#therefore naturally i go into ao3 to see if anyone’s written anything

[bonebuckets]

the lack of Danielle and Nikignik content and their funky little friendship is FOUL give the people what they want

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 6: The Negotiation … Setting the terms of the working agreement between Katsu and Mitsuhide goes about as well as one would expect.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

“Calm down, Brat – you’ll find me a most accommodating employer as long as you behave appropriately.” After brushing his finger across my wrist one more time, Mitsuhide finally let go and retreated to his desk. “Shall we discuss our terms?”

I presumed that was rhetorical and stayed mute. I also presumed that “our” meant “my.”

“I do not want the headache of keeping you a physical prisoner here, nor do I want to waste precious time hunting you down if-” he flicked a quick glance at my face, “-when you escape. Therefore, let’s agree on this – if you help me find Mai and Hideyoshi, I’ll return the favor and help you find Akihira.”

Ugh. I didn’t want to work with him… but he was probably right that we’d have more success if we pooled our resources. “Even if he’s not with them, even if we find your friends first, you’ll continue to search for Aki.”

“Even if.” He nodded at the shogi board that was sitting on the corner of the desk. It was a reminder that he and Aki were friends of a sort and had known each other for several years. “I expect the same of you. If we locate Akihira first, you will continue to help me.”

“Of course.” I’m a professional. If I agree to something, I stick to it. Sure, I’ll happily lie if necessary, and successfully at that. But if I make a promise, I keep it. Hm, speaking of professional… “We should write up a contract.”

“I hesitate to put anything in writing that I wouldn’t want anyone unauthorized to see.” He tapped the top of the desk. “After all, some sneak thieves can pick locks.”

Oh, enough with the locks.

However, it might be worth it if he thought that I knew how to pick locks, and thus not bother to lock things. “I would feel more comfortable with a written contract, but if you’re really that concerned, we could write it in code.” That awarded me a single raised eyebrow. Hm, could I put, ‘please teach me the single eyebrow raise’ into the contract? “I’m the only person who knows all Aki’s codes, so it’s safe.”

“All of his codes?” He unearthed a blank scroll of paper and patted the cushion at his side. “So be it.”

With a shade rattle of doom echoing in my ears, and an odd anticipatory feeling coursing through my veins, I moved to sit next to him. Why does it seem like I’m making a contract with the Devil? After a quick conference we decided to use the code that he normally used to correspond with Aki and got to work laying out the terms of our agreement.

The first rule, the quid pro quo of helping each other find our missing friends was the easiest. After that, things devolved rather quickly…

“I don’t see why we cannot have equal say in everything. It’s not like I’m planning to boss you around.” Internally, I saw the point of having one person – Mitsuhide – be in charge. But his attitude made me want to protest everything. Besides, if I appeared to give way on the things that I was prepared to accept, then hopefully, he would be accommodating when I ran across a deal-breaker and wouldn’t budge.

“Were you and Aki equal partners?” The look he gave me dared me to lie.

“No. But Aki is my father.” At least Mitsuhide thought he was, and I wasn’t about to disabuse him of that right now. “And you are not.” I had always trusted Aki (more or less). This one, I did not, would not, could not, trust. “I only want to have a say in things.”

He placed one finger on the side of my jaw, turning my head to face him, forcing me to look into those amber-gold eyes. I had the impulse to hold my breath. No. He would notice that. Natural breathing. Ha! Like that’s possible.

His voice was low, and clear, and all the teasing and amusing was stripped from the tone. “I have been doing this kind of work long enough to know that some decisions need to be made in an instant. Orders need to be followed without question or people could die. Is that quite clear?”

I nodded.

“Good.” We stared at each other for a moment, until he let his hand drift back to his side.

That weird prickly feeling returned. I felt off balance, needing to pull back some control. “When we’re in our disguises, or when we are in an urgent situation, you may be in charge.” I managed to infuse that with an unspoken ‘I’m doing this because I want to and not because you say so’ tone to my voice. “When we are here, in private, at our leisure, I will do what I want. And I want my own room.”

“As long as when we are in public, you dress as I say, act as my concubine, and follow my orders to the letter.” He watched over my shoulder as I wrote that down. “When we are alone in this building, if we are not actively working, you may happily ignore me.” He sighed.  “I shall endeavor to live with the loneliness.”

“And my own room? I will not in truth be your bedmate.” I shouldn’t have needed to spell that out, but better to do so now and avoid an awkward conversation later. If this place didn’t have a second bedroom, I supposed I would have to bunk in this not terribly private office.

“A bed technically is not required. You might be surprised at what can be accomplished against a wall, or … on a desk.” He ran his fingers along the smooth lacquer of the desk. The sound his nails made as they slithered across skittered down my spine.

He was teasing again… I think.

Not interested in either kabedon or desk-a-don. “Well, what is life without a little unsolved mystery?”

“What would you say if I pointed out that our charade requires that we be able to act as if we’ve enjoyed certain intimacies?” Before I could move myself out of reach, he tangled his hands in my ponytail, leaning closer as if he meant to kiss me. He smiled, gazing at into my eyes as if I were the most precious person on earth. “Lovers… have a specific look to them. They smile and flush when exchanging glances. Intimate touches when they believe no one is watching.” He let go of my hair, and his hand stroked my cheek before his expression and attitude returned to the more familiar amused condescension.  

“I can pretend.” I can pretend as well as you just did.  “In any case, people saw you buy me. Noone would be surprised if I look like I hate you.” Something evil inside me made me add.  “I doubt you’re unfamiliar with the concept of ‘faking it.’” Before he could react to that … in fact, afraid that he would indeed react because I had probably gone too far there, I hurried to write, “no sex.”

He lifted the brush out of my hand, carefully dipped it in ink, and added, “unless she begs.”

“Are you crazy? That’s horrible!” I snatched the brush back and marked out his words with thick dark lines.

“You certain display a lot of confidence for one so young.” He tapped his finger on his lip, drawing my attention to it again. “I promise you, if would not be ‘horrible.’ While it is true that I am renowned as a torturer, what people don’t understand is that one can torture with pleasure as easily as with pain. If I put my mind to it, I could have you on this desk, desperate for me. You would most certainly beg… and eventually discover that ‘horrible’ would be the very last word you would use to describe the experience.”

He'd done nothing but speak. That’s all he had done. He hadn’t touched me at all. Yet I felt a jolt of … revulsion, yes, revulsion, it had to be that, all through me.

Ok Jareth-with-better-teeth, dial it down a few hundred degrees.

“Well, thanks for that warning – but that wasn’t what I meant. Begging is demeaning. It’s …” Gross, but he wouldn’t understand that word. “If, in the, completely improbable case that I decide, I decide that I want to sleep with you, I will inform you of that fact.”

“Inform me.” There went the eyebrow.

“Well, how would you like it if I told you that I would only sleep with you if you begged me?” I could almost picture the look on his face if I said that. It would probably be similar to how he was looking at me right now. Snarkily amused.

“Point taken.” He took the brush and wrote, Intimacies in private will only occur upon mutual renegotiation. “Does that meet with your approval?”

I had a feeling he was just humoring me, but I had gotten what I wanted so I let that go. “It will do.”

In any case, the chances of my wanting to renegotiate that particular item basically lived in the category that also contained airborne pork and figure skating in hell, so it probably didn’t matter all that much anyway.

Once again, my brain inserted a shade rattle of doom into my thoughts.

