoyance seeping from you. It’s not the way you’d like to be, so you try to keep to the back as much as possible.

It’s stupid. It feels stupid. James’s issues are his own and you don’t need to feel so upset over it, but the feeling creeps over you throughout the day and tendrils around and around until you finally realize just what is making you feel so strongly, and it’s not that James is avoiding you for reasons unknown. It’s that you know the signs, and the first person you’ve felt almost completely safe with in a long, long time is going to leave soon.

Fuck.

~

“Hey. I need to tell you something.”

You blink your eyes open to nearly utter darkness and James, barely lit by light from outside. You squint at him. “James? What time is it?”

“2:24,” he says.

You struggle to sit but you wake up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. We gotta talk,” he says and sits on the edge of the bed.

“You couldn’t wait an hour for me to wake up?” you ask and really squint when he turns on the bedside lamp.

“I’ve been chickening out of this for long enough.” You smell the coffee before he hands it to you. “Here.”

You take a sip. Not bad. “I didn’t know I had any coffee in the house.”

James snorts. “You didn’t. You’ve never even used that coffee maker.”

“I think I have.” You try to remember. “Once?”

“The manual was still inside.”

“Oh.” You take a few more sips, but the more you stall the more James looks like he’s about to bolt. Eventually you sigh and put– well, accidentally slam– the cup down. “James, if you want to leave, you can. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know. I don’t want–” His eyes bug out and he has to center himself. The way he then looks at you is…flat. Resolute. “You're going to want me to leave. And that’s okay. I’m…I’m thankful. You’ve been good to me, even though I’ve done nothing to deserve it. Done everything to not deserve it, actually.”

“Are you the serial killer out of the two of us?” you joke.

“Does assassin count?”

You can’t laugh, because he’s not joking. He’s really not joking when he tells you about it. About how he fell to nearly certain death but was…not saved but retrieved; and how he was tortured and brainwashed and then ordered to do terrible things as ‘The Winter Soldier’–

“Hey,” you say, a strange memory tugging at your brain. “Isn’t ‘the Winter Soldier’ the guy who tried to kill–”

James holds out a book and opens it. You recognize it as an old textbook, but what’s inside is more important. It’s his face, taking up nearly an entire page, and the caption just above his thumb reads “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes–”

“What the hell.” You’re really glad you put the coffee down but there’s only so much you can take in at– you look– three in the morning. But if James is telling a tale he’s really selling it. Especially when his left hand catches your eye and you realize it looks like metal. You grip it and it is metal, but he lets you pull and poke at it and then he curls his fingers around your hand and holy shit.

You let go and pinch the bridge of your nose. Too. Early. “James, are you all right? Is someone coming to hurt you? Do you need to go into hiding? Will you come back?”

He blinks. “You– I–” He frowns. “I just told you what a monster I am and you’re worried that I won’t come back?”

“Yes,” you blurt out, awash in relief that he doesn’t want to leave, it’s just that he might have to. Somehow, that does make it better. And worse. “Do you need me to buy you a plane ticket?”

“Jesus Christ.” He rubs his face. “You’re unreal.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say. “And I’m not the one who decided to make the confession of a lifetime by rousing someone out of bed at two in the morning.”

He’s quiet. So are you. Honestly, part of you is wondering how easily you’re believing this, but– that’s James’s face, and that arm is– and Captain America had that press conference to vouch for the Winter Soldier’s innocence, and is this any weirder than aliens and global conspiracies?

“It’s a lot,” he says. “I’ll give you a few days to think about it.” He gets up and, before you can say a word, slips out of the window. The last you see of him is his hand, glinting in the light.

~

You’re sitting at James’s table and staring at his face in the book when you hear a gasp from behind you. You jump out of your skin and turn in your chair to see Lin gawking at the photo. “I thought he looked like– but– oh my god, what if he got the serum too?!”

Right. Captain America fan number one; how could you forget. You rub your temples. “Before you get too deep into the conspiracy rabbit hole, sit down and let me explain.”

She plops down and stares at you attentively. You can only hope she doesn’t have anything in the oven. Regardless, you do your best to recount what James told you, and include some of his stories. Lin reacts mostly how you expect her to.

“Poor James,” she says and holds her heart. “When Captain America came back there were a lot of conspiracy theories about how the same might have happened to him; the camp he was held in did a lot of–” She cringes. “But it…makes sense that they might have got some of it right.”

“Mm hm.” Sense. Right.

“Is he in trouble? Do we… will we have to fight Captain America?”

You open your mouth to reassure her, only to realize that she doesn’t seem to need reassurance at all. “You…sound a little too excited at the idea.”

“Oh, he would destroy us,” Lin says, still too excited in your opinion. “But it would give James time to escape and–” she sighs with longing, “–what a way to go.”

You hope James comes back soon. In the meantime, you’re going to look up some good therapists. It sounds like everybody here needs one.

~

James is standing outside the shop, slightly bent but not completely hunched. It’s not raining, but it is foggy out. He watches you approach, like he’s just waiting for the moment you’ll tell him to beat it.

“You have good timing.” You unlock and hold open the door. “Lin said she’s going to be experimenting today.”

He hesitates but then stands up straight and walks in ahead of you.

He doesn’t talk about leaving again.

~

James is fiddling at the sink when you finally get rid of a very friendly customer. You toss the paper they left without giving it a glance and since it’s a quiet period, you start working on making notes for ordering. You can feel James staring at you and you think you know why, so you ignore him.

“He was nice.”

Bingo.

“He was,” you agree, not lifting your head from your notebook.

“He was flirting with you.”

“I noticed,” you say, but James’s tone is flat enough to draw your attention. He’s as focused on the cup he’s drying as you were with the page you were writing on.

“Then why don’t you…” The silence stretches on and that dish is getting to be very dry. “Respond?”

You sigh. “Did the girls put you up to this?”

“No. I just…” The ceramic cracks in his hands and he flinches.

“It’s all right; it’s just a cup,” you say and scan for blood. Nothing, thank goodness.

“You didn’t even let me say anything,” he grumbles and pulls his hands open to stare at the big broken pieces.

“Either I’m psychic or you’re predictable.” You point at the door to the back. “The big trash can just inside has a better bag.”

“Okay.” He dumps the shards inside the remainder of the cup for the time being. “But you…you’re good.”

He’s trying to express something and you’re not sure what. “I’m a lot of things,” you tell him.

“You’re a good person,” he insists. He finally looks at you, eyes narrowed even though he says, “You deserve something like that.”

That’s a loaded sentence, but you know what he means. “I’m a lot of things,” you repeat. “And…there’s no such thing as deserving. At least, I hope not.”

“You and me both,” he mutters and you snort.

“If I deserve anything, then I hope I deserve to go after what I want.” You’re tempted to move closer. You lean on the counter to stop yourself. “I’ve had people who thought they ‘deserved’ me. Or parts of me. But it doesn’t work like that. Nobody really gets what they deserve, I don’t think. But sometimes that’s a good thing.”

“Are you sure about that?” James’s voice is strained like he’s on a wire.

“Emphatically yes.”

There’s silence, and staring, and not much else for several seconds. Maybe even minutes. James, eventually, awkwardly, slinks to the back, cup in hand and an unintelligible excuse leaving his lips. You get back to work and are unsurprised when you go back to shut off the lights and find that you’re utterly alone.

You are surprised when you get home and he’s there. He gets up off the couch and comes up to you before you can hang your coat.

“What if I want the wrong thing?”

You try to mentally catch up to where he is. Failing that, you ask, “Who says it’s wrong?”

“Me.”

“Then is it really wrong?”

He moves even closer– so much closer; breath-hitting-skin closer. “I want…to believe that people get what they deserve.”

He looms over you, eyes wide, almost wild, and yet you have never feared anyone less. You swallow that overwhelming thought, because you know exactly what he means. If only he was talking about Hydra. “Say and think what you want but I’ll never believe you deserve what you think you do. You deserve soft blankets, and cups of good coffee, and pastries.”

His nostrils flare and his lips press together tightly. He has to compose himself. “I’ll never be tame.”

“You’ll never be soft,” you correct. “Not completely. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have those things. If you want them.”

His throat pulses like he’s swallowing a rock. “I want a lot.”

“Then ask.”

~

He never does– not directly, anyway. He tilts his head when you’re dealing with an irate customer and stands down at your signal. He asks if you need anything from the sandwich shop. He leaves for a few days and comes back with flowers, and stares at you to see if you like them. He puts his hand on your shoulder, light and ready to leave, until you lean into his touch.

The day he first bends down to kiss you, he stops just before he reaches your lips, until you let out a breathless “uh huh,” and then he doesn’t leave for a long time.

It’s not perfect. You get snappish; he broods and disappears. But at the end of the day you apologize or he comes back and the two of you twine together at night.

It’s not perfect, but you’d be hard-pressed to think of anything better.

~

There’s a man standing outside your shop.

He’s tall and incredibly well built, but hunched over himself like he holds the world on his shoulders. When he sees you coming, though, he stands up straight and smiles like ‘tired’ doesn’t exist. It’s almost impressive, how quickly he flips that switch.

“Good morning,” you greet the stranger as you start to unlock the door.

“Morning,” he replies, like it’s mid-morning instead of a barely broken dawn still in the midst of shaking off the dark. “What time do you open?”

“Not for another hour I’m afraid,” you say and glance in.

“That’s all right,” he’s quick to reassure you. “I can wait.”

“I’ll see if I can’t move a little quicker,” you say.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine; there’s no rush.”

“All right.” You step inside and hold the door just a crack. “But if I come back to open up and find out you’ve been lured away by the siren call of Starbucks then I’m going to be very upset.”

You shut the door on Captain America’s laughter.

You go through the door to the back to put your things down. James and Lin are at work frosting something. You hesitate and wonder if you should ask him aside when he, still concentrated on his piping, says, “I know.”

“What do you want me to do?” you ask. Lin is so focused she’s not being nosy, so it’s technically just the two of you right now.

“If he asks…” James stops and sits back. He sighs. “Never mind; I’ll talk to him. Just…do what you normally do.”

You kiss his cheek. “I’ll run interference if you need it.”

“What’s going on?” Lin asks, blinking as she’s broken out of the zone by the realization she’s lost her assistant.

“The love of your life, ‘Captain of your heart,’ is here,” you say, watching James’s face. He snorts, but his flat expression doesn’t change at all.

Lin gasps and drops her piping bag right onto the cookie she was working on. Well, there’s your breakfast, at least. “How’s my hair? Do I have–” Lin catches sight of James and does a 180. She slumps. “Wait, do we actually have to fight Captain America now? I’m not ready for this…”

James does lighten up when he looks at her. “Why do you think you have to fight him?”

“To give you a head start,” Lin says. “By the way, if you ever need a different place to lay low, I have a trench coat, a wide variety of wigs, and a go-bag stashed in my hall closet.”

She goes back to frosting like she hadn’t just made you (and James) stare agog. You and James then share a look. He opens his mouth to speak.

“If you’re not going to run, though, you need to get back to work.”

You smile when James rolls his eyes. “You heard the boss,” you say and squeeze his shoulder on the way out, only letting go when your feet take you too far.

The morning progresses…normally, if not easily. Captain America is your first customer of the day and he is entirely pleasant. He boasts that he didn’t even think about going to Starbucks and you give him a free croissant for a reward. However even if you somehow didn’t  know why he was here before, it becomes painfully apparent when he sits down and goes on watch more pointed than a cartoon hunting dog.

The clock ticks and you go about your day, tending to customers as they come and go. It’s after Lin has left when James finally puts the poor guy out of his misery– by coming in the front door and plopping down right across from him. You get to be witness to Captain America almost being taken out by a heart attack. You and one other customer, but she looks more interested in her coffee than anything around her.

Or so you think. You can’t hear the conversation James is having with his old friend but that doesn’t stop you from checking in. Frequently. However at one point you happen to notice your other customer staring intently at them– and then she makes direct eye contact with you.

Shit. She stands, paper cup in hand, and saunters towards you. You wait, but just as soon as she gets to the counter, James slides between you and it.

Even with him blocking her there, you can feel the tension ratchet. When you peer around him, it’s mostly what you expect– Captain America is out of his seat and crouching like he expects to fight. The woman, however, simply looks up at James with a single raised brow.

“I just wanted a refill.” She raises her cup.

James doesn’t move. “Bucky?” Captain America says warily, edging closer. Nobody backs down.

You poke James in the back but he still doesn’t budge, so you sigh and reach over his shoulder to hold your hand out. The cup is placed in your palm and you take it over to the coffee machine. When you bring it back, though, you notice a problem. “James, I cannot get this over you. Scoot three inches to the left, please.”

He moves so infinitesimally you’d be willing to bet he somehow followed your directions down to the centimeter. However it’s enough space for you to give the woman her drink.

“‘James?’” comes from startlingly close to you and you turn to find Captain America encroaching on your space. Instinct kicks in at that point, so hard that when James tries to move you hold him aside with one arm.

“Sir,” you say, maybe a little sharp but you hate having too many people behind the counter, especially when they don’t belong there. “Are you one of my employees?”

“Um…no?” the captain says uncertainly.

“Then you need to step back from behind the counter.” You narrow your eyes at him when he doesn’t move. “Now.”

He backs up a step, bewildered. “Yeah Steve,” the woman says. “Employees only.”

You don’t look at her, but ‘Steve’ does, and he then follows an invisible line to the aprons you have hanging in the front. James has one, of course, though he never wears it, and that must be what the captain sees. “O-…oh.”

“Do either of you need anything else?” you ask. Politely.

“No,” the woman says. “In fact, I think we’ll be leaving for the day. Steve?”

Captain America looks set to argue, but he looks at James and…softens. Almost unnervingly. You don’t know why it puts you on edge, but you stay so even when the captain swallows anxiously. “Can we…come back tomorrow?”

James nods but remains a wall of tension. As soon as they're out the door you tug at James’s shirt until he turns and you can wrap your arms around him, and he can do the same to you.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “But I–…it’s…a lot.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re going to say more, but over James’s shoulder you see Captain America looking in the window, and the expression on his face punches you in the gut. ‘Heartbroken’ doesn’t begin to cover it.

Even after James slinks away to the back and Melissa comes in just in time to help with the rush, you can’t stop thinking about it.

~

You get a clearer picture the next day, when Captain Rogers comes alone and he and James have a conversation filled with more awkward pauses than actual words. However when James stands up and turns to leave, the captain looks at him with unrestrained longing, and James’s face is an absolute mess of tangled emotion.

Well.

You don’t freak out or panic, though. James has never made you feel anything less than loved and wanted and even with Captain Rogers apparently taking an extended vacation in your town, you don’t feel threatened.

James’s nightmares get a little worse, though, and you both weather it the best you can. Even one night when he cries out, “STEVE!” and shoots up in bed. You hold him until he stops shaking, and neither of you mention it after the fact.

It takes you a week before you find the courage to bring up the issue. You corner James in the back while he’s waiting for the muffins to come out. “We need to talk. About Ca– about Steve.”

“Now?” James glances at Lin but she’s wearing headphones. He looks at the oven and sighs heavily. “Okay.”

It’s not like this is comfortable for you either, but you’d rather have it done and over with. “So you two were…”

“Yes.”

“Do you not…”

James looks at you and frowns. “It’s…complicated.”

Obviously– however. “How so?”

He slips his hand in yours and grips. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then don’t,” you say. He stares at you blankly, so you squeeze his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, and I know you aren’t either. If you want him, tell him. Maybe he’ll be okay with it too.” He inhales sharply and you kiss his hand. “I know what you think but I believe you deserve good things, like love. More than that, I believe you deserve to go after what you want.”

He shakes his head, but squeezes your hand in return. “You always say that. One day you’re going to tell me ‘no.’”

“Only when it comes to special desserts Lin makes for me, cake thief.” You back off. “Now get your boyfriend to stop looking at us with the sad puppy eyes; my heart can’t take much more Sarah McLachlan bait.”

~

You don’t see the conversation but you know when it happens. Mostly because, yes, the sad eyes do stop. Instead, they become lovelorn towards your shared partner, and grateful towards you. And Capta– Steve– starts showing up in…other…places.

Like your couch, where he sits like he’s always been there. When he sees you staring though he scrambles up. “Hi, uh…Bucky’s in the shower.”

“Okay.” You set your things down. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says politely but stands awkwardly. “How long have you and Bucky lived together?”

“I don’t know exactly,” you say and get yourself something. “I started off offering my place for him to shower and nap and he just started sticking around.”

“This is your apartment?” Steve looks surprised as he scans the place. “It’s very…”

“Sparse?” you suggest dryly.

“Minimalist,” he says politely.

James snorts as he comes out of the bathroom drying his hair and wearing only his favorite sweatpants. “I told ya– serial killer.”

“I bought something!” you say and gesture at the little decorative setup on the counter with the cute pig statue and vase of fake flowers. Both James and Steve look at each other like they’re incredibly unimpressed. “You two deserve each other,” you say and fold your arms.

Steve’s eyes soften as he looks to James and they don’t lose much of that fondness when he looks at you. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “For being okay with this.”

“I’m okay as long as you are,” you say. “I’m not sure how much you know about poly relationships…”

“A little,” Steve says before you can go on. “We’re a ‘V’, right?”

You stare at Steve. You look at James, but he’s also staring at Steve. So you go back to staring at Steve.

Steve fidgets. “I’ve been reading.”

“You’ve been reading?” you repeat. Not that you’re an expert, but you feel like the guy born in the 1910s now knows more than you.

Steve flushes red. James rolls his eyes, drapes the towel behind his neck, and goes to sling his arm across Steve’s shoulders. “Yeah, he’s a fucking nerd. He took a suitcase of books to basic.”

Steve’s face whips to the side. “How do you know that?!”

“Read it in a book,” James quips and kisses him.

And so it starts. Sleeping arrangements are awkward at first and take some time to get right. Steve apparently has a place to stay but after the first several days of you two trading James back and forth like reasonable divorced parents, they give up the ghost and just stay with you. Apparently Steve’s place is on a level less than your ‘serial killer hovel.’

“I never called it a hovel,” James says. He then steals your laptop from right under your fingers and slides a plate in its place. “No work at the dinner table,” he says and walks away.

“At least save it!” you tell him, maybe snapping, but it took you almost an hour to make that damn spreadsheet do what you wanted. Steve is smiling though so you direct your fading ire at him. “Your boyfriend is annoying.”

“Your boyfriend can be very annoying,” he says and smiles wickedly. “Just wait until you get sick.”

Sleeping doesn’t get much less awkward yet. Steve tries to bypass the issue by taking the couch, but after a couple of days it seems cruel that he can’t ever lie with James, and that he’s all scrunched up.

“I can’t take your bed,” he says.

“Maybe we can share?” you suggest and look at James for the okay. “It’s a really big bed. And has a pretty, not-serial-killer comforter.”

James rolls his eyes so hard he hurts himself.

The first run of this plan hits a snag, though, when all three of you very suddenly discover that James does not like being boxed in in any way. It takes so long to calm him down and coax him back to bed that you pass out on the other side of Steve while he comforts James.

The next night you and Steve awkwardly (because that’s the name of the game now, apparently) work out a system where James is always at his preferred side while the two of you trade who takes the center.

This falls apart, again, because Steve also does not like being in the center at all. Not that he tells you this, no; you just go to sleep on Steve’s other side and wake up ensconced by him and James. It freaks you out at first, but Steve has left room between the two of you and James’s arm is wrapped around your middle.

You keep up the farce for a little while, until you decide you’d rather save Steve the effort and you the daily morning heart attack, and you just never switch again. After that, it actually becomes easier to get comfortable. James still spends time with you and Steve separately, but you all go to bed together. It’s weird, but it works.

Steve stays while his friends cover for him back home, but there’s not much for a supersoldier to do, so he hangs around.

Mostly with you. “Since we’re both dating the same person, we should probably be friends,” Steve says and you can’t fault that logic. So as James keeps more to the back with Lin, Steve starts to take his place in the front. He sets up the tables, learns to make coffee, and keeps you company during the slow periods. Going to bed together becomes easier; you stop shrinking away from him, and one day you wake up with his arm across you and James and you don’t panic.

Naturally, that’s the day Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson show up to take Steve away for some reason or another. They use your back office to discuss it and the end result is that Steve hugs you goodbye. Then he hugs and kisses James goodbye.

“He’s in good hands,” James says even as he tries to curl up within you that night. “And I…I don’t fight anymore.”

“He’ll be fine,” you say, even as you curl around him and try to ignore how cold your back is.

Two days pass like an eternity, but on the third night you come home to find James snuggled up on the couch with Steve, who looks like he never left.

“Hi,” he says, smiling at you warmly. “Everything went well.”

“Good. That’s…good,” you say, arms itching to wrap around him and check for yourself. You hold back, though, and let your heart settle.

~

James still has bad days, even with Steve and you both. Maybe because of it.

One such day (night? Morning? You’re not sure anymore) he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, where you sit and dry his hair with hands you have to force yourself to keep steady. Rain beats against the windows and Steve sits next to you now, warm and present, but Bucky still feels like a live wire under your hands and you’re terrified he’ll run back out into the storm again, but that this time he won’t come back when Steve asks.

“You don’t have to fix me.”

You slow, and let the towel fall over James’s head. He sounds as tired as you feel, weary to the bone. You drape yourself over his back.

“No one is trying to fix you,” Steve says and wraps his arms around both of you.

“If you say it’s because I’m not broken I might deck you,” James mutters.

“I was going to say it’s because no one’s qualified,” Steve replies smartly.

There’s a moment when James is so silent you’re afraid he’s taken it to heart, but he turns his head to scowl at Steve. “Asshole,” he says and Steve grins.

You roll your eyes. “Yes. You both are,” you say, and when Steve and Bucky exchange a look you consider making them sleep on the couch. So maybe you are kind of an asshole too. But Steve is right in one way– no one in the world is qualified to deal with either of them. But you’re going to do your best regardless, because they do no less for you.

~

“Are you all right?!”

The answer is a resounding no, but you’re shaking too hard to respond. The car that almost hit you is gone but Steve is almost frantic, holding you tight enough that it’s almost too tight, and too many people are standing around, probably drawn by the sound of squealing tires and accompanying sight of near-bloodshed.

“Let’s– go,” you stammer, gripping Steve’s arms. He’s gone under the radar so far and you don’t want to be the reason the veil lifts.

“Okay,” he says and helps you up. “We’re almost home.” His arms linger around you. “Do you want me to…”

“Just let me lean on you,” you say, and he does. He holds you close while you make your way home, and he doesn’t let go even while James frets. He doesn’t let go for a long while.

~

It’s a peaceful night. You’re all on the bed, watching TV, and James and Steve both lie on either side of you with their heads butting together in your lap while you play with their hair. James gets up at one point to make some popcorn, and everything is normal. Until you look down and see Steve, completely relaxed with your fingers in his hair, and you can’t look away. His eyes flick to you and then stay as his head tilts curiously.

“Hey,” you say, smiling slowly. “When did I get another boyfriend?”

Steve’s eyes widen marginally, but his smile can only be described as ‘comfortable,’ and James chuckles as he settles in next to you.

“Don’t worry– he grows on ya,” James says and kisses your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, sweeping your curved hand down the side of Steve’s face. His eyes flutter shut in response. “He really does.”

~

Captain America’s retirement and succession come as a shock and Steve stays away while the world reels, but Sam Wilson soon becomes the country’s most controversial sweetheart and Steve, already fading into the background, comes home. And life goes on. For everyone.

“What am I going to do?!” you wail, safe in the company of only Steve and James. Lin’s acceptance into Le Cordon Bleu had been an absolutely delightful announcement that culminated with you taking every employee out for a celebratory dinner, and you’re ecstatic for her, truly. It’s just…

“Maybe Ed will want to go full time?” Steve suggests gently, referring to the temp you have on hand so that Lin can take a day off every now and then.

“He can’t work full time.” You hold your face in your hands. You have time, plenty of time, but Lin is so good in every way that trying to replace her is going to be impossible.

“I have an idea.”

You sit up and Steve sits back. James sits there, lips slightly pursed and head bowed even though his eyes glance up and down. You give him the time he needs, until he finally says, “I could do it.”

“Really?” you blurt out.

He nods. “Lin’s taught me a lot; I know how to make just about everything you sell, and you couldn’t even tell which one was mine the last time Lin had you test.”

“I wasn’t– I meant– I know you can do it,” you say. “But…you want to?”

He frowns hard for a moment, and then relaxes completely. “Yes. I want to do this. If– if you’ll let me.”

“Okay,” you say, some of the panic leaving you. “Okay.”

~

It’s early but not too early. You’re still in bed, savoring the feel of a day off. Bucky has left the bed, probably to get some coffee, but Steve is still draped over you, deeply asleep. The sun creeps through the window, crawling over the desk on the far end of the room, over Steve’s logo designs, and up the bright blue wall you all just painted a few weeks ago. You admire the color, squint at a streak you missed, and then stare at the desk top. You’re tempted to go steal a look at the papers, but you’re honestly too comfortable.

Steve squeezes your midsection and places a sleepy kiss to your shoulder. “No peeking,” he mumbles and moves up closer.

His hair tickles your neck and you squirm. “How did you know?”

“You haven’t been subtle about it.” He yawns. “Where’s Bucky?”

“I don’t know. Abandoned us for coffee probably.”

“How rude.”

“I know, right?” You pat the empty space. “You get to cuddle me but who am I supposed to cuddle?”

“You could cuddle me,” Steve says.

You wiggle, but his grip doesn’t allow for much. “I’d have to turn around.”

“Oh. Moving is out.” He shoves his face into your shoulder. He mumbles something else but drifts back off to sleep and you’re about to follow him when you see something odd on the side table that you haven’t noticed before now. Along with the lotion and books and odd knick-knacks that have accumulated over time, there’s a cup. A coffee cup, mostly white but for lines of jagged silver, and there’s a tiny flower peeking over the lip. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it’s pretty.

James sets his coffee cup next to it and you're struck by how similar the two mugs are. “Is that cup from the shop?” you ask, staring at the one with the plant.

“Yup.” James runs a hand up and down your arm. “I broke it, but…it’s still good. Just needed something else to do.”

“Oh.” He gets back into bed, somehow sliding under you without disturbing Steve, and just before you doze off again you ask, “Why silver?”

“Gold’s too bright, and I like it fine,” he says and wiggles his metallic fingers. He kisses your head. “Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay,” you say, and you do.

It’s not perfect.

It’s better.

[ficclique]

In addition to our own personal top fics (which you can view here), we asked you all to send us your choices for your fics of the decade and why you loved them. We received so many wonderful submissions, and now want to share them with everybody! In an effort to not make this post too long we’ve edited down the comments that people left us, but everyone had some really lovely things to say, so if anything catches your eye here we really encourage you to take a look at the complete list of comments here.

Without further ado, please enjoy the top fics of the decade as chosen by you, our listeners: 

Submitted by: Cricket

Fic 1: pilgrimage by wolfsupremacist

Info: EXO RPF, Baekhyun/Sehun

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411497/chapters/43607615

Cricket’s comment: I can't get over all the building in this fic -- the world building, the character building, the relationship building. The main character’s development was like watching a child grow: it's hard to see it happening, but once you reflect on who he became versus who he was, it's so obvious how he changed.

Fic 2: the eye of providence by minhyukwithagun

Info: NCT RPF, Jaehyun/Taeyong

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981330

Cricket’s comment: I have genuinely never laughed so hard while reading a fic.There were so many little details that the author added that were unnecessary to the overall plot but just made the characters so much more real. You get to learn so much about everyone in such a (relatively) short amount of time.

Fic 3: so collect your scars and wear them well by addandsubtract

Info: Hockey RPF, Connor McDavid/Dylan Strome

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5075128

Cricket’s comment: I feel like this fic changed me as a writer. It touches on such a relatable subject: that feeling of being completely unsure of what you should do with your life when Plan A doesn't work out, and discovering who you are without the thing that you previously thought defined you.

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Submitted by: Claire

Fic 1: The Baffled King and The Idiot Hero by Ellarose C

Info: Hetalia, ?

Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/5819880/1/

Claire’s comment: This fic launched 3 of my high school friendships that continue to this day. It's cute and Hallmark levels of unrealistic, and I LOVE it. The overwhelming nostalgia and gratefulness I feel towards this fic (and all of Carrie's work, honestly) still blows me away.

Fic 2: Embers by Vathara

Info: Avatar: The Last Airbender, gen

Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/5398503/1/

Claire’s comment: The best, wildest, most comprehensively worldbuilt ATLA fic I have ever read. Tea, dragons, realistic motivations, that ending... perfect. *chef kiss*

Fic 3: Of A Linear Circle (series) by flamethrower

Info: HP, various

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/755028

Claire’s comment: I linked the whole series because I simply cannot pick a favorite installment. OaLC focuses on fixing the glaring plot holes in the Wizarding education system, accurately depicting the Founders' Era thanks to copious research, and showing that no one is truly irredeemable (except Voldemort himself, who more than earns it).

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Submitted by: Threepwillow

Fic 1: All the Other Ghosts by rainjoys

Info: Glee, Kurt/Blaine

Link: https://rainjoyswriting.livejournal.com/146587.html

Threepwillow’s comment: All The Other Ghosts and its direct sequel, Grey, are some of the most incredibly original and simultaneously incredibly transformative works of fanfiction I have ever read. The way they masterfully twist elements of canon to fit into the lore of their AU is second only to the profound, revelatory character studies that they've executed. This shit is extraordinary.

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Submitted by: Segs

Fic 1: Hemostuck (series) by roachpatrol and urbanAnchorite

Info: Homestuck, various

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/8470

Seg’s comment: THE WORLDBUILDING. THE ARTWORK. THE NARRATIVE VOICE(S). THE INCREDIBLE GRASP ON CHARACTERIZATION. DID I MENTION THE WORLDBUILDING.

Fic 2: transistor by fishcola

Info: Polygon RPF, Brian/Pat

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18760093/chapters/44503969

Seg’s comment: Rips my heart to shreds piece-by-piece and then gently puts it back together in the end. It's another put-these-characters-in-a-darker-setting sort of thing. It is brilliant and beautiful and I love it dearly.

Fic 3: any sign of spring by bluecarrot

Info: Hamilton, Hamilton/Burr

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523227/chapters/17100376

Seg’s comment: This fic is so dang atmospheric. It feels very physical -- the temperature, the environment, the drawing. It's bittersweet, but ends on the sweet, and I think the sweetness is all the more emphasized for it. Rereading it feels like coming back to a familiar place.

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Submitted by: Ang

Fic 1: Anarchy In The U.K. by Yahtzee

Info: X-Men First Class, Erik/Charles

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673552/chapters/1232410

Ang’s comment: the writing of this one made it so easy to get completely lost in the au while still knowing the characters so well from the source material! super engaging, totally consumed my life for a week

Fic 2: blackjacks running down by back by dangerbears

Info: 1D, Harry/Louis

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499474

Ang’s comment: this is like my comfort blanket fic! every time i reread it (even though i'm not in that fandom anymore), it's still just as funny and cute as it was the very first time i read it - again the au is so easily believable because the characterizations are so familiar.

Fic 3: this city bleeds its aching heart by renne

Info: MCU, Steve/Bucky

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835829

Ang’s comment: unsurprisingly, it's another au that is so easy to fall into! this is another one that i've been consistently rereading since i first read it (in 2015, for this one) because it's my absolute favorite trope with a ship that i'm still very much into!

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Submitted by: Scout

Fic 1: she called it a void by vans88

Info: Star Wars, Finn/Poe/Rey

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5493500

Scout’s comment: Short and powerful and essential to anyone's viewing of the new Star Wars trilogy. Seriously one of the most careful, tender, and graceful queer addendums to a piece of pop culture this decade.

Fic 2: The Love Song of The North American Douchebag by gyzym

Info: Star Trek RPF, Chris/Zach

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852395

Scout’s comment: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I HOPE I CAN SWEAR. I'm not even in this fandom. The world building is just THAT good. It's one of my highlights *because* of its power to draw me in as a standalone. So much fucking talent in the transformative work community. The banter, characterization, sardonic-ness of this – international impact baby!

Fic 3: all this learning here is by you by decinq, nighimpossible

Info: Hockey RPF, Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5105441

Scout’s comment: Revolutionized – and I would argue – drove the GROWTH AND SURVIVAL of hockey fandom. One of the best known works in the fandom, and a masterclass in how to build a set of characters that you're genuinely envious you don't get to see or know. Two incredible authors and a plethora of personality. Fun and sexy and lighthearted but poignant. Chef kiss.

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Submitted by: Em

Fic 1: the subtle science and exact art of chess-boxing, by fishcola

Info: Polygon RPF, Brian/Pat

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18931885/chapters/44945971

Em’s comment: fishcola is definitely one of the top reasons i actually started reading/writing polygon rpf. this fic!!!!! i sWEAR its so /so/ good oh my GOSH. yes, full disclosure im fish's beta for chessboxing but also i am enthusiastic simply because it is a very beautiful and powerful narrative on trauma, healing, and how the people we choose to interact with affect our emotions.

Fic 2: the old men call me by my mother’s name by theviolonist

Info: HP, Hermione/Ron

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044467

Em’s comment: as a certified Trans(TM) im always pursuing and consuming trans content. the old men call me by my mother's name is an hp fic that i still cherish years after first reading it. trans!ron is a concept not often explored in hp fic, much less trans /girl/ ron. massive gender feels, folks.

Fic 3: national hot dad alliance is now calling… by dicaeopolis, owlinaminor

Info: Haikyuu! , various

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663683/chapters/13045579

Em’s comment: national hot dad alliance really is the perfect evolution of a groupchat fic. i laughed, i cried, i fell in love with the characters all over again as these captains from different teams bond over graduating. and also being Dads(TM). in some cases-- pining over their fellow volleyball players-- plus star wars, the x-files, and memes. overall its is very good and i will stan it eternally

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Submitted by: Staci

Fic 1: No Homo, by orphan account

Info: Teen Wolf, Stiles/Derek

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148039/chapters/2326073

Staci’s comment: Literally my favorite AU ever written. The characterization is SO on point and it truly is a super fun read. It’s also a super long which helps with painting such a detailed picture of these two dummies who are-totally-just-bros-with-added-benefits. I’d recommend this to anyone, even if they’re unaware of Teen Wolf, but if you’re a Teen Wolf fan then it’s even better.

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Submitted by: Nadine

Fic 1: Too Long, Too Close (series) by callmejude

Info: MCU RPF, Chris/Sebastian

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/253528

Nadine’s comment: kink exploration and bdsm done well.... and so thoroughly. but there's more! theres FEELINGSSSSSS uhhhhhhh it made me CRY it's so good.

Fic 2: On a Clear Day by Saras_Girl

Info: HP, Harry/Draco

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879841

Nadine’s comment: I could've put a few other fics by this author because they write the best drarry but uhhhhh. I had to choose and it was either gonna be TURN or this one. Idk why but this one makes me so unbelievably emotional bc it was Harry who's Going Through Stuff and I just loved it a lot.

Fic 3: around the world in eighty thousand days, by fallfreely

Info: 1D, Liam/Harry

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856935

Nadine’s comment: It was hard to pick a 1D fave but I think that this fic always had a v special place in my heart & I can't even explain why. I love the dynamic of this pairing (even though it's not even my OTP, wtf. I'm a Gryles and Narry truther... *eye emoji*) and the whole FEEL of this fic and it's slow burn tour fic, soo.