The rest of our contract was less fraught with disagreement. I mean, it wasn’t completely peaceful by any means, as he seemed determined to tease me into agreement, but in general, his requests were as reasonable as mine (or as unreasonable – I refused to be the only one responsible for cooking and cleaning) and after concluding the negotiation, he’d guided me to the top floor where I would indeed have a room of my own. “Kyubei has been sleeping in here, but as I’ve sent him back to Azuchi to pretend to be me, no one will be using it anyway.”

I filed away the information that he and Kyubei regularly swapped places as potentially useful. I supposed that explained why Mitsuhide was wearing that long dark wig. When he and Kyubei stood next to each other, they did look pretty similar.

“Does this meet with your exacting approval?”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the room, and not his current hairdo, so I spared a glance around to check it out (not that I believe he would have cared at all if I didn’t like it… the room or the wig). It was on the small side, but with a fair amount of neatly built in shelving. The color scheme was rather grim, though. The red and black lacquered panels from the hallway had continued into this room, and a trifold screen depicted a wood carving of a yokai transforming from a basket into a snake. “Interesting décor. Did you pick out the furnishings yourself?” That screen at the very least, was going to need to be turned to face the wall.

“The prior owner, who found it necessary to vacate the premises urgently, sold it to me, furnishings included.” He lit a lantern for me, an act that added sinister shadows to the room. “It does not reflect my taste. Nor does that brown atrocity you’re currently wearing.”

Ugh, yeah, the brown kimono was a relic picked out by Fume, who had never warmed to me (and that’s a kind way of describing it). I brushed away some of the day’s dust from the front of it. “It is impolite to comment on a lady’s attire. This charming outfit fits the role of Kaya the maid, whose unfortunate displacement in the war led to her appearance in the slave market.”

“The alias, you may keep. Kaya.” He gave the brown kimono another judgmental glance. “The clothing must go. ‘Kyubei’ the merchant,” he pointed to himself, “prefers his playthings in silks, hrm, yes, pink, pale green, and lavender.”

Ugh, why does it have to be pink? Pink… and my least favorite nickname. I was trying to figure out which battle to choose when he preempted me.

“No argument? Good. Be ready just past sunrise tomorrow. We need to remedy the deficiencies in your wardrobe.” With a mocking bow, he left me standing in the middle of the room.

“I hate pink!” Too late. He was gone. I would have to revisit that debate tomorrow.

Even if I had to wear the dreaded pink when ‘Kaya’ was in public with Mitsuhide, there should still be an opportunity or two for me to investigate Sakai in my ‘Katsu’ disguise. At least, I hoped so. Mitsuhide couldn’t demand all of my time. Unfortunately, I had left all of my personal items at Francisco’s and I couldn’t count on him to bring them to me (or… find Mitsuhide’s townhouse again).

So, as soon as I could be certain (or relatively certain… or… ok, I guesstimated) that Mitushide was tucked into his own bed for the night, I climbed out the window of ‘my’ room, scampered up to the roof, and hurried the few streets over to land on top Francisco’s machiya. The front door would likely be bolted shut at this hour, but why use a door when a window will do?

Francisco apparently didn’t sense my entry (probably because he was snoring loud enough to muffle anything short of an explosion), and rather than bother to wake him up, I simply retrieved my clothing and weapons from his office. I wasted no time returning to the identity where I felt the most me. Between the boy’s kimono and hakima pants, my sword, and my archery equipment, I felt almost fortified enough to deal with Mitsuhide (not that I planned on shooting him if he annoyed me – but it’s good to have options).  Unfortunately, the brown kimono, as ugly as it was, might still be a useful disguise at some point, so I stuffed it back into my pack.

More important than the Katsu disguise, and admittedly the reason I had snuck out of Mitsuhide’s house, was Aki’s letter to me. I unlocked Francisco’s desk and retrieved it, and after a moment’s consideration, liberated some of my money too. Though I wanted to sit down and read the letter right away, I only had an hour or so before Mitsuhide’s prescribed ‘be ready at sunrise,’ and another visit to make. So, I retraced my steps past the still snoring Francisco, and in moments was making my way across the rooftops to Shojumaru’s warehouse.

Though dawn was only hinting at the horizon, the building was already a hub of activity, with sailors hauling crates inside. From my perch on the roof across the street, I could see young Hiko darting about, looking like he was directing the workers to stack the boxes, while a white-haired man dressed in rich gold and brown silks was inspecting the boxes themselves.

He was clearly in charge – was this then, the merchant Shojumaru?

The angle of the roof to the street wasn’t sharp enough to allow viewing of what was in the crates. Most were only carried by one man, so they couldn’t be too terribly heavy. Fabric, maybe Chinese silk or Indian cotton, seemed to be the most likely contents. At least today then, no one was importing Nanban weapons.

I considered climbing down and introducing myself, using Hiko as a facilitator, but decided to observe Shojumaru from afar first. If I wanted to ingratiate myself with him, it would be good to have an idea of how he personally operated. The sailors who were bringing in the goods treated him with deference, though he kept a healthy amount of personal space between them. He was more overtly affectionate toward Hiko, treating the boy to a rare, and seemingly genuine smile. The only time I noticed him becoming at all uncomfortable was when a poorly balanced crate fell off a cart, landing a puddle with a splat.

A spray of watery mud was flung out in a circle, splashing everyone in the vicinity. When the mud hit Shojumaru, he froze and a look of revulsion crossed his face. He whipped out a hand towel and scrubbed at his cheek and clothing.

After brushing off his clothing, Shojumaru tossed the hand towel to Hiko, and disappeared inside the building, which pretty much ended any plan I might have had to casually encounter him and Hiko in the street. I supposed I could go in and simply introduce myself, but someone just doused in mud was unlikely to be in the friendliest mood. Then again, people who are upset tend to reveal more about themselves. Still, it wasn’t great timing, and…

Timing.

Crap. I needed to Cinderella myself back to the townhouse before my “master” woke and found me gone. With a few regretful thoughts about the less than successful morning, I turned, and hurriedly retraced my steps, zipping across the rooftops as if I were a vampire and the sun would turn me to ash.

But even though I managed to return before the sun had fully risen… Mitsuhide was indeed waiting for me when I climbed back through the window.

Speaking of vampires…

Mitsuhide lay on my futon, his arms folded across his chest, almost in a vampiric pose… hm, if he were a vampire, it would explain a lot.

Without opening his eyes, he said, “Good morning, Brat. Did you have a fruitful morning ramble?”

He didn’t sound angry. The second thing I hate about Mitsuhide. He never gets angry at me when I expect him to.

@bestbryn @mllorei @tele86 @lyds323 @selenacosmic @akitsuneswife

[bisexualchrissycunningham]

What tropes DO you like to see in hellcheer fanfics? Now I'm worried that I've been incorporating things that are harmful without even realizing it and I want to write things that won't accidentally trigger or upset a reader. Our fandom is small but strong and I don't want to contribute to any discomfort.

Oh boy. Firstly, it’s really lovely to know someone takes reader discomfort seriously and wants to ensure they’re not causing harm. 

But secondly, don’t avoid writing anything out of fear of reader reaction. That’s what tags are for! Here’s the thing: I wish more people would use too many tags rather than too little just to be safe. Or give a much better idea of what a fic will entail in the description. If they don’t want to spoil readers, one thing I’ve done in the past has been stating in my authors note that I would put a detailed description of any potentially triggering content in the end notes on AO3 and they can choose whether to read or not. Just something, you know? 

I hold myself totally responsible for what I choose to read, which means I have chosen to limit my fic reading much more than I originally thought I would out of an overabundance of caution. I think tags can only go so far if the writers themselves don’t seem to be fully conscious of what they’re putting out there with their writing. 

Which I guess leads to a thing I’ve been biting my tongue on cause my thoughts on it are still so unformed and I’m always scared of provoking hatefulness.. there is a pattern across fic in general (not just Hellcheer) of power dynamics being written naturally into all ship interactions without proper tagging. Sometimes BDSM is tagged, but nothing to specify non-sexual power dynamics, which in my perspective can often be MORE important to warn for. It seems like a lot of writers have sort of internalized this idea that there always has to be a dominant partner and a submissive partner in any pairing, and of course it almost always means the male or more masculine-presenting partner is the dominant one.

I think in normalizing this, some people started missing the fact that this is, in fact, a kink and something that HAS to be warned for. Readers should always be aware of any type of unequal power dynamic before reading a fic. 

A lot of writers are aiming for the sub partner as a fully-empowered character with their own autonomy who chooses to be submissive, but tbh, not all writers are successful at demonstrating this and instead recreate pretty fucked up dynamics that can lead to otherwise fine content being distressing for readers. 

An unrelated issue I’ve run into that a lot of people aren’t gonna wanna hear: B*lly showing up in fics without being tagged. Fucking ALWAYS tag this character. You KNOW he’s upsetting/triggering for people due to his canon behaviour, regardless of how much you personally like/relate to him. I recently read a Hellcheer fic where he showed up out of nowhere, played a prominent role in several chapters AND was in a relationship that made me super uncomfortable. If it had been in the tags, I could have at least made an informed choice about reading it without being completely fucking blindsided. 

Like I said above, I don’t think anyone should not write something cause of the way readers might react. I fully believe there is room for all types of fic– I dabble in writing pretty taboo stuff privately, and I really love darkfic. Obviously I am fine with simply not reading things that don’t interest me based on what the tags and synopsis tell me. I guess I just wish the fandom was a little more united and therefore friendlier, and had more of the kind of environment that welcomed sticky conversations like this, but it’s not and it doesn’t, so being cautious feels like my best option. 

To speak to your concern about your own writing and possible harm.. honestly, I have only seen a single other person express discomfort with some of the things I described above, and I’ve never felt comfortable discussing it one on one with anyone to see if anyone else experiences anything similar. Fandom friendships are so precarious as it is–often just expressing an opinion a mutual doesn’t like can lead to them no longer engaging with you, so the risk doesn’t feel worth it. 

I genuinely worry this is only a me problem, and other people simply don’t care and think anyone who does should just toughen up, or be less uptight or something. Maybe I’m just bitter or cynical about this fandom though. 

As for tropes I do like reading.. hmm. I feel like if I list anything right now, it’s just going to be a bunch of things that are the opposite of everything I talked about above. Is there anything in particular that sparked your message you wanted to discuss? I'm happy to chat more.

[babybulls15]

Heyho hello, I am Mia and I have finally accepted my fate! 🤪

After living in denial for the longest time, I have finally accepted the fact, that my random fandom sideblog has slowly but surely turned into my F1 RPF blog.

And because this is also where I promote my own writing, it might be time to actually introduce myself.

So here we go, I guess...

💫About Me💫

There's actually not very much to be said about me specifically.

I'm Mia (on the internet at least ;D) and I run this Tumblr account, thx byee :))

jk, here are some Tumblr-relevant facts about me:

🙆‍♀️ I'm a cis woman, going by she/her pronouns

💬 I speak English, German, French and a bit of Spanish (I don't tag posts language-specific, though)

⌛ I started my fandom journey on Wattpad and am now very happy to have deboarded that particular train for Tumblr xD

💻 I actually don't have any other social media, because I'm very susceptible to doom-scrolling (but I want memes, so I'm very thankful for Tumblr and my saviour the chronological dash lmao)

❤️ my offline hobbies include but are not limited to: reading, writing, singing, music, photography, knitting, Magic: The Gathering, nature (whatever that means)

📚 I am an indiscriminate enjoyer of all things written down, whether it be traditionally published books, comics or fanfiction

✏️ I wrote some fanfic in my teenage years, switched to poetry for a while, before coming back to long-form fandom writing

🏎️ I've always been really into motor sports of any kind, but kept it mostly offline and regional, F1 has only recently been added to the list and I am actually very surprised by how much I enjoy it (it also managed to get me over my almost decade long writers block so I think I will stay for a bit)

⁉️ Although I am an advocate for Don't like it, don't read it!, I recognize that sometimes it's not that easy. I myself have clear boundaries of what I am and am not comfortable seeing. Therefore, although I do post F1 on my main blog, I've decided to keep the rpf-side of things confined to this sideblog.

💌 I am always delighted to meet new people and make new friends, so if you want to chat, please don't hesitate to send me a DM or an ask!! <3333

💫About this blog💫

Drivers I support a bit more than the others:

🦁 MV1

🌶️ CS55

👑 LH44

💚 NH27

🐨 OP81

I don't hate anyone, these are just the ones I care/post about the most. :))

Posts about particular drivers are mostly tagged with a shorthand just like in the list. :)

Ships that live in my head rent free:

🦁🌶️ Versainz (hence the url ;))

🦁👑 4433

🦁🚗 Lestappen

🌶️🧡 Carlando

🦁🦡 Maxiel

👑👱 Brocedes

🌶🐨 Carcar

🧡🐨 Landoscar

and whatever else tickles my fancy :))

My own two cents are organized like this:

✨ #mia screams into the void but in a different direction for original posts

✨ #mia throws writing into the void for my writing (can also be found on Ao3)

✨ #oh don't go breaking my heart for all the heart-break

✨ #wtf did i just witness for all the mind-break

✨ #oh…oh no for all things 'this is very funny but also wtf people'

✨️ #lights out and away we meme for...well...memes

✨️ #*write write write* for general fandom and writing related posts/memes

✨️ #artsy for anything art (drawings, writing, edits, gifs, ...)

I might come up with some more things to differentiate between stuff.

If you have read this far I am very grateful! Thank you for giving me the time of day, I am so glad you exist! (also pls come and chat with me if you want) 🥰🥰

[dalishkadan]

writers tag game

got tagged by @noire-pandora and i was going to do this yesterday but SURPRISE SURPRISE I FORGOT LMAO

1.How many works do you have on AO3?

uh *mumbles* two hundred and thirty-seven ... (though seriously considering taking one of them down at least for a little while to sort out what i want to rewrite and also the tags)

2.What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,373,295 (eep!)

3.What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

groove is in the heart - 551

it's always been you - 373

wrong number (or "what happens when you accidentally send your boss a dick pic") - 327

angel, interrupted - 321

sudden realisations - 305

(it is no surprise to me that these are all in the supernatural fandom and all but one is destiel asdfghjkl)

4.Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i always do! i don't always get back to them right away but i always want to let a commenter know that their comment is appreciated because it issssssssss <3

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i would have said too heavy, a fic where anders mourns his lover hawke that was left in the fade, but i'm actually planning a sequel that will make it happier, so technically it won't really be ... i'd therefore say where fate led them, because two lovers breaking up is one thing, but breaking up by one person blowing up the other's airship and then ending up in a quickdraw duel with them where one kills the other is a whole other level.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

i don't really count my one-shots because the smutty ones naturally have a happy ending of sorts (hurr hurr hurr) but of my multi-chapter fics ... i'd probably say dark legacy. marane loses some of her brotherhood brethren but she exacts vengeance for them in the dread father's name, kills the emperor of cyrodiil (and gets all the fame and notoriety that goes along with that), gets a whole new sanctuary, and basically gets to rebuild the dark brotherhood from the ground up in the night mother's image. plus a new lover in the form of cicero. is there anything else a good listener needs?