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Submitted by: Frecklebomb

Fic 1: Shalbatana

Info: Mars Trilogy, Gen

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6629

Frecklebomb’s comment: A beautifully-written gen fic (with an incredibly gorgeous podfic by Luzula) in the near-future-scifi Mars Trilogy fandom but very easy to enjoy without canon knowledge. I revisit this story over and over and always marvel at the presence of the landscape and alien planet in it, the way it feels like a character. Bonus Mars rover feelings (I cry every time about the robot).

Fic 2: Through a Glass Darkly, by susiecarter

Info: DCU, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19395793/chapters/46155535

Frecklebomb’s comment: Sprawling post-apocalyptic epic, so rich and cinematic that it feels like a movie I somehow read. The worldbuilding and tension of the focal ship are what sucked me into this fic, but what stayed with me was the richness of the ensemble characters. I find myself just thinking about their character arcs, and imagining what they'd be doing post-story. I want fic of this fic.

Fic 3: Too Far Down The Road, by SoniaVice

Info: Hockey, OMC/OMC

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13208136/chapters/30212907

Frecklebomb’s comment: An amnesia trope origfic set in handwavey hockey fandom (author said they 'set it free' to be OMC/OMC when the dynamic needed to be different from the RPF ship it started out as). It gives me so many good feelings about family (of choice and otherwise) and ageing and self-acceptance and sexuality, and the way you can choose to be changed by the people you spend your life with.

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Submitted by: Em (Springsteen)

Fic 1: Pull Me Under, by zarah5

Info: 1D, Harry/Louis

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870766

Em’s comment: first of all zarah5 is a fandom legend. second, this is like the pinnacle of fake relationship fics to me it's 140k and so much of it is pining and like truly, who among us doesn't love harry styles with their whole heart. I can't think about the '10s without thinking about one direction and when this fic came out I remember a lot of people fully losing their minds.

Fic 2: Door to Door, by Ferritin4

Info: Hockey RPF, Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478298

Em’s comment: this is one of the first hockey fics I ever read and I still come back to it so often. The relationship builds so well, Tyler's dogs are in it, it's just so sweet, and plus it's a very readable 10k.

Fic 3: Darling It Is No Joke, by thehoyden

Info: Teen Wolf, Stiles/Derek

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399194

Em’s comment: look I can't be retrospective about this decade and /not/ include a sterek fic. the first half of this decade for me was all 1d and teen wolf and full disclosure, it's been a while since I've reread this fic, but I remember the banter being really stellar and thehoyden is another one of those authors who I just. Adore.

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Submitted by: Dan

Fic 1: The Heart Rate of a Mouse (series) by Anna (arctic_grey)

Info: Bandom, Ryan Ross/Brendan Urie

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/712953

Dan’s comment: This fic is incredibly iconic. It’s definitely one of my favorites of all time—the way the story is told is just heart wrenching, and it manages to always keep you on edge about what’s going to happen. The portrayal of self discovery, love, jealousy, down to the settings and all the social issues of the time period (the 70s), is amazingly done.

Fic 2: The Cat’s Miaow by Pennyplainknits

Info: Bandom, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930529

Dan’s comment: This fic is unlike anything else I’ve read. First off, I LOVE historical AUs, and the noir setting is everything I could have wanted and more. The author has managed to create such a delicate and profound romance along with an interesting plot that borders on thriller without ever going too far with either side of the story.

Fic 3: Get Real Get Right (Fuckin Right) by sophiahelix

Info: Riveyonce Cuoknowles, Sufjan Stevens/Drake

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9029020

Dan’s comment: Honestly? This is just art.

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Submitted by: Carina

Fic 1: Bite Marks by provocative_envy

Info: HP, Hermione/Draco

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580953/chapters/7894464

Carina’s comment: i've shied away from aus in harry potter fic for years, especially american college aus but this fic in my opinion kept the best of the characters and modernized them in a way that felt true to who they are.

Fic 2: old jokes from a wild youth, by knightspur

Info: SEVENTEEN RPF, Mingyu/Minghao

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18127073

Carina’s comment: mingyu and minghao are in love, but they're not soulmates. i love the dynamics and the quiet intimacy between them, and also how they work through wanting to be together despite them not having a bond in the way soulmates have.

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Submitted by: Katy

Fic 1: The River and The Deep Green Bend by liquidmeasure

Info: 1D, Harry/Niall

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005275

Katy’s comment: this fic honestly surpasses the genre of fic. it is a genre all its own. it is the pinnacle in catharsis and heartbreak and having a satisfying end that is completely unsatisfying as well. I will never recover from this fic.

Fic 2: Out of the Dead Land by Orphan Account

Info: MCU, Steve/Bucky

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871955

Katy’s comment: there is a specific phrase in this fic that has and will continue to stay with me. I will never hear the phrase "up or down" without feeling immense heartbreak. an amazing blend of source material to create something altogether its own - but could still take place in either canon

Fic 3: Up We Go by Oh_Hey_Tae

Info: BTS, Taehyung/Jimin

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12297168

Katy’s comment: this fic is one that I found more recently, but I can already tell that it is one that is going to stick with me for a long long time. it is another fic that I feel transcends the genre of fic entirely

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Submitted by: Corie

Fic 1: Build A Temple In Me by Authoress

Info: Haikyuu!, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716002

Corie’s comment: A wonderful and moving fanfic with fantasy akin to studio ghibli. If I have to recommend Haikyuu fanfiction this is it.

Fic 2: Close to the Chest by darkmagicalgirl

Info: Haikyuu!, Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898771/chapters/8721568

Corie’s comment: Another haikyuu!! Fic! I remember reccing this to my friend and she said it was more akin to a novel then any fanfiction she has read. High praise IMO

Fic 3: Fake Sugar by minverse

Info: BTS, Jungkook/Seokjin

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707098/chapters/33987549

Corie’s comment: Oh sweet god I love minverse’s writing and this fic has it all. Romance, smut, and a nice dollop of humor.

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Submitted by: Abby

Fic 1: an awful curse by blinkiesays

Info: Teen Wolf, Stiles/Derek

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604092

Abby’s comment: Non-linear timeline, au within the story, "every me loves every you," domesticity but also heavy angst, and it's so beautifully written it makes me want to cry reading it. also it harkens back to the time of when the show was still good.

Fic 2: dance this silence down (the emergency room remix) by Fahye

Info: Les Miserables, Enjorlas/Grantaire

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994140/chapters/1966093

Abby’s comment: It's such a great, understandable ensemble fic for a dense canon, with such a great modern day au setting, but the whole time it really deals with the main character's depression and alcoholism and the complete overwhelming love that he has for the guy he's shipped with. it's so gritty and real but the ending brings so much hope I love it.

Fic 3: comment fic by anon

Info: iCarly, Sam/Spencer

Link: https://author-abz.livejournal.com/35003.html

Abby’s comment: this is an ANONYMOUS comment fic someone wrote me when I was feeling down on LJ and it's so short but so complete, and it says everything it needs to about it being okay to mess up and just be messed up together. also: "glitter emergency" (technically a cheat, it's from 2008; I forgot it was so old)

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Submitted by: Kassie

Fic 1: An Exercise in ‘Worthless’ by beastofthesky

Info: Supernatural, Dean/Castiel

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535676

Kassie’s comment: an exercise in worthless introduced me (indirectly) to my favorite musician and (directly) to the subject i almost minored in during undergrad, so honestly i would put it as a fic of the decade even if it wasn’t one of the best fics i read in the supernatural fandom.

Fic 2: Superstition (series) by Superstition_hockey

Info: Hockey, OMC/OMC

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/413233

Kassie’s comment: superstition started out as a tropey, fun, lighthearted short fic, and grew into a big thing that deals with a lot of serious topics incredibly well while also being still very funny and emotional and having honestly some of my favorite fictional characters i’ve read in years

Fic 3: United States v. Barnes

Info: MCU, Steve/Bucky

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304905/chapters/5071058

Kassie’s comment: united states v barnes is the multimedia fic of my DREAMS. this is what i want to show people to explain why i love fanfic so much. it does so much with the medium its working in and the presentation of the fic, and fits that perfect fanfic niche of exploring the kind of background that will never appear in canon but that everyone wonders about.

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Submitted by: Kat

Fic 1: I’ve felt and I’ve Been by autotunedd

Info: Big Bang RPF, Seunghyun/Jiyong

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15349758/chapters/35616516

Kat’s comment: Possibly the fic that marked my entire decade. The characters are so human and real, the plot is heavy and winding and the twists sometimes seem life ending. It is heavy, it is painful, it is sad, it is angsty, it is maybe even a smidge too real and dangerous at times, but it makes a solid read, a long, relatable novel about real people with real fears and problems.

Fic 2: Eversion by thespectaclesofthor

Info: Detroit: Become Human, Hank Anderson/Connor

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15754140/chapters/36638253

Kat’s comment: Beautiful, long, detailed, well written, hard hitting, serious, sweet, painful, kinky, all in one! The characters have so much depth, their issues and inner workings seem so real and the plot is so carefully crafted and detailed, every chapter keeps you at the edge of your seat. All in all, beautifully crafted, passionate, hard hitting piece that I couldn't help falling in love with.

Fic 3: Eggshell Landscapes and the Burden of Love by NoContractTermination

Info: NCT RPF, Taeil/Johnny

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446438

Kat’s comment: Short, sweet, angsty and charming! I loved the intimate look into their relationship this fic brings, the trials and tribulations and the struggle to communicate. It all seemed so raw and real and coupled with the author's beautiful writing, it all came together in a perfect read, with bounds of re-read potential.

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Submitted by: Wen

Fic 1: the bellwether by highoctane

Info: Polygon RPF, Brian/Pat

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634426

Wen’s comment: Feelings!!! It's really refreshing to read a character who, as an established adult, is reconfiguring an understanding of himself without it being either a whole crisis or a sudden seamless lightbulb moment. It's very fair to both characters' emotions, letting them both react in a way that feels wonderfully human and real rather than idealistic.

Fic 2: Five Times the Potion Seller Refused to Sell a Potion (and One Time He Didn’t) by misura

Info: Potion Seller (Justin Kuritzkes Short Film), Knight/Potion Seller

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441447

Wen’s comment: It's based on a 3 minute meme video and if it was just a tweet or post with the title alone it would be a great joke but... someone went and wrote the dang thing! And it could have been ridiculous crackfic, and while it certainly toes that line it's also got a really fun flow of dialogue that leaves a lot to the imagination without it getting confusing.

Fic 3: I Am The Horrible Goose That Lives In The Town by Daniel Lavery

Info: The Untitled Goose Game, gen

Link: https://www.shatnerchatner.com/p/i-am-the-horrible-goose-that-lives

Wen’s comment: the writing is tremendous and sits beautifully in that razor's edge space where english is used just strangely enough to create a fantastic character voice without going too far and falling into some kind of awkward english language uncanny valley. it's so hard to pick out the best line because every line is the best line. "Here I am coming, with the good news of me, and you hate it. You can think only of the bell and how much I have it, and you are never the goose."

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Submitted by: Mage

Fic 1: Fog, Sheets and Thunder by theopteryx

Info: My Chemical Romance RPF, Frank/Gerard

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351396

Mage’s comment: i have literally thought about this fic at least once a week since i read it in 2012. do not ask me why. i have no answers.

Fic 2: Flowers in Bones by fringecity (indiachick)

Info: BTS, Taehyung/Yoongi

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256390

Mage’s comment: sometimes i just wanna be a careful selection of small animal bones that yoongi gently unearths and meticulously crafts into an altar of pressed flowers and ink

Fic 3: It Happened Quiet by hobimo

Info: BTS, Taehyung/Yoongi

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15070646/chapters/34939646

Mage’s comment: haunted woods :) cryptids :) that deeply unsettling feeling that there are greater, mysterious forces at work and there's nothing you can do about it :)

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Submitted by: BirdieLeonie

Fic 1: Reprise (series) by Elfpen

Info: Star Wars, various (Obi-Wan centric)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/454408

BirdieLeonie’s comment: I spent about seven months of my life reading nothing but Star Wars time-travel fix-it fics. (I am not exaggerating; there are enough of them to last that long or longer.) This is my favorite.

Fic 2: Friday Night Arrives Without a Suitcase by marycontraire

Info: Hockey RPF, Danny Briere/Claude Giroux

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534247

BirdieLeonie’s comment: This is a fic I have kept coming back to again and again in the years since I first read it. It's domestic and sweet and still adult. It's like curtainfic, inverted; the leads live together and parent their kids and go grocery shopping before they have a romantic or sexual relationship.

Fic 3: The Hero’s Journey; or: What Jasper Sitwell Did Last Summer (podfic), by artzbots, blackglass, daroos, girlwithabubblegun, kalakirya, Opalsong, reena_jenkins, RsCreighton, sabinelagrande

Info: MCU & Welcome to Night Vale, Jemma Simmons/Jasper Sitwell

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462223

BirdieLeonie’s comment: I love podfic, I love crossovers, and I love this fic. Again, I picked this because of all the thousands of MCU fics I've read, this is the one I find myself coming back to repeatedly. This crossover is creative, fun, and plays with one of my favorite tropes: what was happening to a minor character in the background of the story we saw?

[vanithesquidwrites]

Waiting for Water (1/8)

First fanfiction. Criticism is welcome, but try not to eat me alive! I'm here to play in the sandbox, not to become a writer. ;-)

Apologies for the somewhat reader-unfriendly Second Person PoV. It was chosen for a reason; hopefully I manage to pull it off. The first chapter is spent in a very bad mental space, by virtue of directly following the cliff, and refers to suicide rather bluntly.

The fic follows Tharaêl as PoV. The one and only relationship of the story does not involve him, and happens entirely offscreen.

Crosspost to AO3 for those who prefer to read there. Warning: 10k words post.

Maybe it's worth a try.

Maybe it's even worth thousands.

1 - TO NOWHERE

You don't remember the first day.

There has to have been one, like every other time. You know that, intellectually. And yet like every other time, it simply isn't there. Only the sound of wind, the cold of ice and snow, then waking up under a tent with your head pounding like a drum.

It makes sense, you suppose. You had other things on your mind than the company or landscape. Two decades' worth of other things. And even without them, it is a fact of life that you are shit at beginnings. Endings, you can manage. Especially bad ones. But fresh starts and rebirths? New leaves turning over? Those happen to other people. The Undercity knows no spring, and neither do its denizens.

Maybe that's why the memories never manage to stay. Or maybe the ghost of your past steals them away from you, like the mercenary said it did back in the Refuge. You suppose that makes sense as well. If the soul is long dead and the body not even yours, why should the mind be otherwise?

The second day goes by as most days do, its memories clear enough — but that day does not feature much. Mainly dark skies, the discomfort of too-small clothes you cannot recall acquiring, and a slow trek down frozen slopes, trailing the mercenary's back. Precious little words, if any, after you think to ask why you are walking in the first place.

"Because if we were to find ourselves among the merry citizens of Ark right now," the mercenary answers you, "I trust neither of us to not tear out the throat of the first prissy Sublime who walks by."

You don't believe you could. You feel too numb for that. Too numb, and much, much too tired.

You close your eyes an instant and Letho's head rolls across the tiles, as if it was a ball that had fallen from his shoulders. Your eyes fly back open, and you shudder, shaking your head to help clear the image away.

You hadn't believed you could ever tear out Letho's throat either. And yet you did, didn't you? You did. No amount of clumsy attempts to put his corpse back together is ever going to change that. Nor will any amount of dwelling within the Upper City. What will you even do, once there? You have no Path. You know no trade. How long until you fall right back into stabbing and cutting throats?

Two moons?

Three?

Perhaps it is better to walk. Perhaps the bears and wolves will solve the problem on the road. A painful solution, perhaps, but a fair one by all accounts. You feel more kin to them than to the city, anyway.

If all else fails, the fall remains, you tell yourself as a comfort. The slope is not quite as high up as the old temple was, but the cliffs remain steep, and the ground more than far enough. All you have to do is turn right, walk a little, and close your eyes — and then there will be no more questions, no more pain, no more remembering the absence behind Brother Sorrow's eyes.

But you said that you would try, and so try you do. The fall can wait. There will always be time later, unless you are dead already.

That second day is cold and unmemorable, but its evening stands out, with an improvised bonfire in the shelter of an old tomb. Your bread is long since hard, and even the mercenary’s Dal'Sark mead feels like liquid ice, but a pair of freshly-killed wolves promises good meat for the next few days. The mercenary skins and cuts with the ease born of long practice, while you prowl the area looking for dead wood, fishing twig and branch from the snow like you once did scraps from sewage. Wet wood, most of it, but still much better than the risk of running out of firewood in the night.

When you think to ask about watch, the mercenary shrugs, and answers your question by recalling the apparition she fought the Father with. You spend the rest of the evening haunted not by the ghost, but by the questions it leaves you too terrified to ask.

What is it that remains, behind the undead eyes of the lost Rhalâim?

If you were to find and dig up the corpse that once used to be yours, if you brought it to life as some Entropists do, who would be looking through its eyes?

Tharaêl Narys?

What is Tharaêl, anyway?

More questions dance across the back of your mind and eyelids, fleeting, formless, and all the more terrifying for their lack of definition. You try to grasp for words with which to give them a shape, but the sounds all die in your throat.

You end up lying back to back with the mercenary, in a half-tent half-bed assembled from her bundle of cured pelts and a pile of coffins. The corpse of the second wolf, wrapped in some old linen, serves as your common pillow. The aptness goes uncommented, but it does not go unnoticed; neither of you sleeps all that much, instead trading quiet childhood stories throughout the night.