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

do modern characters in fandom worlds count? lol if not then no, i don't think i have yet. yet being the operative word, because i do have things planned. but i have a lot of things planned, so.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

i did once, but it wasn't really bad and i'm not sure i would classify it as hate. basically someone read part two of a series and lamented certain things in that story that are also present in the first story and are just clearly a part of the series aesthetic. i get it, it's not for everyone. not sure why they felt the need to read 160k of posted work before saying so, but to each their own. i do think i circumvent hate comments by requiring folks to be signed in to leave one. i'm sure i probably miss out on comments by guests, but for my mental health's sake, i'd rather leave it to logged in users only. put your money where your mouth is ... or, in this case, your account.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

oh yes, i write quite a lot of it, too, and in a good variety! from vanilla to kinky to even dangerous (and appropriately tagged).

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of, thankfully

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i've been told, at least lol

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, though a friend of mine have gone back and forth with a dao canon divergence. both of us are just at different points in our writing right now, though, so who knows if/when it will see the light of day. i don't usually co-write, though, because my writing muse is so finicky, it's not really dependable.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

i don't think i could choose, don't make me!

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

honestly, at this point, it's unfortunately one i felt very passionate about: angel, interrupted. i had started slowly writing it and building up this au when the poor quality of the show just began wearing on me and the fandom in general wore on me even further until i've ... kinda just fallen out of love with it. :/ i don't hate it, not at all, i guess i just need more time and separation from the bullshit. at least i hope that'll help. i truly do want to finish it, i just feel absolutely no drive to do so right now.

What are your writing strengths?

angst, definitely lol

What are your writing weaknesses?

dialogue and certain characters

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i think it's cool and i like to incorporate it when i can. i am kinda leery and cautious when i don't actually know the language well, myself, tho. i don't wanna muck it up lol.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

in general? star wars. that i posted on ao3? harry potter.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

it feels like i keep harping on this one lol but the path we choose is just one i'm so, so proud of. the examination of guilt and regret in the form of a one-shot set against the mojave, with the courier discussing their issues and joshua graham offering support and comfort. one of my friends called joshua (in this fic) a shepard rather than a hand of vengeance, and i really do like writing him that way. plus zelda needs all the help she can get lol and really, we all do.

i tag @dreadfutures, @warpedlegacy, and @dumbassentity! if you were tagged before, sorry :P and no pressure if you don't wanna partake. and if anyone wants to do this, consider this your tag!

[kuningatarmirka]

Family Bonding

So, my Vera & Margot gifset got me thinking, “If they were sisters, how could it actually work?” and then this story was born.

It’s written from Vera’s perspective, and therefore it’s mostly The Order fanfic.

(This is also on ao3 but the link naturally breaks the tags...)

Vera hurried through the administration building, almost colliding with a couple of other faculty members on her way. One of her meetings had run late again and it was already past noon. She had promised to meet Hamish outside so they could go to eat lunch together. Apparently, when he had heard about her not-so-healthy eating habits, he had made it his life mission to make sure she ate a proper meal every day.

She actually felt a little bad for making him wait. She knew that he had another class to teach soon and they would have to hurry. It was just that she had spent the previous evening dealing with the Gnostic Council and had had no time to prepare for her day job. Even after the deaths of Salvador and Alyssa, Praxis was still a threat. There were still members of that organization who were causing havoc and the council wanted them dealt with.

Vera stepped out of the building and made her way down the stairs. She already saw Hamish standing there with a scowl on his face.

“I’m sorry!” she apologized, reaching him. “My meeting took forever.”

Hamish uncrossed his arms, still frowning but Vera saw he was having a hard time staying mad at her.

“You do realize I have to teach a class in an hour?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, you texted me ten times,” Vera answered. “As the Chancellor I could not leave the meeting early and you know that.”

Hamish nodded, and this time there was a small smile playing on his lips. “Just don’t make this a habit.”

They set off in the direction of the parking lot with the intention of driving a short distance to a restaurant downtown where they’d have a better chance of not running into every student and coworker.

Vera walked beside Hamish, their hands almost touching, and after a small moment, she felt him grasp her hand in his.

Her head shot up in surprise and she turned to him with wide eyes.

Hamish squeezed her hand a little but kept walking calmly, pretending he hadn’t noticed.

Vera had to admit it felt nice – even though she still didn’t like any public displays of affection. Because their relationship wasn’t exactly the most normal one, she was a little afraid of what others might think of them. Hamish on the other hand had told her many times that he didn’t care what anyone said. She just knew that the rumors had already started. She had spent most of her life alone and was seen as the loner at the university. Vera Stone was married to her work and didn’t have time for relationships. So, when there was suddenly a young man waiting for her almost every day, people started talking.

While they walked Hamish started telling her about the knights’ earlier hunt for the Praxis members. He told her how Jack – or Silverback to be precise – had almost ripped someone’s heart out, and how Randall had almost fallen into a ditch while chasing another member. Vera let out a genuine laugh at that, receiving a chuckle from Hamish as well. Vera and Randall still didn’t get along well, so hearing about the wolf’s misfortune was amusing to her.

They were so caught up in their stories that they failed to notice a cyclist approaching them. Luckily the student was fast enough to dodge them in time but still ended up knocking Vera’s bag from her shoulder.

“Shit,” she cursed, reaching for her bag. Sadly, that was the exact moment when someone else collided with her and caused her to stumble forward. Fortunately, Hamish still had a grip on her hand and his fast werewolf instincts helped him pull her up before she fell.

She wobbled, still a little disoriented, but finally got her control back.

For a little moment at least.

“I’m so sorry!” she suddenly heard a woman’s voice apologize. A rather familiar voice at that.

Vera whirled around, her eyes widening in shock.

“Shit,” she repeated.

“Vera?” the woman asked, also in apparent shock.

“What the…” Hamish muttered, his gaze flicking between the two women. The two identical women.

“No, no, no,” Vera shook her head, taking a step back. “You can’t be here.”

“Surprise?” the woman said, cringing a little. “I need to talk to you.”

“No,” Vera shook her head even more, still clearly in shock.

“Can someone please tell me what is going on?” Hamish tried to ask. He kept staring at them both, not knowing what to think.

“She’s my sister,” Vera managed to breathe out. Her head was reeling and she was starting to feel dizzy.

“Hi, I'm Margot Verger,” her sister offered her hand to Hamish who took it reflexively, even though his mind seemed to be somewhere else. Vera couldn’t blame him.

"Hamish Duke," he introduced himself.

“Are you twins?” he then asked, puzzled.

“Oh, no! She’s older,” Margot pointed at Vera, who was standing a few feet away from them, trying to get her breathing under control. “No more twins, thank God,” she continued quietly under her breath.

That was when Vera decided she had to get away.

“Nope! I can’t do this,” she announced. “Not right now, no!”

She turned around and pretty much fled the scene as quickly as she could in her heels. She could hear Hamish call after her, but he was smart enough not to stop her.

Vera had managed to escape her past and she would do anything to make it stay that way.

---

Hamish watched Vera run away. He called her a few times but stopped when knew he couldn't make her come back. Seeing her sister had caused her to panic and escape the situation as quickly as possible. Him and Margot were left standing in the middle of the pathway, not knowing what to do or where to go after Vera’s sudden departure.

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Margot sighed, looking down at her feet.

“Oh, believe me, she does,” Hamish replied instinctively. “She just doesn’t take surprises well.”

Of course he couldn't know that for sure but after all the time he had spent with her, he had learned how to read her.

It had been necessary since Vera had always been good at hiding her emotions. The walls around her were usually strong and unyielding, and so far Jack, and Hamish himself, had been the only ones able to break through them. Although he had to admit seeing her panic that badly was concerning. A few words from her sister and she was crumbling down.

“I haven’t seen her in decades,” Margot admitted. “It makes sense that she doesn't want to talk to me. I don't know what I was thinking.”

That information surprised Hamish. Decades? He knew Vera had a lot of secrets and painful memories but not seeing her family for that long was surprising. She hadn't shared a lot with him and it seemed to suggest that there were still things in her past that she hadn't come to terms with.

He debated over his choices but in the end decided the best way to go forward would be to take Vera’s sister to her. Vera could hate him for it but at least she’d have the chance to talk to a member of her family and maybe get some closure.

“Follow me. I know where she is going,” he told Margot.

She looked hesitant, but the glimmer of hope in her eyes told Hamish that she really wanted to talk to her sister. There seemed to be some desperation there as well and Hamish hoped that whatever it was, it wouldn’t cause them any more trouble.

After all they had just managed to dodge one apocalypse and weren't in need of another.

So, he gestured to his right and started leading her towards the Temple.

(To be continued.)

[purplepalmdelight]

why life is still okay (rambling fic rec pt. 1)

firstly: shout out to @trulyalpha for apparently owning my entire bookmarks page on ao3 (bc i only realised all my favourite fics were written by the same person,,, yesterday. bc im really smart like that) anyway breakdown of why she’s a stoncy saving grace thanks!!!

you ease my mind, you make everything feel fine.

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/13842039)

yes this fic is from 2018. yes i read it every other week. it’s good for the SOUL. jonathan getting taken care of is always just such a good and sweet concept (maybe it’s my intense, undying love of him, but he deserves to be taken care okay) and. okay i’ll admit, sometimes i forget how fucking FUNNY this fic is, but it’s genuinely hilarious, okay? you gotta trust me on this. it makes me cackle at inappropriate times absurdly often. ("Hi." "Hi." "I want you, you fuck." is a top line. i laugh so hard every TIME.) all three of them are so incredibly in character, and somehow this NAILS the fact that they’re all massive disasters pretending to be confident. and i’m not someone that reads ~smut~ often (though it’s more mentioned than described, very non-explicit) but this didn’t make me even the least bit uncomfortable. it felt very natural and in character and made me laugh as much as the rest of the story. all in all, i always come away a little more in love with the characters, and that’s a really precious feeling.

you could be the one to make me feel something

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/14269476/chapters/32912745)

i take back everything i’ve ever claimed. this IS the funniest piece of writing i’ve ever read, and it WILL remain so, probably until the day i die. i honestly... barely have words. my expectations were high when i started it, but in retrospect, they were LEAGUES below what i got. the characterisation, the progression, the dialogue, the story; from the overarching aspects to the tiny details, it’s impeccable. i genuinely read this twice in one day, and then again the next. every single part of it is so good, but in terms of FAVOURITES... the christmas section. hilarious. down to its bones, well crafted and heart felt. it hits me right in the chest every time. the story, from the beginning, has me just as in love with nancy and steve as jonathan is, and as everything grows more intense, so does my investment. it pulls me in and doesn’t let me go until it’s good and ready to see me leave. again, the sexy aspects are so in character and natural that it’s uncomfortable or weird to read and instead just leave me grinning like an idiot. also ( “It did frustrate me, in more ways than one. It’s also a weird plan, like … did you expect me to be so overwhelmed by the power of a boner that I’d just admit my feelings?” is SUCH a funny line, i think about it literally every day. literally. every. day.) the characters are afraid to be messy, to make mistakes, and they all feel so ALIVE that when i leave the story, i feel like i’m leaving a friend. it’s honestly beautiful and honestly breathtaking. this story is better than a lot of published books, honestly, and i’m so grateful for it. so thank you.

i crash my car ‘cause i wanna get carried away!

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131202)

...you really wanted to make me cry, huh? i cried out of grief, yeah, out of the depth of nancy’s guilt and the pure rawness of her mourning, but i also cried out of catharsis as she came to terms, and out of laughter a few times. the bit about total eclipse of the heart as a motif was... that was so well done. i hate drawing comparisons, so please understand that this is criticism of a concept and not a particular story, but in so many stories then nancy’s grief feels... trivialised? that’s not quite the right word. romanticised, maybe. as someone who has lost a friend in the past, it’s just... it doesn’t feel realistic? and that’s okay, because it’s hard to nail something you haven’t experienced, and i wouldn’t wish the experience on anyone. it’s just that stories like this, where i can really resonate with nancy and follow the journey of her recovery WITH her are so rare. this story is a gem, it really is. i don’t love it for all the same reasons as the others, but i love it fiercely all the same.

there’s nothing magic going on, and then along came you

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994137)

sure, you could be the one is the funniest fic i’ll probably ever read, but nothing magic is such a close second. it’s laugh-out-loud, get-tears-in-your-eyes, fall-out-of-your-chair, and it’s also so goddamn SWEET i can hardly stand it. of the several fics i generally group together in my head (nothing magic, you could be the one + its sequels (might have to make an individual post about this series), laugh until we think we’ll die, and got nothing for you; all very similar, yet incredibly unique) nothing magic is the shortest, but that doesn’t mean it compromises on quality, oh no. it just means i can read it quicker, and therefore more often! when it’s late and i’m tired and i need a laugh to calm down before i sleep, i generally go search this fic up. remember when i mentioned the whole “being just as in love with nancy and steve as jonathan is” thing? it’s like that except... almost funnier. in you could be the one, it’s just that the story naturally tugs you into adoring these two messy, silly, sweet, amazing young adults, because how could you not? how else could you possibly feel? but here, they are genuinely just... that funny. they are actually just so funny that you as a reader click with them and find yourself grinning like an IDIOT because oh my god you’re disasters. maybe it’s the inherent relatability of a tired highschooler trying to make it through the summer and hating his job along the way, but this fic hits right in the heart every damn time.

got nothing for you other than love

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596658)

"You trust me," she says.

They both know it's a fact, not question, but he still says, "Of course."

and

By then, his shell wasn't something he could step out of. It was part of him. But that was okay. He didn't need more. What he had was enough.

He always did have trouble with wanting more.

and

"Hey, babe?" Nancy turns her head to look at Steve, touching his shoulder. "Can you buy me a drink?"

"Sure thing. What d'ya want?"

"Surprise me. Not like that time we were here and you snuck out the store, went to a smoothie stand, and came back with a mango smoothie."

Steve grins. "But I did surprise you."

and

"Do you have food in the backseat?"

"The sandwich has only been there for like, two weeks—"

and

"Ugh. Too much cheese. I'm lactose-intolerant, remember?"

"False, you're not intolerant of anyone except people over the age of fifteen with bowl cuts and guys who wear shorts in the winter."

and

"Where are you off to? I'm your only friend," Kali says, frowning.

and

"You good, man?"

"Yeah," he says, his throat dry, "I'm great."