For all the awkwardness and lack of proper sleep, and for all that the apparition nags at the back of your mind, that one night proves to be your most comfortable in years. Restful in some vague, abstract form. Perhaps because of the fire, or your freedom from the Temple.

You wake up to what the mercenary tells you is a blizzard.

The weather sees you spend third and fourth days alike walking from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn again, making use of any little bit of calm in the storm. This rock, that outcropping, those trees — all are made into shelter from the northern winds for a while. All are quickly left behind, never quite sufficient. The days run into each other, a jumbled mess of blinding snow, aching legs, and cold meat. The exhaustion builds on along with your migraine, until a cloud of hollowness settles over your mind at the sight of the ghost hacking at wolves and bears.

You know you knew the man before. You recognize his silhouette, the line of his shoulders and the shape of his brow. You remember that your first glimpse of the ghost had surprised you, five days ago — just as you remember that you proceeded not to care. You had been more... amused... by the mercenary turning the Father's own lamb against him than scandalized by the fate of your so-called brother.

You knew him then. You know you did. And yet his name escapes you now, no matter how deep you try to dig into your mind. So do his duties and his age, his reputation in the ranks, or even simply how far his bedroll had been from yours. Remains only a gaping hole and a vague sense of dread, as if some unseen hand had reached into your head and torn out the memories.

They'd been there just five days ago.

The inevitable question slips out on that fourth night, as migraine steals your sight and leaves you scrambling for context within a blinding void.

"How dead is he?"

You believe you are attempting to fetch wood when it happens, but you're not completely certain — your mind proves just as prompt to lose all track of itself when migraine blinds you as when meditation did. Still, fetching wood makes the most sense. You can do little in the wild but help to keep the fire fed, and you have been pondering firewood for the past days. The steps between green limb, wet limb, dead limb, and rotten limb. Wondering about the edges, about the point at which torn limbs can still sprout new roots into soil.

You hear the mercenary turn, the stop to her shuffling and the sound of her cloak brushing the ground. You hear that particular brand of silence that is usually accompanied by a perplexed frown.

Then she swears. Much, and angrily. In several languages.

"...That is one mess of a question," she replies in a tired voice once the swearing finally ends. You presume you must have sat down, because her words are clear, undisturbed by movement or distance. "Shit, I'm sorry. It might take a bit to lay down context for what you're really asking, and I'm self-taught, so I'd have to make up corny analogies instead of—"

"How dead am I," you ask on, ignoring her babbling. "Am I dead? Undead? I don't feel dead, but all the reasons why I don't are things that your... thing clearly does as well. I don't feel alive either. I don't feel anything. What's the difference? Is there a difference?"

There is silence, for a long while, and you almost regret interrupting. But you know the mercenary enough by now to be sure that if you hadn't, the blathering would never stop. Yet for all that she falls silent, she does not provide an answer, and so you blunder on, trying to put the void that caught onto you into words.

"There wasn't a difference for — for Letho," you explain, and a shiver runs through your bones at the sound of your own voice. "His body was there, but... no, it wasn't even his body, was it," you mumble in realization. "Just the... substitute. Why was it so — what's the turning point? Is there some—"

"You're alive, Letho's dead, and it's undead," the mercenary cuts across your words, and though sight does not register, you can hear her walking over and feel her sit down next to you. "The short answer is that you're nothing like my apparition, and that I am very fucking sorry I didn't rethink its presence. I just — you were fine with it before, and — shit!"

You hear her slap her own face with both hands a few times, as you saw her do after Qalian, after the mercenary, after Brother Hatred. You hear her take in a long breath, as if fighting to calm herself.

"The full answer is complicated," she lets out in a sigh, "and it is guesswork, not research. Are you sure that you want guesswork? It's done you enough harm as it is."

As if that could matter in any shape or form. Your entire life is guesswork. The past decade has been nothing but harm. More of either can hardly make a difference by this point. You care for the answer less than for a stop to the hollowness. You want the doubts, the shapeless questions, to be over. Dead and buried.

"I need this to be done," you say, hoping that the mercenary will read your intent in the word.

"...Okay," she finally answers, and you sigh in relief at having gotten through without five minutes' worth of digression this time. But then she stands back up, and her steps move away.

Before you can let out a word of complaint, however, the mercenary returns on your other side, and you can feel the weight of her cloak settle on your back. She wraps it around your shoulders, pulls the fur-lined cowl over your bare head, and sits back down next to you, sighing all the while.

"I'm not cold," you say, though you suppose the weather makes it by nature half a lie.

"That's not what it's for," she replies, but before you can ask what she means by that, she starts to explain at long last. "I don't know how the Rhalâs speaks of death, but if you're like most people here, you see it as either a place like the 'Eternal Paths' or as a... permanent state, of sorts. It isn't. The place doesn't exist, and the state is entropy. Death is different, although entropy can lead to it. Death is... more or less a cardinal direction in the Sea of Eventualities."

You feel yourself blink at the words as you attempt to conjure some sort of mental image. Then you feel yourself frown at the words, as sight refuses to comply even within the confines of your mind. Your rub your hands against your eyes, but the pressure does little save for making the migraine flare.

"Here," says the mercenary's voice, and after a few crackling sounds, you feel the cold wetness of snow slide across your forehead. "Rub it on a little. It helps a bit, or it does for me at least."

You feel your way into grabbing the compacted snow from her hand, and press it over your eyelids for a few seconds at a time. It's not a healer's cure nor an apothecary's balm, but it does numb some of the pain, if only a little. It's all you're getting, in any case. If the mercenary had a spell or potion to cure headaches, you figure she would have proposed it by now.

It's almost amusing, in its own dark, depressing way. Throwing fire at passersby? Any Arcanist can do that. Crushing minds with a thought? A Psionicist's bread and salt. Tearing out souls, raising the dead, building untold abominations out of rotting blood and bone? There always seems to be some Entropist working on it.

But curing a migraine? Good fucking luck with that.

"I'm fine," you tell the mercenary, once the throbbing has subsided enough for you to cast the snow aside. "Keep going."

It's only once the demand is out of your mouth that you realize it should have been preceded by 'thank you.'

"Sure," the mercenary agrees, probably long since used to your curtness. "So then, if it helps: imagine that the Sea of Eventualities is a big room filled with tables. Now take any of these tables, and imagine that it's a facet of time, with our reality as a map spread on top of it. The map covers the whole table, north east west and south, and we can go anywhere on it, provided we have the means that fit the terrain."

Simple enough, so far.

"But even though we don't see them on the map as such, there's actually two more directions we can go," the mercenary says, and you imagine from the sound of her chainmail that she is gesturing to illustrate her words. "Up above the map, which escapes our facet of time into the rest of the Sea of Eventualities, and down below the map, which collides with our facet of time and goes absolutely nowhere. That's what death is: running into the table and getting stuck in time. Still with me?"

You must have nodded, because she resumes once again.

"Alright. Now, undeath. Imagine that people are like boats sailing across the map, with their bodies as the hulls — sorry," she gives your shoulder a tap at the unfortunately familiar word, "and their souls as the sails. The hull by itself drifts, and the sail by itself sinks, so they have to be tethered to each other to go anywhere. Those tethers are usually a strong mast — senses — and well-tied ropes — memories. But if there's, say, a big storm in the Sea of Eventualities while the ropes or mast are damaged, the sails — the soul — can be torn off by the wind and make that move up or down. It still exists," she hurriedly insists. "It's just... off the map. Over the clouds or, more commonly, under the water."

You suppose this is why you feel like you are drowning on air so often. The less time you spend thinking of the body, the better — but if the hole your past made of your memories are its ropes, your soul has to be in a sorry state indeed.

"Now, the soul is just like actual sails," the mercenary presses on. "Whether the storm carried it up or down, it can't move back onto the map by itself, let alone bind memory-ropes to a sensory-mast. It doesn't have limbs to tie knots with. So unless someone catches it, or some magical wind moves it again, it's just... stuck. That's how undeath happens. The soul untethers, there's a big wave in the Sea of Eventualities, and the sails get thrown back onto the hull, rather than on the mast and ropes."

Letho's head rolls across the tiles, and you let yours fall in your hands. A shaky breath escapes your chest.

Don't. Don't think about Letho. Not now. There's nothing to do there anymore. Letho is done, Letho is gone. Just as he always was. His corpse — not even his, not truly — just happened to keep walking for a few years.

...What had become of his body? The real one? You looked everywhere. The pit, the sewers, the waterways, even all the way through the crypts once you knew how to wield a blade. What had the Father done with him? Did you find him and simply push him out of your mind, like you did the screams and silence the mercenary told you of?

And what of that damn temple? Did you bury him then? You'd wanted to. You still do. You'd asked the mercenary to leave, and she had, and then...

...Then you'd woken up in the tent, and she was right there.

You can't remember. You fucking can't remember.

"That's not what happened to you," the mercenary hurries to say once again, though she fails to catch up with your careening mind. "You're not undead. I know that, because my spells don't harm you and I can't see your soul. Which means that it's tethered in place. Not mismatched, not damaged, not free to take."

'Not damaged'? It doesn't feel 'not damaged'. And what does 'not free to take' even mean? So what if it wasn't? It hadn't been before, and that hadn't so much as slowed down the Father, now had it? Let alone stopped him. Clearly, anyone who knew how to undo the ties could do so at will, just as he did.

Just like the mercenary might. Where would her knowledge come from — where would her ghosts and skeletons come from — if not keen interest and practice? You are not so blind as to believe her ever fully truthful with you, not after seeing her so freely take part in your lies. Not after noticing the long silences between your questions and her answers.

If you were to fall on these slopes, would you, too, wake up as an empty ghost, or as a shambling corpse?

How would you even know, before it was too late?

You clench your eyes tight and press hard against your temples, trying to force your mind into killing the suspicion. You cannot afford to let it take over the emptiness anger left in its wake. The woman can be daft, yes. Naïve even for a Sunchild, and much less mindful of consequences than she fancies herself to be. But as she is all that, she is also steadfast. Even at her most inane, as you disagreed on every last thing under the Sun, she was never anything but loyal to you.

You cling to that loyalty, even as naivety burns. Your past is gone. Your cause is gone. Your rage is gone. Letho is gone all over again. Your life is gone, twelve years gone at that. Even your swords and bow are gone, presumably still on that cliff, though you can't recall leaving them. Your hideout still remains, but you cannot go there, and the mercenary knows of its location anyway. The woman's loyalty is the only thing you have left. You cannot let your doubts pry it away from you.

You blindly scrape the ground for another handful of snow, and press it against your forehead. It does little more for the migraine, but it does serve to distract the mind. The mercenary has begun to rub your back in what you assume she means as sympathy, but you tune the sensation out to concentrate on your hands. You focus on the cold, on letting suspicion seep out of your skull like the heat; imagine doubt running down your gloves with the melting ice.

It doesn't work, of course. You never were good at meditating, and the few things you were good at are too tainted by circumstance to be of any use right now.

"So, to answer the things you really meant to ask," the mercenary continues, oblivious to your inner thoughts. "Did somebody 'create' you? No. Nobody can create souls, only dissipate them or move them. That's why we're all still stuck using Pyrean crystals. So what the," she pauses, "what he did was halfway between casting a spell on you and giving you a wooden leg. He altered you, yes, but he didn't create you, only a 'hull you must transcend’, to use his own parlance. That shit he said was just his arrogance speaking. The only person with any right to call you their masterpiece is yourself."

"I know," you reply. And you do. Still, hearing the woman say it manages to be almost... comforting, somehow. Even if the thought of this being the best that you could achieve only serves to drive needles in the wound.

"And are you dead? Well, you're not off the map, are you? You're not above the clouds, you're not underwater. You're here," she says, and she pulls your gloved hands away from your face to hold them in her own. "I'm still with you. We're walking south towards Frostcliff Tavern, it's snowing, it's cold, and it's bloody fucking miserable, so we're definitely alive."

"Hurray," you mutter with all the sarcasm you can still work into your voice, and the mercenary grips your hands tighter in response.

At least you still have this, you tell yourself, focusing on her grasp and the melted snow on your brow. You have the cold to numb the pain, and a pair of hands willing to hold onto you rather than cast you away. An acquaintance, even, if one with a strong propensity for utterly failing to understand your point. You clench your jaw and grit your teeth, attempting to summon the determination you'd still possessed a week ago. So what if you have little left to your name? You've managed with much less, and done it twice at that. You can handle a third time.

The thought feels as hollow and empty as the mercenary's hands.

"Now for the... messy parts," she keeps going, more hesitant this time. "Does that make you a different person than before the experiments?"

Your false heart skips a beat.

You call yourself Tharaêl Narys. You feel like Tharaêl Narys. You even remember being Tharaêl Narys — or at the very least remember some of it. But does that hold any meaning, if Tharaêl Narys was a corpse left to rot on the Father’s workbench? If his memories are halfway gone? Are they truly his memories, or merely a copy of them? A set of old ropes wrapped around another's soul?

If you were to go find his corpse and have it brought to life again, who would look out of its eyes?

Tharaêl Narys?

What is Tharaêl, anyway?

"...Unless this body is a perfect copy of the previous one," the mercenary blunders on, "I'd say that yes, you are different. Very. But not in some fundamental sense of not being yourself," she interrupts your thoughts before they can spiral further. "You're still who you were yesterday, still who you were ten years ago. Rather, you're like... someone with permanent lycanthropy, or a piece of music meant for a lyre being instead played on a flute. Undergoing a change of form by itself induces a change of content, because the information is no longer processed in the same fashion. Some inevitably gets lost or otherwise displaced. Still you," she insists, "but different."

Okay. You but different. It sounds... trite. Almost nonsensical, really. But it's good enough. It will do. It's not like anyone is there to tell the difference anyway; anyone who remains only ever knew Brother Wrath. Nobody left alive knows Tharaêl Narys. Not even you, some days.

"And were you dead," she continues, "as in did your sails get thrown into the water and remain there for a while? If what he said is true, yes. And you're probably," she hesitates again, "...confused, or at least partly so, because you still have that sense of up above the map and down under the map existing even though you can't see them anymore. On top of that, your ropes, your memories, aren't tied to your new senses in quite the same place as before, which eight years of being taught to filter out your body can't possibly have helped. So you feel... poorly connected. Like you're detached from things, when you are attached — just not where you expect to be."

Because it just figures. The Rhalâs simply has to be poison to you all the way down to the marrow. Of fucking course.

First the gutter, then the sewers, then an orphanage that sold you, then the Dust Pit, then a cult that tore out your soul in the most literal of ways. What next? Maybe you should tell the mercenary to double-check her ceiling. With your luck, it may just cave in the moment you get there.

You raise an arm to wipe your face with the back of your glove, and the mercenary's hand is dragged along with yours, her freezing steel gauntlet colliding with your nose.

"So sometimes," she goes on once again, waiting for you to be done to pull your hand back to your lap, "when things get very stormy, you... flicker. A big wave crops up, and since the ropes that tether your soul aren't in the same place as before, your soul gets pulled by the wind a very little bit, for a very little while, in a way that you're not used to. Then the wave passes, and you come right back into place. And that's what you are," she concludes, bringing your two hands together and clasping them between her own. "Not dead, not undead, just... very out at sea, and needing to tighten a few bonds here and there."

You take a long breath in. You let it out, slowly, attempting to discipline yourself into relaxing your jaw.

You take in another.

A third.

"What happens if the ropes break down," you manage to ask on the fourth, finally able to form words.

"They will not break down," she answers, adamant. "And if somehow they still do," she forestalls your remark, raising her voice even as you were opening your mouth to protest her optimism, "I can catch souls, and I have a friend who can bind them. I'm not going to let you drift, I'm not going to let you drown, and we're going to do our best to make you stormworthy again. Alright?"

It's stupid. It's optimism without thought, words without actions, good intentions without the slightest speck of actual planning to back them up. Hopes upon hopes upon hopes, resting on the shoulders of an outlander daft enough to still believe in fairytales such as friendship and fairness in the Undercity.

...Still, whatever it is, it's there. There and willingly shared with you. Not with Brother Wrath, or some masterpiece, or with some other mental construct only extant in their beholder's mind. With you. Tharaêl. Not Tharaêl Narys, perhaps, but Tharaêl who smirks and screams and stabs and keeps calling the woman the fucking idiot she is.

It's a hope and a prayer, but it's what you have, and it's clearly all you're getting. Maybe you can both make it through this stupid plan as well, like you somehow did the last one.

Your shoulders feel as if they are mere moments from turning to stone, and so you let your head fall back, hoping to relax the muscles of your neck a little. That plan finds itself thwarted by a dull thud, however, and a smattering of snow falls on top of your upturned face. It takes a few blinks for you to notice that you are staring at the underside of snow-laden branches. You must have had your back to a tree. You hadn't even noticed anything was there.

You have barely realized that you could see the branches by the time the migraine throbs, robbing you of sight once again.

You sigh.

"It all sounds so simple when put in your daft metaphors," you tell the mercenary, blinking out the melt of the snow that just dusted your cheeks.

"I did warn you I would be forced to make corny analogies," she says, sounding somewhat... amused, somehow. "It is mostly accurate, though. If heavily, er... stylized."

"That's not the point," you snap, bringing your head back upright to look at — or rather blindly stare at — the direction her voice comes from. "Metaphors don't mend souls. They don't stop arrows. They don't fill the stomach or shelter from the mud. It doesn't matter how I feel or what pretty little thoughts you decide to have about it — it matters what I can do."

"...That would be why I offered my roof, yes," the mercenary replies, uncomprehending. "So you can figure out what you want to do."

"But I don't know what can be done. For food, for money, for — for anything, fuck it all. Not in the Upper City. As things are, I'm just going to end in the Pit all over again."

Or on another cliff, you do not say. The mercenary can likely deduce that one on her own.

She lets go of your hands, leaving you once again stranded in the white void. Mercifully enough, the silence does not last; you can hear her shuffle in place, creaking leather and crackling snow against the backdrop of the wind. Then you can feel the heavy hood settle against your scalp once more, its fur lining tickling the tips of your ears and eyebrows. It must have slid of when you let your head fall.

"You'll manage," she tells you as you hear her sit back down. "You need time to wind down, yes, but you have it. I have enough money to last us both a good long while. We'll be fine. Both of us."

That's a stopgap, at best. Not a true solution. You're unarmed, you're unskilled, you're Pathless, and it seems that to any competent Arcanist looking at you, you're also dead besides. Not the most auspicious of ways to start a new life anywhere, let alone in the damn city. But there's no point in telling her that, now is there? Having bought a house within Ark does not make the mercenary any less of an Outlander. She would hear the words if you spoke, but she wouldn't understand them. Just like she doesn't get them now.

You let your head fall back into your hands, but the mercenary soon pushes them away, grabbing you by the shoulders to pull you back to your feet. You let yourself follow the pull, stumbling a few steps once the difference in heights makes her hold more hindrance than assistance.

"You're tired and having an unbelievably bad week," the mercenary says, in a tone of voice that you take to mean the words are a conclusion. "Come on. I'll make you some windbreak, and you can rest as long as you want. Don't worry about the fire, food, or watch. Just lie down until you feel like getting up again. Take all the time you need. If it's an hour, it's an hour. If it's a week, I'll find us food and build us a tent."

You try to look at her, turning your head in the direction of her voice — and find out to your own surprise that you can see her, if poorly. The white of all the moonlit snow still shoots fire into your brain, but the spots of black about her — her hair, her eyes, her clothes — are dull and dark enough for you to grasp the contours of. You gaze into that shapelessness, into those blobs of blackness dancing across the white void, and the shapeless question finally takes form as well, tumbling from your lips like so many stones on your back.

"If I hadn't killed him," you ask, and you despise the way your voice quakes as it forms the words. "If I hadn't killed Letho — could you have brought him back?"

The blobs of black flicker, and you wipe at your eyes, attempting to fend off the migraine and the light. But you feel melted snow run down to your chin at the gesture, and so you wipe harder, harsher. Willing the drops to fade away.

You don't cry. You can't afford to. Every tear is a chink daggers can use to reach your bones. You are exposed enough as is. No need to make your weakness worse.

"...There was no soul left there," the mercenary says, her voice almost lost in the wind. "I looked as hard as I could, but he was gone long before your swords ever touched his neck. I'm sorry."

Letho's head rolls across the tiles, as if it was a ball that had fallen from his shoulders. The mercenary's fingers dig into the wool and the leather stretched along your arms, uncomfortable in their hold and in their simple existence. You let go of your face, bat both her hands away.

She lets you.

"Try to sleep, Tharaêl," she says, blobs of black bobbing with her voice. "If things get in any way truly dangerous, I'll teleport us home right away."

"Home," you echo the mercenary's silhouette, in a fruitless attempt to wring meaning out of the word.

"Yes," she insists, her voice still quiet and yet firm. "Home."

You stare at the shadow of her, at the uncertain shape of snowy trees against the bright night sky. You wonder what it is that determines the gap, that defines the difference between "Sister Pride, to be killed", "Brother Hatred, to step over", and "Brother Wrath, to be brought home."

You wish you knew what Letho saw, when he picked you to share his hay rather than any other child.

"...Okay," you tell the mercenary, resigned to finding no answers.

Of the fifth day and night, you recall only dreams. Nightmares, really. A rough push at your back. Masks in the night. Your swords cutting through bone. Sha'Gun in the temple. Your arms covered in blood. The old man begging for his son. Letho asking the Father whether or not to kill you. Reaching for his face only for it to melt and rot in your hands. The mercenary stabbing you and leaving you to die. Letho's body falling to pieces, combusting into unrecognizable charred meat. A head rolling across the tiles. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. And all the screams. So many screams. Then silence, and then nothingness, and beyond that a deep, dark void.

You are almost grateful for the glare of the snow when you wake up.

The mercenary says that you were more comatose than asleep, curled under the small tent of furs nailed to an old table that she had assembled for you. Says that she tried to shake you awake, slap you awake even, once you began tossing. Says that she could never manage.

You suppose there is luck in that. You could have done without the dreams, but thanks to that day's worth of sleep, the migraine becomes bearable.

That sixth day is... good enough. Your memories still flee you, but sight and sound are clear, the snow is less blinding, and the cold of the air feels crisp and clean on your face. You devour a breakfast of bear atop the bare wooden guard post you seem to have been sleeping on, then the mercenary and you set out for the Crystal Forest, infinitely grateful for its shelter from the wind. An idle argument on the nature of wisps springs up along the way, meant less for relevance than to busy the mind and fill the silence. You segue into theory upon theory, only rarely interrupted by spirits and elementals — which the mercenary in turn interrupts with her own.

The mercenary's ghosts are notably absent.

You feel somewhat... useless, standing there watching her. Almost enough to make you wish you'd kept your swords, wherever you left them. Or at least thought to keep your bow. What are you even doing, strolling unarmed and unarmored through the Northwind Mountains? Depriving your hired sword of her strongest weapon just to assuage your own fears? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Your arrow pierces through the mercenary's neck, your swords through Brother Hatred's throat, Letho's head rolls across the tiles as if it was a ball that had fallen from his shoulders, and the diffuse pink glow of the Crystal Forest returns to your awareness in a gasp.

That, the memories say, in their infinite wisdom. That is what is wrong with you. That is what you are doing, what you are striving to avoid, strolling unarmed and unarmored.

You try to push the thoughts out of your mind's eye as you walk, but you never truly succeed.

You ask the mercenary about weapons themselves, eventually, in an attempt to redirect your focus from their use to their abandonment. She seems rather unconcerned by their absence, however. She can handle elementals and many more besides, she says, cheeks flushed with anger, or perhaps disapproval. She can do it with or without your assistance, thank you, and with or without ghosts. You put your swords to good use anyway, she adds, and it felt wrong to take them back. Better to leave them to the mountains, serving to mark Letho's grave.

You did bury him, then. That's... good. A net improvement on the dreams. You still cannot recall one bit of it, but the knowledge that you did go through with your plan makes the memories less pressing to recover. All that matters it that it was done. That whatever remained of Letho's soul was laid to rest, and that you were there. The details are irrelevant.

Gods, you buried Letho.

You buried Letho and it only took you an entire fucking decade spent failing to recognize anything from his stature to his voice. You lived with him, for fuck's sake. You saw him almost every day! How did you manage to be so fucking blind?! And how many bodies did it even take you to get there? The old man and his family, the 'handful' for the Rhalâta, the handful you didn't quite kill but drove to their deaths anyway, the other Rhalâim, the other mercenary... Would you have killed the mercenary walking by your side right now, if you'd had no other sacrifice to give before the door of the Room of Paintings? And how many dozens did you kill in the Pit? You don't even remember.

Some fucking brother you are. Some fucking friend.

You shake the thought out of your head, willing doubt and regret away, and resume your slow trek southwards in the mercenary’s wake.

When you reach sight of the tavern at last, on the evening of that sixth day, the last light of the sun is fading from the peaks. The mercenary's pace progressively slows down, before coming to a dead stop right in the middle of the road. You are the one who needs to prod at her, for once, for her to admit to her issue.

Which happens to be the Rhalâs sitting for all to see right in-between your eyes.

You would be angry at yourself for the gross oversight, but you mostly just feel disturbed. You've been dodging your own reflection for years because of the damn brand, donned hoods and headbands whenever needing to slip out of sight. It's barely been a week; how did you manage to forget it was there already? If your mind is wandering that much, there may in fact be merit to the mercenary's delaying. Frostcliff's denizens may not have thought much of one stray Rhalâim, but Ark's city guard would likely not have been quite so kind.

The mercenary observes the brand, pokes at it with a steel-gauntleted hand, then claims that there may be a rather simple solution. Scars don't take to magic too well, but this one is rather shallow by virtue of its location; a simple pass of skinning knife should expose fresh tissue, raw and recent enough to cure. She could heal that cleanly, she thinks, like she did all your other wounds.

She'd been wary of offering without Ambrosia close at hand, she says, but with a good bed to rest in — and a 'colleague' to barter with in Frostcliff — the issue is as good as gone. Why spend time and effort hiding something she can simply remove?

You've seen her wield her skinning knife enough to trust her skill with it, and maybe getting a good look at a piece of your artificial flesh will... help things sink in, somehow. You've worn the Rhalâs across your face and shoulders more than enough. Those years are gone; so should it be. You hesitate only for an instant, before taking up the offer as wholeheartedly as you can.

You lie back onto a nearby rock, tilting your head upwards as far as it will go. It feels alien and familiar all at once, movement and position well known, but the starry skies overhead as foreign as a brand new land. You find yourself looking up at the mercenary too, for once. A strange experience in itself, after so many days spent striving to recall to look below your shoulder level when trying to catch her eyes. She tests your forehead with a thumb, pinches and twists the skin, determining depth and angle — and you find yourself wishing she would simply get things over and done with.

The mercenary leans over you, eyes and blade-bearing hand focused on your forehead, framed by the dark night sky and the light of the moon.

The mercenary cowers at your feet, lip and nose broken and bleeding, framed by the blue light of a spell cast in your direction.

Your hands dive to your hips, but they grasp only air; you try to step away, and back into hard rock. You open your mouth to bark a question, yet find yourself winded, breath coming in short bursts and ears filled with nothing but the drum of your racing pulse. Cornered, you blink, once, twice — but still the change of scene refuses to make sense, leaving you to cast your gaze about in a vain quest for answers.

It strikes you, as you look around, how unfamiliar the sight is. The lines of the peaks, the texture of the snow and rocks, all of it is alien to you. The Temple had held its own grandeur, especially in torchlight, but even it had been held between the cave's walls, had stooped under its ceiling. There had always been rock, wherever your eyes went. Not so here. Here there is sky, there is distance — and there is horizon. The Temple had never had one. Nor had the Undercity. Not even the Upper City, the handful of times you'd been there.

The world had been aborted. Stopped in its tracks by rock walls. And yet now that you're freed from them, you keep feeling that if you stumble you will fall into the sky.

Your thoughts come to a brutal stop, as you find yourself riveted by the sight of droplets of blood splattering across the blue glow. You raise a hand to your face, and it comes away slick and red, as a sharp burning pain flares to life in its wake.

"Fawhaêl?"

Your follow the voice by instinct, and your gaze returns to the mercenary, still bracing herself on the ground. You'd forgotten she was there. Her eyes meet yours, wide and dull black, from behind the blue shimmer of her spell—

—and the details do not add up. It is her off hand that faces you, not the one she casts fire with, and all her spells drain, burn, or freeze. They do not lacerate, do not cause wounds that bleed. She does not seem to be angry, let alone attacking you. Her posture isn't aggressive. It's defensive, if anything. Worried, even, judging from the line of her brow. The spell is a shielding one. You've seen her cast it many times. You've seen her act like this before, back in—

You blink.

Back in the orphanage.

Shit. Did you have a... a 'seizure' again?

"...Yeah," you answer both her call of your name and your own mind, letting your gaze flutter about for more hints of context. "Yeah, I'm — what happened?"

The mercenary's head rolls back in visible relief, and her shielding spell winks out.

"Sh'fhine," she slurs, reaching out with one hand to brace herself on rock. She drags herself to her knees with a groan, starts to fish around the belt bags where she keeps her potion stock. "Yuhr ohhay, I'm ohhay. You fhunch like a fugghin fhroll, ut I'm ohhay."

Your vision starts to spin as you eyes flick from blood to rock to snow, and suddenly your head feels like it's set adrift, unable to fully focus on the mercenary's words. You let the rock at your back bear your weight, and turn your face up to the sky, using the stars as reference by which to gauge the accuracy of your sight.

The trembling lines take a moment to fully resolve into dots.

"What did I do," you ask, once you feel sure enough of your own senses to resume your question. "I don't — this didn't happen when I got the brand done."

"Sh'fhine," the mercenary reiterates between snorts, spitting what you suppose is the blood running down her throat. "You had an ehhisode. Shudda sheen iss gommin. Whir gud. Khenna heal fhad?"

It takes you a confused moment to parse her words, caught as you are by the remnants of the sensation of slipping from your own grasp. It takes more moments still for your eyes to return to her in response, and for her extended hand to reach through the fog of confusion that is blanketing you. But it does reach, eventually, and you give the mercenary a silent nod in response.

You tune out her ministrations as you focus inward, slowly reining your breath and pulse back under your control.

A few potions and spells later, the mercenary's nose and lip are in one piece again, and your forehead no longer bleeds. Your garments, however, can hardly say the same, and you are left to clean what looks like a pint of blood off yourselves with nothing but handfuls of snow. A lost cause if there ever was one.

"Sorry," you tell the mercenary.

You don't know what else to say.

"I've set you on fire twice," she replies, shrugging. "I kind of deserve it for being so bloody stupid, honestly. Yes, let's take a knife to Tharaêl's head and make light of it! What could possibly go wrong?"

"What did you say?"

The mercenary's eyes raise from their inventory of her ever-shortening stock of medical supplies to throw an exasperated glare in your direction.

"I am not daft enough to repeat it, thank you very much."

...Fair. Grating, but fair. You recall broken noses to be a rather annoying experience. You let the mercenary proceed with her sorting of her stocks in silence, allowing your eyes to wander across the ground and rocks — and the blood staining them.

"...The brand," you finally remember, and you run a hand across your forehead by rote, finding it eerily smooth and tender. "Did it work?"

"Yes," the mercenary says, her frown turning into a smile as she packs the last of the potions and salves back into her bags. "Well, we look like we butchered our way down the road and you really need a shave, but your face is as smooth as it ever gets and I've got hides to salt and hang, so we can blame the bears, and — whoah."

Your eyes whip back to the mercenary, only to find hers open wide, their uniform blackness staring as if through you.

"What?"

"I'm fine, don't worry," she answers, but the way she lengthens each sound would tend to say the opposite. "I'm contemplating the extent of our luck, I think. Shit. It hasn't been this bad in a long time. The visions, not our luck. Our luck is great."

"Great," you echo in pure disbelief.

Visions? What the fuck is the bloody idiot going on about, this time?

"Well, this version of you is sporting a rather distinct lack of being dead," she says, "and I am not dragging your corpse. So I think yes, we're doing great. Sucks to be alternate us, though."

"Arcanist's fever," you deduce.

You've never experienced the sensation yourself, but you've been there as others did, in the Pit and the Temple both. Messy moments, those were, some of them with messier endings still. None ever outright saw into other realities as the fever hit, however. That, or they never mentioned it.

"Yeah," the mercenary confirms your guess. "Ambrosia and some rest, and I'll be good as new. The shady guy near the back tables always has some. Don't worry. I can trade him some books for it."

Which means that both of you are unable to defend yourselves, and fully dependent on the assistance of a 'shady guy' who may or may not be present. Fantastic. Utterly grand.

You open your mouth to tell the mercenary of the flaw in her plan, only to let it close again. You look at her face, her flushed face, and it dawns upon you that its red never came from anger. She had been crimson-cheeked this morning already. Yesterday, you had slept; the days before, you hadn't been able to see — and the day before that, you hadn't been able to care.

How long has her fever been 'this bad', exactly? Since the blizzard? Since the Father? The bloody fucking idiot. You wonder if her alternate selves are as daft and red-cheeked as she is.

You wonder why they drag your corpse.

Letho's head rolls across the tiles, and you try and you try again to put it back where it belongs, to erase the image of the headless thing on the ground, of your swords going through its neck, of its eyes turning to the Father as if you'd never existed. But the blood is too slippery, gravity too unforgiving. Time too immutable. The corpse remains a corpse, no matter what you do.

The woman's eyes keep flicking to your left, running along the lines of something she alone can see. You pick up her backpack with one hand, grab her shoulder with the other, and half-push, half-guide her from the bloody rocks back onto the snowy trail.

"Let's get ourselves indoors," you say.

The woman nods, and you set down the road to cross the final few yards to the inn; her opening the way at an unsteady pace, you standing at her back, making sure she does not stumble.

The place is a simple enough structure from the outside. Old wood, stones older still, a handful of dirty windows. If not for the snow and the sky, you could imagine it fitting in the Undercity. Along Glimmerdust Lane, perhaps. Next to the orphanage, even. But as soon as you pass the stray drunkards to walk through the door, the impression vanishes like the illusion it was. The game tables are there, as are the exhausted patrons and bards singing their tired songs, but the room has a warmth to it, a sense of hospitality to its air, that even the Refuge on its very best days had never so much as approached.

It's an inn like any other, and yet it's too vivid. Too loud. Too everything at once. You feel your shoulders tense at the lack of dark corners, your hands twitch at the lack of weapons to grab if need be. You know nobody here.

You are nobody here, for better and for worse.

The mercenary points to a table close to the hearth, where an old, cowled man pores over a stack of books. Following the unspoken request, you half-push half-carry her across the sunken area that serves as the inn's entrance, help her over the few steps leading to the dining room proper. She greets the old man much like you would greet your own contacts, and a mere few minutes of bartering later, both she and the man are smiling — him over an old tome you gather must have been priceless, and her at an armful of familiar vials.

"Dinner," she proclaims with a smile.

"You better have some pennies left to buy me a real one," you retort with a frown.

The woman breaks into laughter as she uncorks her Ambrosia, and you follow her to the counter in the middle of the room, finding yourself chuckling as well. Maybe from the absurdity of it all. Maybe from sheer raw nerves.

The innkeeper is as warm as her hearth and tavern, and just as cloying to your mind. She grates against your skin and bones, leaving you wanting nothing so much as running back into the snow. The mercenary, for her part, seems unaffected by it all. She smiles at the woman, looks through her purse, and looks at you — then she books a 'small room for two' until 'the start of the new week'.