"Yeah, you are," Nancy says, and he is. He is.

and i can’t continue because that’s, like, barely halfway into the fic and i’ve already skipped so many of my favourite lines and i would have to skip so many more. you see what i mean about sathana being funny as hell? and like all the others, it’s not just the humour here. i mean... it is, because it’s SO FUCKING FUNNY I LITERALLY CANNOT SAY THAT ENOUGH but the reason it’s so funny is because it’s so candid. it’s so smooth. the whole thing flows. you’re not left feeling that you’ve missed a piece or that anything was sacrificed; you just feel like you’ve read something incredible. this fic is an experience of its own that i honestly have never experienced before. it’s sweet, and it’s gentle, and it’s just so overwhelmingly good that i don’t think i’ll ever quite get over it. in short? it’s a blessing. my expectations were high, but holy fuck did you blow them to bits.

one more favourite line:

Things are ending, things are starting, and everything looks bright. It won't always be that way. The sun's got to set at some point. But, gazing up at the sky, at the pink bleeding into orange, Jonathan figures it'll have to rise again. No matter what happens, these two things are constant.

"Hey, you look awfully lonely," Nancy calls out, walking towards him, reaching out to him with the hand not in Steve's.

Well. Maybe not just those two things.

that scene, in general, is beautiful, and it wraps the story up on such a genuine note. it feels like a film with how clearly i can picture it. it feels like no fic i’ve ever really read before. it feels... good. i guess i don’t really have the words. it just feels so good.

as an overall statement on why i call her my favourite author... it’s the realism. maybe that’s surprising, considering how many times i said “funny” or “hilarious” in here, but in the end, i wouldn’t be so attached to her work if it didn’t feel so real. i can open a tab and instantly get transported to a home i’ve never lived in. it’s comfortable. it’s sweet. and the dialogue/banter is always perfectly crafted. there’s just never really a downside to her fics, honestly. even if i wanted to search, i don’t think i’d find one. not even one of those “their only problem is that there’s not more to enjoy” kind of comments, because every single one feels perfectly crafted in its own right. it doesn’t need more or less. it stands for itself and it’s goddamn good at it.

i didn’t anticipate having to do multiple parts on this post, but- surprise surprise- i haven’t even gotten to my favourite one yet! so yeah, pt. 2 will be written after i finish the history essay trying to murder me, god knows when that is. in the meantime, please go give her some love and adoration. she deserves it.

[dana-sculy]

Vive Ut Vivas - Chapter Three

Chapter Two / Chapter One

This was so far my favorite chapter to write! Let's just say it has a really cute msr moment, it has Melissa being really up to help Scully get some fun, and it’s based on both Mulder and Scully’s perceptions of the story. Feel free to tell me anything, hope you guys enjoy!

tagging @today-in-fic   (To read it in AO3, come here)

Fox

I check my watch for the millionth time today. It’s been forty minutes. Were these things supposed to last this long? Is she going to come here after it all or is she just going to flee to her sister’s home and leave me here alone?

I check my pencils inside the top drawer of the table. There are two left. The others now decorate the dusty grey ceiling. I turn to my shells at the end of the room, but everything’s cautiously organized in there now. Scully would be so proud. She mocked me for months, after we were assigned, for having such a lack of organization with my stuff.

Call it boredom, but I had to do something, anything, to fill my mind with other than Scully. Since yesterday, when Skinner told me she would be evaluated today, I couldn’t think of much else. I tried to find cases to work on, but they only made me think of crackpot theories I wanted to tell her, so I could see those beautiful blue eyes roll to the top or her head. So I cleaned my stuff, and it helped me get distracted for a while, but then I thought about how I would feel triumphant over her reaction to it, how she would pretend it was nothing but wouldn’t be able to hide her proud smile in the corners of her mouth.

It’s useless, it seems, to try to forget Scully. She’s in every little thing I do or think, and sometimes it drives me nuts. Going to Skinner’s office could be an option, but I don’t want to make her any more famous than she already is right now, after everything that’s happened. People already talk about her abduction, how it was as strange as our job, about how we probably sleep together, and I don’t want to give them more reason to spread these rumors about her. I decide to wait a little more.

After four, as I return from the bathroom, I feel a tiny pair of hands cover my eyes from behind, and even if it wasn’t for the size of her hands, or for the fact that nobody else would do that or even come down here, I’d still be perfectly aware that it was Scully. My body senses her presence like a magnet, like an invisible line that connects us, a telephone signal.

“So, what do I have here, a visitor? Isn’t it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded?” – I say that as I turn to face her, holding her hands with mine.

“Nice to see you too, Mulder.” – She gives me a wry smile, walking towards our office room.

She stops at the door, clearly noticing the place is cleaner than before. Then, she sits on the edge of the desk, legs crossed, slowly thumping her fingers at the table. There’s a triumphant look in her eyes, as she directs them to me.

“What happened here, Mulder? Did you get visited by your cleaning fairy godmother?”

“Well, Scully, as a friend once told me, this place needed some care.” – I tease her with a wink.

“Smart friend you have, Mulder.” – She stares directly into my eyes – “I wonder if she used to kick your crazy ass a lot.”

God help me, because how much I missed sassy Scully. I know she is just joking with me, but the truth is, she did had my back more times than I can count on our partnership, not to mention that she helped me keep our department going with her down-to-earth reports. I may not always agree with her theories, but in all honesty, she keeps me on the right track.

I come closer to the desk and bow my head to whisper in her ear.

“It’s not out of the realm of extreme possibility, Scully.”

There’s a brief moment of silence between us after that. My partner seems immersed in thought but, judging by the way she’s chewing the inside of her cheek, and how she doesn’t dare look into my eyes, I know she’s nervous too. She’s holding back something, and I wonder if it has something to do with her evaluation today. I was so excited by her arrival that it didn’t even cross my mind how maybe they didn’t allow her to go back to work yet.

As a profiler, the prospect of reading people’s behavior surges with quite frequency to me. It’s almost natural, their actions end up being noticed by my mind and then it follows its own path. With Scully, though, I never dared to do that. Despite the fact that I always suspected the reasons she was sent to me in the first place, as to debunk me – and her behavior was fitting quite well in that – it all changed when she entered my motel room in barely a robe that night on our first case.

She had just met me, and yet she allowed herself to be entirely vulnerable with me that night. It was an act of fear, of course, but she decided to trust me, and after that, I decided I was willing to do the same with her. At the time, I made a decision. I was never going to profile Scully. I would listen to what she had to say, and I would limit my watch to the signals she was willingly showing me.

We became incredibly good at that kind of communication, ironically. Sometimes we don’t even need to verbalize what we are thinking before the other gets the message. Sometimes our bodies show more than we could with a speech too.

Therefore, I know better than anyone that pushing Scully to tell me right now what’s wrong won’t do any good. Finding it out myself before her decision to tell me wouldn’t be right, either. It has to be in her time. For now, I just lift her face with my thumb and wait, looking into her eyes, asking for permission to know whatever there is to know.

“I, hum… I just came back from Skinner’s office. He’s approved my return to work any time from now.” – She finally speaks, keeping our eye contact.

“That’s the best thing I heard today so far, Scully. Do you agree with Skinner? I mean, do you feel alright to be back to duty?” – I cup her face with my hand and caress it softly. She trembles a little, but doesn’t stop me.

“I’m fine, Mulder.” – She rests her right hand on top of mine, which’s still cupping her face, and holds it. There’s a strange sense of déjà-vu in the air. Months ago, when her father died, we stood here in a very similar conversation. I suppose she’s thinking the same thing.

“I need to work” – her eyes plead me to understand, and that only makes me feel more worried.