"This night and three more days," she tells you on the stairs, still relying on you to walk in a straight line. "Board included if reasonable — some meat and vegetables are okay, but start pawing at the desserts and you'll be paying extra fees. You can go down for some rabbit once we're done settling in."

It would likely not do to start an argument right on the stairs, within sight and hearing of all. So you wait until you make it across stairs and second floor both, the door of the small room closed securely behind your back.

"I thought we were going to Ark," you say once the mercenary is seated safely on the bed.

"We are," she confirms, taking a pause in her drinking of her second vial. "But I want this to work out, so I'm maximizing your chances first, and step one of that is drinking all of this Ambrosia and sleeping an entire day. Then there's letters I need to ask the Myrad Keeper to deliver, and — well, let's just say dumping you onto the marketplace right now doesn't strike me as a good idea."

"I managed just fine by myself for twenty years," you retort, the mercenary's condescension serving to destroy your patience. "You don't need to baby me, damn it. I'm not a fucking child."

The mercenary's brow furrows, and she cocks her head to the side.

"I don't doubt that you can deal, Tharaêl. I've seen you deal with much, much worse. But can you deal in a way that doesn't leave bruises or draw blood? This," she says, pointing to her slightly bruised nose, "is what I'm wary of. Your reflexes are adjusted for surviving under Ark, not living within it, and they're honed to a fault. Hence, a few more days to process things, ask anything you want to ask, and practice coexisting with tired and drunk surfacers."

The rational part of your mind thinks of swords best left to a grave, of allies best not alienated, and of heads rolling across tiles. But the feeling part of your mind, the part that wields the swords and kills the friends and cuts off heads, breaks through your fraying nerves like water through a dam. You whirl on the mercenary, fists clenched over nothing, voice catching on thin air.

"Practice," you snarl, putting all the contempt you can in the word. "You think I need to practice spending time around tavern lowlives? Where do you think I spent my fucking days, these past ten years? Do you even listen to what you're saying, for fuck's sake?"

"I think the uniform you wore has handled the problem for you," the mercenary says — and though her eyes follow your hands, her own hands, she folds in her lap. "I think you relied on it much more than you realize. Are you going to hit me again?"

The question pierces through your heart as surely as any blade would, and drains the anger out of you faster than any weapon could.

Letho's head rolls across the tiles, as if it were a ball that had fallen from his shoulders.

The mercenary cowers at your feet, lip and nose broken and bleeding.

You let the backpack fall to the ground and turn back without a word, through the small room's door, through the second floor, through the back entrance you'd spotted on your way up the stairs. But you have barely taken a few strides into the snow when the realization hits that you have nowhere else to go.

You stare at the shadow that you guess to be Northwind Peak, towering over the landscape, dark even against the night sky.

You should have let yourself fall.

You should have fucking jumped.

The fatigue of the week descends back onto your shoulders, and you let yourself sink to the ground in the middle of the road. You brace your elbows on your knees and let your head rest in your hands, as unwilling to walk further as you are to go back inside.

You've been sitting there for a while when you hear the snow crackle at your back a few times, and then a heavy weight fall on the ground right next to you. A steel-gauntleted hand puts a plate in your line of sight, its contents leaking steam like a small stream of clouds.

Roasted rabbit and potatoes.

The woman scoots closer, fidgets for an instant, and you find yourself wrapped in her cloak all over again. She pulls the edges together, enfolding the both of you in the warm wool and rabbit fur, then takes a swig from a bottle you assume to be Dal'Sark Mead before setting it down in front of you. She sets her own plate on her knees, picks apart a piece of ribs with her bare hands and teeth.

After a few minutes, you start to do the same, allowing the food and the drink to return their warmth to your limbs.

The mercenary sits with you in the snow until dawn, gazing first at the stars, then at the way the rising Sun chases them out of the heavens in a burst of crimson and blue.

Neither of you speaks a word.

[singingunderthecurtain]

Secret Santa [Pt. 1]

Author: julietsoddeye AU: coworker Genre: fluff | light comedy | office romance Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader Word Count: 1,578

Plot: #exodecembercollab18 Prompt #4: Your office Secret Santa gives you something you certainly weren’t expecting. You’re positive when you found out who he is, you’re gonna punch him in the face.

A/N: This is a collab work with @thesammtimes for @exo-writers-net #exodecembercollab18 event! You can find Samm’s work [here] READ IT YALL!

For this year’s Christmas potluck, you all decided to do it in your boss’ house instead of the same old boring office. Junmyeon volunteered to host this year since his bachelor pad is big enough to house all twelve of you in the team.

The house even has a patio and a pool. But it was too cold tonight so you stayed indoors.

Gosh, how much is this man’s salary? It must feel great to have this much space. You thought as you and Chanyeol look around the place to check every room you can.

“Any plans for the holiday?”

Chanyeol nonchalantly asks as he takes selfies in front of Junmyeon’s different kinds of Star Wars figure set collection. You just dumbly follow him around with nothing to do. You’ve been working for the company for two years already but Chanyeol is the only one you’re most comfortable with.

Kyungsoo is nice, but he mostly keeps to himself. And he sometimes glares you down like you murdered his dogs or something when he doesn’t wear his glasses, so you’re kind of afraid of him.

Joy and Irene were really nice girls, but they were also too beautiful that you can’t relate with them on any level and they intimidate you and constantly blind you with their grace.

Jongin too, the Adonis of the office. You don’t dare interact with him unless he initiates it. Some girls from different office floor visit your department for no reason just to get a glimpse of him, that’s totally not creepy at all...

Sure, you’re civil towards everyone, even the ever annoying Baekhyun, but you and Chanyeol are like two peas in a pod, he is your work best friend. You two are kind of the weirdos, but everyone at the office is nice to you.

“Nah,”

You paused, letting out a single puff from your lips.

“My parents forgot that they have a daughter again.”

“Why?”

He asks, snapping another photo now holding a Yoda figurine. Wow, the resemblance is quite uncanny…

“Well, they planned a whole trip until the New Year’s without me again, so…”

“Wow, two Christmases in a row?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, pout growing bigger.

“Hey, kids it’s time to open presents!”

Junmyeon’s head suddenly pops out by the door frame, his smile was so huge with his cheeks flushed you can tell he has had a few drinks already.

As you reach the living room, you see everyone has their gifts already. Two decorated paper bags sitting prettily on the space of the couch you and Chanyeol previously occupied.

“Should the latecomers open their gifts first?”

Baekhyun blurts out when he saw the three of you emerging from Junmyeon’s home office.

“Ladies first.”

“Fine.”

You grumbled as you snatch the paper bag that has your name on it from Chanyeol.

You’re not exactly excited to know what’s inside the bag. You’re lucky if you got picked by any of the girls in your team because usually, only girls put effort into exchange gifts like these.

Hell, even Chanyeol and Junmyeon asked for your opinion on what to give their giftees. You have to find out what people liked for the three of you.

Slowly pulling out wrapping tissue papers one by one, the first thing you saw was a white envelope. Inside was a basic as hell Christmas card with even more basic greetings printed on it.

“You might need this. Sincerely, your Secret Santa.”

You read the card.

What you pull out next made you lose color on your face.

“Oh my gosh…”

Junmyeon tipsily giggles as he slaps his mouth shut, trying to stop himself from losing control of his laughter.

“IS THAT BAKING FOR DUMM—”

“SHUT UP, BYUN BAEKHYUN!!!”

You screamed, countering Baekhyun even before he finished what he was going to say as if it’ll save you from the already impending embarrassment.

Memories of last year’s charity bake sale came flooding back to your mind.

It wasn’t your fault you have suddenly been bombarded with emergency work a week prior the Office event for your company’s chosen beneficiary!!!

“Is this from you, Baekhyun?! Are you my secret Santa?!?!”

You accused, he’s the only one you know who was brazen enough to do this to you or to anyone at that! Baekhyun is known to pull pranks around the office, he probably thought about this stupid gift even before he found out who his giftee was.

Most of your coworkers are silently snickering at you and the Baking For Dummies book in your hand. Some, aka Junmyeon, Baekhyun and even freaking Park Chanyeol are straight up laughing shamelessly out loud.

It wasn’t your fault that you literally ran out of time and wasn’t able to ACTUALLY bake something for the charity drive! You opted to buy pre-made plain cupcakes at the store and just decorated the sweet treats yourself.

Everyone was so impressed by the cupcakes you brought until ONE freaking customer pointed out that the cupcakes taste exactly like the ones they always buy from Walmart.

Everyone found out your purchase and you were the butt of every joke for a few solid months. Baekhyun especially didn’t let you hear the end of it!

God! It was awful. Your actual baking skills and pride were hurt.

You tried bringing different cookies to work, but they never believed you made them yourself.

Even Chanyeol ride in on the joke. So much for a best friend!

“No, it wasn’t from me!”

Baekhyun continues to laugh, his cocktail spilling all over Junmyeon’s carpet.

“I don’t believe you!!!”

“Trust me, I would brag about it if it was from me.”

And you believe him. He would totally gloat about him pulling this stint. He is a proud mischievous little devil.

“Chanyeol?!?!”

It’s now your best friend’s turn to be blamed.

“I literally showed you the person I got the moment we get to pick the names!”

You turn to Junmyeon this time.

“You know who I got!!!”

Before you can even accuse your boss, he already has his hands up in the air as if he’s surrendering to something.

“I swear I will punch the shit out of whoever gave me this!”

“That was already three chances, next gift!!!”

Irene exclaims!

You silently sulk in your seat as they all continue to laugh and be merry.

Out of nothing at all, when it was Kyungsoo’s chance to open his present, he cleared his throat before facing your direction.

“It was from me—”

He paused as he simply and directly declared.

“The book, it was from me.”

He continued. His big eyes staring right into your soul.

Seriously, right in front of your salad?

Everyone fell mute.

Everyone was both shocked and amused that the quiet, never really speak much unless really important or spoken to first, usually reserved and gentle Do Kyungsoo would pull something like this.

When you said you’re kind of afraid of him, well it’s different now.

You’re just straight up bitter. I guess Baekhyun is the better person now, huh?

How could he?

The audacity!

You don’t even speak much!

You don’t remember a day that you sat down and had a conversation with this man.

“Hey, you okay?”

Chanyeol raised a single brow at you as he shakes you awake from being idle.

You must have frozen down or turned into stone.

You wish you could turn into a stone so you can throw yourself at Kyungsoo.

Wait, NO! That’s nOT WHAT YOU MEANT!!!

“Do Kyungsoo-ssi, I am so offended…” _

“Ohooo, she’s offended. Kyungsoo what are you gonna do?”

Baekhyun incites, adding fuel to the fire.

“That is so rude.”

Joy whips up jokingly as well.

Everyone has some type of alcohol in their systems except for you. You are Chanyeol’s designated driver.

Maybe Kyungsoo as well, you haven’t really seen him drink anything other than water and the fruit bowl punch.

Maybe they spiked the fruit bowl punch, that’s why he’s so bold to go forward about the blunt gift.

“I’m good at baking, okay!”

“i’M gOod aT bAkiNg, oKaY!”

Baekhyun repeats after you in a playful mocking way and everyone laughs, including Chanyeol… ESPECIALLY CHANYEOL, WTH?

“Guess you didn’t see the back of the card.”

Kyungsoo purses his lips into a thin line.

Your boss snatches the Christmas card that came with the gift from you and flips it back, showing what looks like a chibi drawing version of him with a speech bubble.

“Would you help this dummy learn how to bake?”

Junmyeon reads and his face immediately turns smug.

“Ooooooh”

Both Irene and Joy said and gave the same smug look as Junmyeon.

“I wanted to give you something nice, like a necklace or something. But you might find it creepy so I asked Jongin what to get you and he suggested that.”

Kyungsoo pointed at Jongin who in turns scratched the back of his head and gave you an apologizing smile.

“I always knew you’re great at baking, cuz I haven’t found those cinnamon roll sugar cookies you brought last time anywhere—”

He explained some more and you were out of words.

“And I wanted to learn how to make them, so…”

Completely speechless.

“She has no plans for the holiday...”

Chanyeol answered for you with a shrug. Making you turn to give him the look.

“It’s a date then.”

Everyone howls happily, wolf whistles and teasings left and right.

Aikie Masterlist | Michiko Masterlist | FIC RECS | FIC REC SIDEBLOG

[hope-for-olicity]

Fabulous Olicity Fanfic Friday - September 21st, 2018

Happy Friday! So this is my attempt to both thank awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work and offer my recommendations to anyone who is interested. Here are the fantastic fanfic stories I read this week! They are posted in the order I read them.

Hard To Find Love multi-chapter WIP by Mellowyellowdiamonds - Through a tragic twist of fate Felicity finds herself left with an orphaned young William Clayton. Keeping her promise to her friend, Felicity raises William diligently, loving him as if he were her own child, only to have Moira Queen storm into their lives several years later demanding custody of her grandson. Locked in a war with Moira Queen, things get complicated when Felicity finds herself developing unwanted feelings for William's biological father, Oliver Queen. At the same time she must try to manage her meddling 13 year old son, who has it in his head that if Felicity would just cooperate and fall for his father, everything would be right in the world. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941786/chapters/37173917

In These Dreams That Are Nightmares by @geneshaven - Oliver's dreams while he's in prison.  https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/178003134119/in-these-dreams-that-are-nightmares

The Predator multi-chapter WIP by @supersillyanddorky06 - Oliver Queen is the one anomaly in the Chicago Outfit. He is the only non-blooded member to be a part of the high circle in the family. His reputation precedes him and he is their best hunter. Felicity Smoak, daughter of the Starling boss, infiltrates his house, intent on killing him. But a startling encounter tips the scales. He goes on the prowl and she escapes. Hate, heat, and friction. Sparks. But something bigger is happening in their world. And despite their disagreements, only they can fight it down. Mob AU. Not Bratva. Enemies-lovers.  http://archiveofourown.org/works/5077885/chapters/21891689

When the Stillness Bends (All the Places We Touch) by @allimariexf - She looked up and met his eyes for the first time. “You’re lucky.” The warning in her voice let him know she wasn’t only talking about the depth of his stab wounds. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15973835

And So The Adventure Begins multi-chapter WIP by @mindramblingsfics - Felicity spent her first year of college focused solely on her studies. In year two, with the convincing of her best friends Iris and Sara, she lets her hair down a bit. Oliver spent his first year partying with his wingman Tommy and living up to the status that came with his last name. He realizes he should buckle down focus on the most important part: actual school. Oliver and Felicity meet, and even though they are on different ends of the spectrum, they don't realize that they can each bring out hidden parts of one another. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15800025/chapters/36771018

Pieces of Always multi-chapter WIP by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34 - Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows. Ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. http://archiveofourown.org/works/8220479/chapters/18840356

Thursday multi-chapter Complete by @someonesaidcake - There is something about the girl next door that Oliver Queen is only now noticing... Felicity is moving to college just down the road from where Oliver is a senior.  He suddenly becomes very protective of the girl next door.  Thursday night dinners might not ever be the same again. This story gets better and better! http://archiveofourown.org/works/10688658/chapters/23670255

My Thoughts on You multi-chapter WIP by rachelrenalove -Felicity Smoak is sure of 3 things: 1. She's a badass and she is damn good at what she does. 2. She hates the man in the green hood. 3. Oliver Queen is a pain in her ass and she cannot wait until the day she can quit her job at Queen Consolidated. Or Felicity Smoak goes undercover at Queen Consolidated and meets Oliver Queen. She quickly realizes that she doesn't like him and wishes she was never chosen for this mission. Outside of QC, she is dealing with her hatred towards the man in the green hood that has found out exactly which buttons of hers to press in order to piss her off. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15089954/chapters/34989344

In a Perfect World multi-chapter WIP by @smoaking-greenarrow - Based on a prompt: "What if Oliver (being cut off from Queens billions) follows his true passion - photography, meets Felicity and they become THE internet famous family of the world?" Oliver fell inlove with photography after he received his first camera at sixteen years old. Now, he spends his time alone, traveling around the worldand capturing breathtaking moments- like the beautiful woman he meets on a beach one night. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758463/chapters/36651615

Home To You multi-chapter WIP by @the-shy-and-anxious-fangirl - Oliver Queen has never done what his family expected of him. He took a gap year after high school instead of going to college right away. He quit his fraternity sophomore year to join the student newspaper, switching his major from business to journalism. He became a photojournalist for a wire service instead of taking a place at Queen Consolidated. He went missing after six months instead of coming home for his sister’s twenty-first birthday. He survived five years of captivity in a war zone when everyone thought he was dead. He came home. But home didn’t have a place for him in it anymore. His parents were both dead, casualties of their own mistakes and a city they had turned against them. His sister was all grown up, the CEO of Queen Consolidated with a fiancé and a dog and a life of her own. Oliver didn’t belong in his old life, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He was a man without a home, without any way of finding one, until he stopped by the IT department of his sister’s company to get files off an old, battered memory card, and found a woman with curly blonde hair and bright, intelligent eyes chewing on a bright red pen and swearing at a computer screen. https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613188/chapters/28734552

Falling for an Angel multi-chapter WIP by @missafairy - What happens if an angel falls from the sky? Oliver Queen is a respected club owner in his hometown - Starling City. His life abruptly changes when one night he finds a beautiful girl claiming to have fallen from heaven. With her wings tucked into a jacket he helps her navigate her now human life while trying not to fall in love. Nothing can go wrong even if she drinks all of his coffee and cries in the shower, right? http://archiveofourown.org/works/9368912/chapters/21209975

The Queen's Mage multi-chapter WIP by @the-shy-and-anxious-fangirl - Words have power, and mages, those with the aptitude to draw on that power, are few in number. Thus, their services are highly sought after by anyone who has exhausted all mundane means of solving whatever problem is plaguing them. Felicity is reminded of this fact the hard way when she is hired by Moira Queen, the Lady Starling, to find and return to her son Oliver, who fled his family home five years ago following the death of his father. With a threat hanging over her should she return without Robert Queen's heir, Felicity begins her search. When she finds Oliver, and ends up joining his vigilante crusade while she waits for him to decide whether to return home, the last thing she expects to do is fall in love with him. https://archiveofourown.org/works/14617068/chapters/33781269

Fragments multi-chapter WIP by @alexiablackbriar13 - A collection of various arrow and olicity ficlets from my drafts folder, partially completed. some AU, some canon related. many related to established verses I've created, although do not need to read those verses to read these fics. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906561/chapters/37075926

Time for a Story multi-chapter WIP by @smkkbert - This fic shows Olicity and their life as a (married) couple with family. Although Olicity (and their kids) are the protagonists, other characters of Arrow and Flash make appearances. YOU NEED THIS STORY IN YOUR LIFE. http://archiveofourown.org/works/3912157/chapters/8757172

Back to Start multi-chapter WIP by @laurabelle2930 - Felicity left home almost ten years ago. She missed her family, the land that she'd always felt bonded to and, the boy who was not only her best friend but, also her true love. Now with the help of her family she's about to see if the boy she left behind is still just as in love with as she still is with him. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16043321/chapters/37451873

Angel multi-chapter WIP by @it-was-a-red-heeler - Oliver encounters a stripper by the name of Angel and is blown away. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961898/chapters/37227686#workskin

// @emmaamelia95 // @mel-loves-all // @oliverfel4 // @green-arrows-of-karamel // @coal000 // @miriam1779 // @memcjo// @captainolicitysbedroom // @tdgal1 // @spaztronautwriter // @lalawo1// @quiveringbunny // @wrongshipper // @thebookjumper // @vaelisamaza // @myhauntedblacksoul // @lovelycssefan // @laurabelle2930 //

[rayonfrozenwings]

A Courtly Visit

wc/ 1289

- part of renee celebrates 1K: writer prompts series

AO3 link here : AO3 Series link here : @rayonfrozenwings-fic has all my fics also that link back to my main account so they are easier to find. Or search reneewritesfanfic on my blog. :)

Started from a Writer Prompt. I have written the start of "a courtly visit" to the Winter Court where things are a little different to what we know. Emissaries are all gathered to make plans for the future now the wall has come down, and maybe a little courtly intrigue on the side and romances developing.

It is a Mor / Vassa Romance, but I am unsure if it will continue - So heads up about that before you get too hooked.

Prompt from laces-of-life on Tumblr as a part of My 1K Celebration. "Morrigan and Vassa. Just, anything. Fluffy or steamy or silly or interacting with our three favorite bat boys. They're my personal favorite completely uncannon otp that I dreamt up and they're perfect and now I'm silently screeching like a pterodactyl inside. （ノ○Д○）ノ＝＝＝┠" @laces-of-life 

So my lovely Pose I tried to start something and make this possible more than just an uncannon otp. Because apparently i'm crazy and need to see how characters might get to this point. So there is a teeny bit of bat boys at the start and the potential for more Mor x Vassa down the line if I keep writing - you know me I get distracted, but I do like this idea or Mor meeting so many people away from the inner circle. :) So this is like the meet-cute.

A Courtly Visit

The winter court was beautiful all year round, crystals dangling from trees like a perpetual winter solstice. Mor knew that when winter actually fell it was more beautiful and more dangerous than any other court. The white fluffy animals easily distracted fae from other dangers that lurked here. Her familiar escort, Azriel and Cassian were flying overhead and Rhysand riding in the carriage beside her. Mor had a whole new wardrobe commissioned for this trip and the trunks of shoes and dresses and jewels were attached to the back of the carriage, sometimes you had to travel the slow way to be more comfortable at the other end.

Stones hit the window and then a moment later it was covered in snow. “Do you think they will ever grow up?” Mor asked Rhys, he smiled and winnowed away. Swearing and Loud noises exploded from the air above the carriage. She looked to the ceiling and leaned back in her seat.

“Rhys don't be a dick! We were having fun” Cassian howled.

“Now i’m having fun!” he called back.

Mor couldn't see exactly what was going on but it seemed her escort slowly became quieter as if they were falling behind the carriage. Popping her head out of the window she could see the three illyrians having an impromptu snowball fight. Mor sat back and listened to the rolling of the wheels and the horses hooves. It wasn’t relaxing per say, but some time to herself was always appreciated.

She started planning things in her head for the weeks to come. Talks between the courts would be opening again and representatives from each arriving soon. Mor was to represent the night court and it’s interests, she couldn’t remember who each high lord had chosen as their delegates, but at least there would be a few familiar faces, she expected Cressida from summer, cousin to the High Lord Tarquin, and Lucien said he would also attend in one of his letters to Feyre. Although Tamlin had not officially asked him. No one knew who would arrive from spring - if anyone, and Lucien couldn’t abandon the people he had spent so much time with. Jurian and Vassa were to represent the Human lands on each continent, those who were south of the wall now looking to Jurian for support in understanding this new post-wall-world.

Oh what a tricky web would be woven, she should be alright - Mor was good at reading a room, years of practice at trying not to give too much away. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, the fur lined gown she had chosen not nearly as warm as it was an hour ago.

A snowball flew at the window again.

She called for the carriage to stop and jumped out, skirts getting in the way, she shouldn’t have tried to fit in. The winter court fashion had far too many layers. Viv had already told her it was unnecessary, that she could wear her night court clothes and they would have all the fires burning, but a good excuse to go shopping should never be wasted. Feyre and herself had found the most beautiful damask and silk fabrics in red that worked so well with her furs but right now, it was hindering her ability to reign in the boys and smash them into the ground. Mor bent down and picked up the snow, cupping it in her hand. Shaping it as she walked to the tree line, she scoped out where each boy was. With a step, the darkness engulfed her and swarmed around; she threw the ball before winnowing to her next victim.

“Ahhh Damn it Mor! That’s cheating! Even Rhys knows that’s cheating!” yelled Cassian from behind a tree as Mor re-appeared across the road. Azriel turned towards her in defeat, sensing her with his skill or his shadows, hands up he dropped the snowball.

“I concede,” he said, obviously hoping she would spare him from the new ball in her hands.

The corner of his lip tweaked and she threw her snowball hard at the tree behind her.

“Fuck! - Mor!” Rhysand said as he lost his balance and fell back into the snow bank behind the tree.

Azriel’s laughter carried across the quiet roadside where only the horses breathing seemed to remain.

“Mor, you never play fair, you can’t change the rules.” Cassian said as he walked up behind Azriel from where he himself was hit.

“I didn’t know the rules! Hurry up, I don’t need you three in my space at court, the sooner you drop me off the better.” She stalked back the the carriage, slamming the door behind her.

--

Court was everything Vassa expected and more. The whole place was full of evergreen and berries from trees, large candles for dramatic effect throughout the main hall. She had expected a very cold castle with little or no decoration like the other castles she had been in - before and after the war - But this one was full of ancient stones that whispered happy stories of times long gone and bright tapestries and drapery to enhance every corner.

Lucien was talking to Jurian and herself about how much of the High Lord’s belongings were hidden by Viviane and her troops and how they had managed to keep the heart of the Winter court safe from Amarantha. As well as they could anyway. Ever the courtier he excelled in this place. Vassa was always the wild queen, the one who should not be around the mortal queens' guests, it had almost been a blessing; being the firebird. But the wheel of life was turning for her once more, and while they found a way out of her curse she would attend court here in the heart of Prythian.

Laughter echoed down the hall and Jurian and Lucien quickly turned and went down another hallway leaving Vassa to see who was laughing. Mor appeared, her satin slippers peeping our from her dress as she walked down the hall. The beautiful red gown adorned with white collar and cuffs to draw attention to her elegant hands and neck. Vassa smiled and welcomed her, now understanding why the other two were quickly away. Court dynamics would be very strange indeed.

“Good evening Morrigan, I didn’t realise you would be joining us, I think Lucien has been keeping me in the dark.” Pointing at the night sky through the window, Vassa smiled at the fae next to Mor and then warmly embraced her, giving her shoulders a little squeeze.

“Interesting. I wonder who else he is keeping secret from you. Have any enemies?” her words silky in that manner that court attendance seemed to demand. She gave Vassa a friendly nudge and invited her to join her on her walk, “I am here as a night court representative, but I must admit I do not know everyone who will be attending.”

Vassa walked with her, still admiring the tapestries but also leaving lingering looks towards Mor herself. She was beautiful and graceful and could easily slit a man’s throat, a perfect sort of woman.

“That sounds like you'll have very busy days - you must join us for dinner one night. I am unable to attend court during the day due to my … other form… but the nights are the best time to talk anyway.” Vassa had fallen back into courtly graces fast than she thought was possible.

“I’d like that, though your companions and I are still testing the waters, maybe the first dinner could just be us?”

Vassa beamed, her eyes lighting up, “That would be wonderful, it is always nice to get another perspective.” and the ladies enjoyed their stroll into the night.

[youhearstatic]

10 Questions Every Fic Writer Secretly Wants to be Asked

I’m just gonna answer these because why not this is my blog I’ll do what I want, you’re not my Captain!

1. Of the fics you’ve written, which is your favorite and why? It’s not finished but in the untitled Barry POV fic (aka the ‘fic i wasn’t gonna write’) there is a scene I’m so insanely proud of it’s really killing me to not just share it now. I’m probably 40k in and maybe... halfway done? It’s hard to tell. But gosh, I just love this scene so much.

The rest of these I’m just gonna answer for A Thousand Tiny Moments because it’s complete and I’m proud of it. Before that the longest thing I’d ever shared was probably around 2k words so this felt like A Big Deal.

2. Which scene was your favorite to write in A Thousand Tiny Moments ? The party scene at the beginning was the first I wrote for the fic and it was so much fun writing Lup as grumpy and hostile and possibly a little drunk.

(Putting the rest under a readmore because this is long and already very self indulgent.)

3. Which part of A Thousand Tiny Moments was hardest to write? I struggled a lot with the part where she brings him soup because there’s a lot going on there but mostly it’s on Barry’s end of things. (It’s a key piece of who Barry is in the Barry POV fic.) But it’s also part of Lup’s journey. It was hard to find a balance between being Lup-centric in what (in my head) is a Barry-centric scene.

4. If you could change anything in A Thousand Tiny Moments, what would it be? I’m really bummed it didn’t occur to me to put in a Grabthar’s Hammer reference for one of Lup’s made up deities.

5. Did you make an outline for A Thousand Tiny Moments ? Did you stick to it? No outline but I mean... the major plot points of Stolen Century kind of did that for me? The party scene at the beginning was just free form writing on a vague AU idea. Pretty much all the Taako & Lup scenes just appeared magically. Taako pretty much kicked down the door and marched himself in. None of the Taako moments were planned.

6. Which scenes did you cut, and which were added in A Thousand Tiny Moments? The scene of Barry cooking was added. I wrote it for the Barry fic before the Lup fic was even an idea. As soon as I was done I was like “well, I like this but it has to be Lup’s POV to work so it doesn’t fit here.” I stuck it in a drafts folder and forgot about it until I was halfway through with the Lup story. I was excited to use it because it feels genuine. It also felt like a good representation of why she loves him. It's so easy see why Barry loves Lup. As @femme-fatigue wrote so eloquently, she is “so fierce and yet so kind” which is just the PERFECT way to describe Lup and the perfect explanation for why Barry (or the audience or anyone) loves her.  (Also, seriously check out that comic at the link because it’s both literally and figuratively gorgeous.)

But I think Lup’s love for Barry isn’t as clear to people. My belief is that Barry isn’t just the lover, he is love. I see Barry as the one who loves everyone on the crew so much, cares so much about their safety and happiness, that his own anxieties and his fears of his shortcomings are forced down as he tries to do everything possible to provide that safety and happiness for them. Barry pushes himself to do better, work harder, not because he thinks he can - in fact despite his belief that he can’t - but because that’s what his crew, his family deserve. So that cooking scene just felt exactly like something Barry would do. And Lup fighting down her impulse to take over and instead just sitting back and watching him and trying to understand and appreciate his motives? That felt as important as the more directly canon scene with the robot. Loving someone when they are at their strongest is easy, loving someone when they are trying their damnedest at something they aren’t good at? Seeing the good in their effort? That’s love.

7. Who was your favorite character to write in A Thousand Tiny Moments? I hope I did okay writing Lup. I love her but she’s not as fun to write but I’m second guessing so much, terrified of not doing her justice. For this fic? Taako was so so so much fun. I find him equally intimidating to write because his voice is so specific and well represented and I don’t want to fail that either. But every time he appeared in this fic it was like he just walked in and did the things. There was no planning or thinking, he just happened, each time. It felt like it had very little to do with me if that makes sense.

8. Which came first, the title or the fic? The title didn’t come until editing was almost done and I went “oh shit, I have to name this thing!”

9. Which idea came to you first in A Thousand Tiny Moments? I think the elevator scene was the first in my head. My original idea was - and this is what I called it in my files right up until the day I posted it - ‘bad hookup AU’. The idea was they hooked up or almost hooked up and a lot of things stacked up to make the situation look really awful. So then instead of starting at zero for their Stolen Century time, Lup would start off kind of hating Barry. It didn’t really go that way, of course. It turned out to be much more about Lup’s growth and changes as a person both on her own (as opposed to half of Taako & Lup) and as a person with a found family that wasn’t going anywhere. I really loved Lup before I started but I fell even more in love with her while imagining this Lup just before being chosen for the Starblaster and how she changed during the Stolen Century, especially from the moment Magnus regenerates at the end of cycle one.

10. What are some facts readers may not know about A Thousand Tiny Moments? Okay, so originally my reason for Taako daring Lup to go to this party was he just wanted her out of the way for an evening because he had a date but was kinda being a little shady about it? Like maybe whoever it was, he was too embarrassed to tell Lup he was going out with him or something? I don’t know, I didn’t put much thought into it and I didn’t worry about it because the important thing was that Lup was at the party and Taako wasn’t. I wanted Lup a little off balance, wanted her in her own head not hanging out with her twin. 

And then that scene in the dorm room happened. Taako came in and he crawled into bed with Lup and he was quiet and vulnerable and I swear I was typing it and just shocked that it was happening. Because it dawned on me... “Ohhhh, he sent her to the party because he wanted her to do something that would get them kicked out. He doesn’t think they’ll be picked and he’d rather they got kicked out have to deal with being rejected.” 

It’s probably silly but it felt like a moment of connection between me and this character. Like I felt I should apologize to him for thinking his motive was so shallow. 

Those kinds of moments - where you’re writing and the story does things you didn’t realize it was doing - are The Best Things Ever. 

Also: the unfinished Barry POV fic is kind of the match to A Thousand Tiny Moments. It will be - for the Stolen Century portion at least - a very similar story. The key scenes will be there but slightly different. Beyond just the thoughts of a different character, it’s also like they perceive/remember things a little differently the same way two people wouldn’t tell you the plot of a movie in quite the same way.

[fanatic-writers]

The List (Part 2)

A/n: Oh dang!  I managed to put up a fic in time! I hope you guys like it as much as the last one and if you ever need to talk about this stuff feel free to send in an ask or a message! Also, A and I are still looking for another writer so contact us if you want some info on that! -G

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety and depression, some swearing, angst(ish)

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He looked over at her sleeping form in the bed. Part of him wished he never found that list, then maybe he’d be able to sleep. Then again he’d never know how bad it was if he hadn’t found it. Loki looked into the general direction of the closet and figured if she was asleep there was no hurt in finishing what he started. Besides, he’d know if she woke up.

6.   The only people that love me are forced to

The god sighed, he knew this wasn’t directed at him, but it still hurt. Her family life was never something she liked to talk about. While she loved her mother, her father was never to be brought up in conversation.

“You’re sure you want to move there? I mean you’ll be far away, and I doubt you’ll make it that long,” he said for the umpteenth time

“I'll be okay, dad” she replied

“You can’t come back if you miss me,” he said

“I’m not going to miss you,” she fired back

“So you don’t love me? I’m your dad Y/n,” he called as she got in her car

“I never said that,” she called out

“That’s what this looks like,” he yelled coming up to her car, fake tears in his eyes

“I’m not six anymore,” she stated as calm as she could, this was harder than she thought “it’s not like we’ve seen each other much since I was 13 anyway. I thought you’d get the hint by now.”

“That wasn’t my choice it was your mother's,” he cried

“Actually,” she paused “it was mine, and you know it.”

She started pulling out of the driveway the last thing she heard was her father yelling “You’ll never make it and when you need something you won’t have me to fall back on!”

“You were never there to fall back on anyways” she muttered.

As far as Loki knew that was the last time they had talked to each other. The girl and her mother had left her father when she was three. It’s not like she liked her dad, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t fix it. She wanted to, but he’d hurt her too much without even knowing. The god knew she was often haunted by the memories of her father, much like he was by Odin. Her father made her feel like utter shit like she was utter shit. There was no other way to see it and Loki had vowed long ago that if he ever met the man he’d punch him square in the jaw.

7.    I don’t know what it’s like to be happy

Her entire life was living one moment to the next, looking out for anything that could fuck her over and somehow finding it. It’s not like she tried to find the bad things they just seemed to always find her. He’d noticed it when they first started dating, how she’d be happy and then minutes later she’d be upset.

“How long do you think this can actually last?” she yelled

“Not much longer if you keep this up” he sneered

“Well I’m sorry that I’m the only one here who actually thinks about the future,” she roared tears coming to her eyes

“Would it really be so bad if we kept dating? Do I make you unhappy?” he asked

“No,” she confessed “you make me so happy, and that’s the problem.”