If only I could go back in time and protect Scully from the all the damage I caused her. I never gave much thought about the costs of my pursuit of the truth: I had already lost my sister, my family; there was nothing to lose before. But after Scully, that was not true anymore. They’ve put her in the middle of our crusade because of me, because of what she meant to me.

What did we become?

Sometimes that question keeps me awake in the middle of the night. Partners. We are that, for sure, but partners would never be willing to go as far as we would for each other. Friends. Our friendship was built in a solid ground of trust, of mutual care, but is that just as far as it goes? Assuming we’re friends doesn’t seem to cover the deep depths of our relationship either. We’re deeply connected: by heart, by mind, we have a bond that irradiates into our entire lives. I know Scully’s favorite perfume, her favorite type of flower, how she loves the spring and how she was never afraid of the dark. I’ve held her in my arms multiple times, in life and death situations, whenever she needed support. She takes care of me so often; she’s always stood by my side.

That intimacy seems to trespass the territory of friendship in all aspects, except the physical one. That’s a line we never dared to cross, but it doesn’t mean I’m not aware of the sensuality Scully exudes, or how beautiful she is. I keep that effect she has on me inside elaborated mental boxes wrapped up with yellow tape written “do not cross”. Even so, sometimes it’s arduous to keep myself unaffected by it. It’s a dangerous path, to try to define us, and an even more dangerous one, to wonder what I’d wish us to be.

“Mulder, I can hear you thinking.” – She says, bringing me back from my thoughts. – “I’ve already spoken to Skinner, my sister is taking good care of me, and, most importantly, I'm alive. But Mulder, I don’t want to come back to a life where people treat me like I’m broken. I need to feel capable again, to feel strong. I need you to support me on that, please.” – The last word comes above a whisper; her eyes watered yet steadfast.

“Scully, are you familiar with the sea anemone and clownfish?” – She’s taken aback by my question, but decides to go along with it.

“Well, as far as my biology classes in school would allow me. Why?”

“Did you know that only select pairs of anemone and clownfish are compatible to each other? At first, the possibility of a fit between the two of them, not to mention a beneficial one, would be highly improbable. The anemone is protective, using nematocyst strikes to scare every kind of threat. It was up to the clownfish to adjust to that, in an act of not trying to eat her tentacles, like most fish do. In return, the anemone has evolved to not strike the clownfish. You see, they both had to move further from their natural behavior in order to create their relationship, and despite the risks, they work better together than alone.”

“Mulder, are you saying you and I are like fish?” – She muses with a smile.

“We don’t live in the bottom of the ocean, Scully, but that doesn’t mean we can’t relate to that somehow.” – She laughs a little, making me feel better for lighting up the mood.

“We also need to adjust sometimes, Scully, to make ‘us’ work. If you want me to adjust, I will. I just want you to be willing to do the same for me. You scared me to death, you know, I thought I’d lose you.”

“You’ll still have to put up with me for a long time, Mulder.” – She smiles. – “I’ll be your anemone, Fox Mulder.”

“Then I’ll be your clownfish, Dana Scully.”

—

Dana

The sun was lowering slowly in the sky, leaving threads of light lingered in it, mingling with the rolling clouds in a beautiful gradient of colors that stood upon its original blue, now mixed with orange, purple and yellow. Absorbed in this welcoming view, my thoughts drift away by their own will, far from everything.

I feel the soothing breeze that flows in the park, which is still crowded with kids in school uniforms that play nearby. Some other people pass through the bench I’m seated in, some jogging, others riding their bikes. It feels peaceful, to be around this kind of normalcy once again.

“Lost in thought, sis? – Melissa taps my shoulder before sitting next to me. She’s smoking one of her herbs.

“You know I’m a federal agent, right?”

“Sister’s don’t put each other in jail, Danes.” – she turns to me with a teasing smile. – “Want some?”

“Maybe I could use some of that.” – I give her a small laugh, but it ends up sounding more like a sigh.

“Oh, having problems with the man candy? You know, I could really help you with that if you’d let me, Dana.”

“Enough with this idea, Melissa. I’ve already told you, Mulder and I are just partners and friends if you want to know.” – I give her a serious look, and it only makes her smile more broadly.

“Are you saying he doesn’t make you weak to the knees, sis? You can’t tell me you don’t think he’s hot. That would make me consider taking you back to the hospital, because there would be definitely something wrong with your head.”

“Okay, okay. I’m not blind, Melissa. Mulder is handsome and very sensual at times, but it would be highly inappropriate to get myself involved with him, even if I wanted to.”

“You should try to have fun sometimes, you know? You’re too boring.” – She laughs and takes my hand, standing up.

“What are you doing?” – She pulls me out of the bench, walking towards the avenue and out of the park.

“It’s time for us to go do some mundane, silly stuff, Miss Federal Agent.”

Two hours later and I see myself being guided through the glowing streets of a crowded Friday night. I have no idea where Melissa is going to take me. It reminds me of our early days in San Diego: she could always find the best places for us to hang out, even when dad was on our back. That was something I used to love about her, the fact that she would always include me in her plans, either if it was a party she was invited to, or just a ride to the beach or the mall. She would never leave me behind.

Street lamps flicker on our way. There’s no wind, but is not too warm; the fresh air is perfect and the stars are a beautiful sight I’m not used to pay attention to. It’s funny how my mind seems to be noticing these things more nowadays: the stars, the quiet laughter from the couple on the other side of the street, the smell of candy coming from somewhere near. It’s interesting how things in the universe can be perfectly standing while your life has just come from its way upside down.

Melissa makes a turn four blocks away from her place, and she seems to find the pub she’s been looking for. From the outside, it looks pleasantly rustic. Its construction rises through time-worn bricks, and it's difficult to see through the windows, but the cheerful sounds from within can be felt outside. She rests her hand on the rough paintwork that coats the door and push.

The ambient is crowded, but comfortable enough. Aside from a set of tables and a large booth on the back of the pub, the space is composed by a long mahogany bar and a number of tall bar stools arranged to accommodate any drinker who didn’t want to be seated at one of the tables. The ceiling height is pleasantly commodious, and I notice stairs leading to somewhere worth further explorations later.

“Well, sis, I must admit that you still have your touch for picking up these things.”

“Not so bad to stay with your sister, uh?” – Melissa takes the free reminiscent table for us, and makes a sign for the waiter. – “Plus, you really needed some fun in your life, Dana. Let’s forget men and worries for a little while.”

The waiter approaches us with a charming look in his eyes. He seems nonchalant about it, though; as if it was something automatic that he’s quite used to do. His bronzed skin and green eyes only add to the view.

“What can I do for the ladies tonight?” – He asks us with a foreign accent.

“Well, my sister here has just come back to life, so to speak, so what do you suggest?” – Melissa winks at me.

“Well, Ma'am, it should be something with a strong taste, yet soft, remarkable; something that reminds you how life is worth living, don’t you think?” – The answer is directed to my sister, but despite that, his eyes direct to mine as he speaks.

“I totally agree.”

“How about you? A lady with such fierce eyes must have an opinion of her own.” –  At this point, both the waiter and my sister look at me expectantly, waiting for a response.

“For now, I’ll just have a cold beer, please.” – The waiter nods at me and turns to Melissa, waiting for her turn to order.

“Bring me some tequila, would you?”

“Sure. And my name is Adam, by the way. Just call me if you need anything.” - As he storms out to get our drinks, she turns to me.

“So much for having fun, Dana. You should be the big sister, you know.” – Melissa points a disappointed look at my direction.

“I’m not looking so forward to having a massive headache in the morning, Missy. Plus, someone will have to be sober enough to take care of the both of us.” – She laughs at that.