“Why can’t you just let yourself be happy?” the god said trying, and failing, to calm down

“Because that’s when shit goes sideways. That’s when people realize I’m a piece of garbage,”

“You’re not a piece of garbage,” he sighed

“You just haven’t known me long enough” she frowned

“Y/n,” he said taking her hands “even if others think that of you I never will.”

“How can you know?” she replied, her breathing was slowing but her eyes were wild

“Because I love you,” he said

If the god had known that would send her over the edge, making her cry and have a breakdown he probably would’ve chosen a better time to tell the girl. He wished he had told her sooner, but hindsight always was 20/20

8.   I’m a disappointment

This fell on her parents. It’s not like they meant to do it, both Y/n and Loki knew this. But with the way her father treated her her brain seemed to be wired to think everything, even compliments, were words of disapproval. Loki had learned this on his own, he saw himself in her, and he knew that she must feel as he always had.

She had forgotten to do something the god had asked her to do earlier in the day. She was about to go to bed when he asked her about it.

“Shit,” she muttered

“You didn’t do it?” he asked hiding his annoyance, it wasn’t a big deal he could do it tomorrow

“I am so sorry,” she said “I could go do it now,”

“It’s fine,” he cut her off

“No it’s not this is, what, the” she trailed off thinking “third time I’ve done that this week?” “You’ve been busy darling I don’t mind if you forget to do a simple task,” the god said only realizing his mistake after he saw the look in her eyes.

“That’s the thing though,” she mumbled, “it was simple and I still couldn’t do it.”

“You could do it you just forgot,” Loki reminded her

“Even if I did it we both know would’ve messed it up.” she frowned

“I just asked you to get milkY/n how could you mess that up?” he tried to reason

“Last time I got the wrong kind,” she said

“It all tastes the same love,” the god stated

“It does not,” she argued. 

That night had ended with her informing him on how different types of milk tasted. Loki still believed that they tasted the same, but if it made you feel better, he’d talk with her about milk till the cows come home.

9.   No matter what I do I’ll never be anything more than a number

She sat at her desk filling out paperwork, being an agent was great but was it worth all this? So many blank lines begging to be filled and all she could come up with was a word or two. Not that she needed more it just felt like she did. She was constantly told she’d never get anywhere if she didn’t separate herself from the crowd but how could she do that if he job was to hide in the shadows. And even if she did show people how good she was it never seemed to be enough. Even after she became an Avenger, she felt that she was just apart of the group to SHIELD. She felt like the one everyone thought they had to protect like she really wasn’t supposed to be a part of the team her name just happened to be on the list and no one realized the mistake till it was too late. She was one agent in a large agency and one avenger on a growing team, how long would it take to replace her? How long would it take them to realize their mistake?

10.   I can’t recognize the good things that are right in front of me

Loki hadn’t realized how late it was when he gave up on sleep and he didn’t know how early it was now.

“What are you doing?” he heard her ask

He was a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar “nothing,” he lied

“What’s that?” the girl asked, her eyes grew wide and her voice started to shake

“It’s nothing,” he told her again before she hesitantly reached for the notebook. Loki didn’t even bother to stop her.

Her face morphed into a worried expression, Loki knew this look by now and he knew he’d have to choose his words carefully, “why didn’t you tell me?” he cursed himself in his head, he was supposed to be good at this.

“You weren’t meant to find this,” she said shoving the notebook in the corner of the closet and walking out of the room. The god knew that she didn’t want to talk about anything on that list but he had to talk to her, he had to know that she was ok, so he followed her. He found her sitting on the floor in the kitchen, tears streaming down her face. “Still don’t think I’m a piece of garbage?” she muttered

“Of course not,” he said sitting next to her and pulling her into his lap “can we at least try and talk about this love?”

“I-I’d prefer if we didn’t,” she whispered

“Please,” the god asked

“I- Where do you want to start?” she asked curling up tighter

“Why?” he started

“Why do I feel like that or why did I write it cause I don’t think  know the answer to either of those questions,” she confessed

“Why did you write it?” he asked again

“I guess I figured if I wrote it down later I’d be better and it’d be something I could grow from?” she asked more than stated “I mean it was just one of those things you know? I was freaking out and it somehow managed to calm me down. I’ve been doing it for awhile actually,”

“How long?” he seemed more distraught than she did, he figured it felt right for her to get these things off her chest but to hear that she felt more comfortable talking to a journal than him stung.

“Since I was a teen,” she told him “it was easier than telling my parents all my problems, a piece of paper can’t judge you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again

“I was afraid that if you realized how messed up, I am you’d finally have the common sense to leave me.” her voice became soft again

“I’m not going to leave you,” he told her “you may be a pain sometimes, but you are arguably the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re beautiful Y/n and amazing, you can build palaces out of paragraphs.”

“Did you just quote Hamilton?” she asked

“Possibly,” he commented, “but we both know it’s true.”

“Thank you,” she responded “and although being in a relationship with you has been one of the scariest things I’ve done I’m glad I’ve finally found someone who actually cares,”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A/n: I hope you guys enjoyed the fic! Requests are open as always! Love you all -G

[hithelleth]

Salvation S1

Why do I keep getting into shows that are likely to be cancelled!? Oh, right, because I’m a masochist. So, I’ve finished Salvation and it was so good! I’ve been internally squeeing for days, so I’ll try to get things out of my system now so I can then maybe focus on other fannish (and non-fannish) things.

(This turned out long, so I put it under the cut and tried to make it more easily readable with some bolding. My apologies to those on mobile.) 

I’ve always had a thing for doomsday premises, so this was right up my alley with an impending extinction level event that must remain secret from the general populace to avoid panic while the big shots try to prevent it.

Except that unlike a number of cheesy movies where the world comes together to save humanity and/or help each other after the disaster, Salvation creators tackled it from the other end: the whole season is set before the disaster strikes and nobody is willing to cooperate.

I found the approach refreshing and really liked it. Probably because I’m what I call a pessimistic idealist. I mean, don’t get me wrong, obviously, if such a scenario happens in real life, I do hope (or want to) that humanity would come together to save itself/the Earth. But the pessimist in me thinks there is just as much chance for us to kill each other before the Earth/space/whatever gets to us.

Although, of course, with the current political atmosphere where the orange menace and the little dumpling (you know who I mean, they don’t deserve to be named) are throwing threats with nuclear war weapons around, the cold-war-era-like hostilities in the show gave me chills.

So, there’s political power play galore while the tech wiz and co. are trying to find the way to save the world while being obstructed on every step by politicians. I liked the suspense it all brought out, and how it made the show fast paced (but didn’t take anything from complexity). I also liked all the shadiness and there was a lot of it around, as basically everyone does at least something not quite right (even if with the best of intentions).

I liked that the focus of the show is sort-of evenly spread between science and politics as well as different age groups, as in the characters in their early to mid-twenties and those around/in their forties, which I’m more into the older I get (seriously, it’s one of the biggest reality checks as to age when I realise that the character/actor(ess) is only a few years older than me, or worse, younger!)

And while I’m at that… I have a new OT3!!!! Come on, you knew this was coming, I’m that weird person who can find more or less likely OT3s anywhere and I proudly own it.

But damn it, I wasn’t looking for it! Then again I never do, you know how it goes: I don’t choose my ships, they chose me. Those three fuckers! Why am I doing this to myself? Why? *high pitched pterodactyl screeching*

I’m talking about Harris/Grace/Darius (in all variations), just to be clear. Seriously, I have no idea how it happened, but around episode 5 or 6, I was like, “well maybe instead of squabbling and ‘slight’ signs of jealousy, you could, you know, work together?” and then one thought led to another and I was like, “yeah, I could ship it, provided Harris wasn’t evil…” (I mean, he was a very, very bad boy once or twice, but turned out not to be evil) and the rest is history. *insert more swearing* Yeah, episode 8 didn’t help at all. And then of course they did work together so well towards the end of the season. *sighs*

Anyway, look, I’m not asking for much, just a S2 where they can occasionally (well, the more often the better, but I’ll take what I get) share screen time and be the badass power world/country-saving trio they are. My imagination can do the rest. ;)

But of course, IAD was promoted to a regular on Hawaii 5-O, so I’m not sure what that would mean – although Salvation is a summer show, so I guess coordination could be possible – and the ratings seem to be shit and I don’t want to get my hopes up despite the articles floating around saying not all is lost for S2. *fingers crossed*

Which brings me to a bit of ranting about a plot hole or two and a few general observations and possible S2 speculations.

a) You want me to believe that the US Secretary of Defence can just simply drive around on his own, NBD, and nobody bats an eye? FFS, even in my itty bitty country where the cabinet members really aren’t in much danger of imminent assassination, they have drivers and security details, especially the Defence Minister. It did come very handy for the plot that Harris could just drive around like it’s nobody business, though.

b) How did they get the selected 160 on site so fast? Magic? Because they couldn’t have picked them solely from Tanz personnel, since that would be mostly scientists, and they did pick historians, artists, etc…  And those would be from all around the country, I’d say. (It’s shitty enough that they would be all only Americans, like the rest of the world has no smart people to offer. Also, for genetic diversity it would be better if people were from other countries, too.)

Unless they brought them into Tanz as they picked them, before the nuclear alarm. But didn’t they finish the selection process just a day or a couple before (my memory is a bit foggy, I’ll have to rewatch)?

And nobody seemed surprised at the sight of the space-ship, so I guess they were told the actual truth or at least the Mars colonisation version beforehand? I think the second is more likely.

But, never mind, that is not even my biggest problem with the 160 and I can easily let it pass, because time on TV can work in mysterious ways (plus, maybe they cut the scenes that were supposed to clear it up.)

c) No, my biggest problem is that if 160 people are the minimum viable population, I assume those people must be able to procreate (and have healthy and diverse enough genes.) 

And so there were mostly young people in their twenties (mostly women) and thirties in the Salvation bunker. So far so good.

Of course if we only look to the continuation of human species, choosing young people makes sense.

(I’m not going into the fact that if all those youth are the best and the brightest, there would be other issues with picking people who must have been child prodigies and could therefore lack the social skills that are just as important for humanity as science – but I guess the humanities studies part of the group can compensate for what others lack in that field.) 

It also makes perfect sense that some people would be chosen for qualities other than reproductive abilities, which is where Harris and Grace come in.

I mean, men don’t have that sort of a problem, but with Zoe about to start college, Grace must be at least in her early 40s (although Jennifer is younger) since she doesn’t strike me as a teen mom, and a woman of her age has a hard time having a healthy child even in the most optimal, peaceful conditions and with the best medical treatment available, so I think it’s safe to say Grace having any more kids, especially in a couple of years, is out of the question. But that’s okay.

My problem is with Darius being disqualified on grounds of carrying the Huntington’s gene. Sure, it served as a fantastic testimony of his character that he would work on the Mars project and then this saving the mankind thing knowing that he can’t go/save himself. That’s great, what a good person!

But since other people were picked for their leadership/wisdom/merit, then why not Darius?

Did the writers forget that contraception is a thing? You know, to prevent ‘accidentally’ spreading his bad genes around? And pre-natal screening also exists (okay, IDK if they can find out about the Huntington’s gene that way, but still) – and there are doctors (I assume a few actual MDs have been picked) around to do it and in case of a positive result an abortion is an option? (But god forbid we’d even think of the A-word on a national network in the US, of course.) Or you know, just have the guy have a vasectomy, the easiest sure-fire solution. (Yeah, now I’m being mean.)

My point in short: there is no logical reason (I know, looking for logic on TV; I never learn) for Darius not to be among the 160 apart from the writers’ need for characterisation through drama.

Anyway, I think that if we get S2, it might turn out the nukes were false alarm or something, because Santiago Cabrera is first-billed and I expect they wouldn’t kill him off, so this disqualification issue will be moot.

So, if we get S2:

d) The usurping VP (why TF does he have to be named Monroe Bennett? *wry smile* *cue reminiscing of a certain other show*) escaped and will be wreaking havoc, I assume.

e) I’d really like if Amanda somehow survived (I mean, it’s TV, anything is survivable on TV, a little chest/shoulder wound should be nothing), because I liked her.

f) I had to google the actor who played Grace’s dad (he was awesome!) because he looked familiar and look, he also played the substitute pressie who needed to be bullied into doing the right thing in TLS.

g) With the EM drive being magnetic (duh), I think Liam’s idea has something to do with trying to use the EM drive to pull the asteroid in off the impact course. I vote for partial success, because otherwise the show’s premise would go out of the window and they might as well just end it.

And I think that’s all I’ve got (for now).

I think I’ll go find some pretties to queue up for next week. Although, I’ve already been in the tags a little and as far as I could see, nobody ships my OT3 (I’m not surprised at all), so I might need to do some giffing myself. And maybe write fic. But after I finish my current fic exchange assignment, which I should be doing instead of writing this, but oh well. Maybe now I’ll be able to concentrate better.

Tagging @street-of-mercy, because you got me into this mess! ;) (You don’t have to respond or anything, but in case you’re interested in my thoughts and questionable shipping choices, here you go. :D) 

[not-just-any-fangirl]

for the meme, every even number and if it requires a fic title WHIPS

SEND ME A NUMBER

2. Favorite part of writing.

World building. Hands down. I love coming up with rules and societies and building maps for my stories!

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

I always need music, helps me get in the zone while writing. 

6. Favorite character you ever created.

Considering how I write mostly fanfic, I wouldn’t say I’ve really created a character that I’ve let people read. However, for my oc’s that I’ve made I’d have to say Po is my favourite!

8. Favorite trope to write.

Person A thinks they’re a monster and unloveable but person B disagrees and loves them regardless and it’s so pure and my heart

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

Oh jesus dude I don’t read a lot anymore bcus Exhaustion so I’d have to go with my standard of Rick Riordan and probs a typical ‘youth is chosen one and saves the world’ but with swears and an oprnly bi protag bcus ME

12. How do you deal with self-doubts?

Honestly I think back to things I’ve read before and know i write better than that. Theres still plently I have to work on and learn, but I know for a fcat my writing is a far shot away from some of the things I’ve gotten half a page through and exited out of.

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book?

HAHAHA.

So much. So much fucking research. Probs WHIPS with researching the spiritual and wiccan meaning of different woods, colours, flowers, other such things, how spells are cast and runage. Listen if I believed in any spirituality I’d probs be wiccan. 

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

Wherever I can find it LMAO. I daydream a lot, so my ideas come from there and hopefully I write them down before they fade too much. 

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like?

Just constant rereading what I’ve written of the piece so far. I don’t doa  lot of rewrite bcus I let the story go where it wants and post chapter to chapter, so I kinda have to go where I’ve written myself.

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

A memory passed through Lucy like a phantom, her back arching off the wood, papers scattered as she tore at her hair in wild abandon, Natsu’s hand on her hips as he buried himself deep and hard in-

Oh.

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat, her arms tightening around Natsu. She felt him stiffen as well, fingertips biting hard into her hips where he held her.

“Natsu,” Lucy said softly, lips ghosting over the smooth skin of his neck as she spoke, “do you remember the last time you sat me on this desk?”

“I do,” he growled, voice barely reaching more than a rumble that travelled through her bones and resonated in her core.

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

What’s a draft lol? I’ve been like this since highschool and it’s a bad habit I suggest everyone revise and edit unlike me24. Poetry or prose, and why?

Both. I mainly write prose but I love free verse poetry, and how you can add beats and a rhythm through speaking alone and the openness to speak in metaphors in poetry.

26. Standalone or series, and why?

I love series bcus I always want to know more about what happened! Writing, however, sucks balls bcus then you have to go back and make sure everything makes sense

28. And who do you share them with?

I share snippets with my close friends and will have them look over something if I can’t figure it out on my own. I like having a beta, but I know life gets in the way and they have their own stuff to write

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

I have a couple tbh, and my brain always goes to my funny ones first. I think it’s a tie between fuck fuck fucking fuck. and Happy however did not care about whether something was acceptable in human society, as he was a cat. via WHIPS. My fave non-comedy line would probably be It was beautiful, in the way that forgotten places tended to be. History left untapped and ghosts given reign of the grounds where life had once been. via Implexium Vitae

32. Easiest character to write.

Lucy def

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes?

I hand write designs for runes and layouts, but usually typed notes

36. A spoiler for story WHIPS.

The book Lucy was holding in chap 25 reveals a major plot point in who Zeref is and his motivations :D

38. Have you shared your outline of your story WHIPS with someone? If so, what did they think of it?

I’ve shared it with @hannah-nobody and I think she liked it! Def helped me work out some pacing and early ideas

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why?

I write mainly fanfic just bcus I love to tell stories and join the community and friends I meet through them! Would love to work on my own ocs at some point tho. 

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

I look at what they might like, what would help them, what would hold them back. I try to humanize them and throw in traits me or my friends have, which helps keep their character grounded as well so they aren’t all perfect from the start!

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

On one of the earlier chapters of whips a girl told me how my inclusion of the wiccan AU made her feel closer to a friend she had lost to cancer and dude that still stays with me. Otherwise most of my growth has been me reading and seeing where my own writing falls short and changing. 

46. What would your story WHIPS look like as a tv show or movie? 

I hope it would be one of those fun and silly half hour shows that has like the sudden DARK plot reveal that’s actually been there under the surface the entire time. Either real or anime is eh. 

48. Favorite genre to write in.

Everyday comedy, I think. So the drama still feels natural and theres real conflicts, but its still a little dumb and goofy and hyperbolic. Brooklyn 99 ish. 

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

Fucking ‘cursed Pinocchio penis’ is the worst idea I’ve ever had and I blame you Alisha.

52. How did writing change you?

I met so many friends through writing and all caps yelling with each other about story ideas

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

Don’t be afraid to experiment and know when to disregard and when to accept critique of your writing!