“You should really live the moment more, instead of worrying that much about the future, sis. After what happened to you, I thought you’d get better at that.”

I remember the hospital nights and the complete sense of soreness I felt on my body for a moment. It makes me tremble a little, and Melissa notices it instantly. There’s no breeze of air coming at our direction, so I’m pretty sure she guessed it was no weather that caused that.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you feel bad, Dana.” – She reaches her hand out and places it on top of mine.

“I’m fine, Missy. Can we just… not bring that up just yet? It’s too soon, please.”

“Sure. Let’s talk about something else.”

We talk for several minutes and the conversation becomes lighter. We talk mostly about my sister’s recent life: how he’s just broken up with a boyfriend I never got to meet, how she’s been really enjoying her new job, how mom still thinks she should go back to church. I realize there’s a lot about her that I’ve lost, not exactly just because of my disappearing, but because, with the busy routine I was living before that, I ended up not being very present in her life.

I wonder if Missy noticed that through the years. She’s done so much for me in the past months, in the hospital, and now opening space in her daily life to take care of me… I was so worried about the FBI, about my own personal issues that I didn’t stop to think maybe Melissa only wanted something I’ve been neglecting her in a long time: to be with me.

Maybe she was right about living the moment, after all. All I’ve done was to worry about myself, while she was just trying to enjoy spending time with her sister. Maybe it’s time for me to give her what she wants.

“You know what, Missy, I think maybe you were right.”

“Wow, the alcohol must be working well, because I can’t believe you just said that.” – She mocks me, contented. – “About what, specifically?”

“Well, about me not living my best life lately. I see how much yours changed, and I wasn’t even there to be part of it. I’m sorry, I haven’t been exactly the dream family lately, have I?” – I give her a sorry look and a sad smile.

“Well, you’ve been distant. I wondered why for quite some time. We used to talk about everything, even when we were apart. I guess changing is part of life but… can we come back to that? I miss you a lot.”

“I miss you too. I was so involved with my career, with… things I can’t explain to you. I suppose I tend to close myself off to the people I love.” – She returns my smile, staring at me.

“That you definitely do. I’ll tell you this: I don’t care how you live your life, as long as you are happy. And as long as you trust me to be part of it. Deal?”

“Deal.” – I say, squeezing her hand.

At this point, our glasses are barely empty. I scan the pub until my eyes find what I was searching for.

“Adam!” - I shout for the waiter, who’s carrying an empty bottle that was left on the bar.

He notices me from the crowd and approaches our table pleased.

“Here I am. Would you like some more beer?”

“In fact, I think it’s time for that drink you suggested me. Bring me your best, and fill a glass for my sister here too.” – I give him a teasing wink that only improves his delight. – “It’s Dana, by the way.”

[alienspawnwrites]

Laying Hands: Chapter 4

Read on AO3

Settling In

As far as transitions go, Althea's shift into living alongside the Avengers in Stark Tower was relatively smooth. Steve had upheld his promise to allow her time, and neither he nor the rest of the team pestered her about the circumstances surrounding her years as a captive of Hydra. Instead, they went about their days and routines as though she were simply a new, if not welcome, addition to their lives. Soon she began to feel almost at home amongst the group of particular individuals.

Steve made it a point to check in on her at least once a day, seeking her out if they hadn't crossed paths. Though no one had expressly confirmed her suspicions, she was now confident he was considered their leader. It wasn't difficult to understand why. He was a serious man by nature, focused and steadfast, but tempered with kindness and patience. He led by example, not by demand, and it was easy to see how he had earned the respect of the rest of the team.

One day, after another of Tony's referential jokes had gone over both their heads, Steve told her about how he had come to join the Avengers. He told her about the serum that had turned him into a super-soldier and created "Captain America", how he had first fought Hydra in the midst of World War II, and how he had awoken seventy years later to a new world with many of the same problems. His eyes were far away as he recounted his time serving with the military, and Althea felt overwhelming sympathy for this man out of time. His unwavering positivity and optimism after all that he had been through sparked in Althea a hope that she would be able to find a similar peace for herself.

She saw Tony much less often. At first, she had assumed he was busy running his namesake business, but she quickly learned that a majority of that work was done by his partner, Pepper. Instead, Tony busied himself with personal and experimental projects in his personal lab. Althea observed their relationship from a distance, admiring the young woman's ability to reign in the flighty, scattered genius. Their conversations were a dizzying display of witty jabs mixed with genuine affections. Althea couldn't imagine two people more perfectly suited for one another.

Despite being preoccupied with his work and personal life, Tony still made sure she was afforded every comfort during her time in his care. She didn't have to ask for new clothes; they simply appeared in her room after her first night in the tower, each piece simple but well made and perfectly tailored. A few days later a stylist had arrived unannounced to tend to Althea's hair, the end result being an effortless bob that ended just above her shoulders and emphasized her natural waves. She sought Tony out that evening to convey her gratitude, eventually finding him sipping brandy at the lounge bar. He waved off her thanks, claiming it was nothing and offered her a drink. She had never tasted alcohol, and her reaction to her first taste of the fiery liquid made Tony chuckle.

Bruce was equally hard to pin down, apparently spending just as much time in the lab as Stark. He was a nervous, quiet person and his unease made Althea feel a little less alone in her own. When she finally had the opportunity to ask him about what Tony had referred to as his "anger problem", he had been hesitant to elaborate. Eventually told her about his alter ego, the being known as "Hulk". She didn't know what to make of his revelation, or how to parse the idea that the timid genius before her could transform into a destructive, simple-minded beast. She tried not to dwell on the image, instead choosing to focus on the kind and compassionate man who spent his free time working diligently to help others.

Natasha and Clint spent most of their time training, usually in each other's company. They were the only two in the group without a superpower, if you counted Tony's immense wealth as a superpower, which Althea did. She wondered if their relative normalcy compared to the rest was behind their apparent closeness, or if they had a shared history she had yet to learn. Unlike Bruce, Althea didn't feel comfortable pressing either of them for details. While neither of them was unkind, they were both rather standoffish, obviously wary in her presence. She noticed how their conversations tailed off whenever she entered the room. She had yet to earn their trust, that much was clear. Clint was often gone, and in his absence, Natasha remained hard at work. If she had hobbies or interests outside crime-fighting and training, Althea never saw any evidence.

Thor was by far the friendliest among them. His easy smile and welcoming demeanor was an endearing contrast to his intimidating physique. Always eager to show off his awesome power, he asked her repeatedly to spectate his training sessions. Althea found she regretted finally giving in as she sat on the sidelines, watching him and Tony do their very best to beat the living shit out of one another. The blatant display of violence made her anxiety skyrocket, and she had spent the entire match on the edge of her seat, muscles tight and knuckles white with the stress of it all. They emerged from the skirmish spent, but smiling; Althea left exhausted and nervous. She had not returned to the training floor since.

She often ate alongside Thor, who seemed to enjoy eating just as much as he enjoyed fighting. Althea wondered if it was typical for beings from Asgard to eat four or five as much as a normal person or if Thor's appetite was considered immense on his world as well. He told her all about his home over their meals: of his people, the golden palace he called home, and the many battles he had fought alongside his friends. Often his tales would leave her in stitches. She had no idea what a Bilgesnipe was or why Thor and his warriors had been tasked with killing it, but the image of it cornering him with his pants down, literally, had made her laugh until tears ran down her cheeks.

His brother was another matter altogether. Althea had never met two people so diametrically opposed in appearance or demeanor. Whenever she encountered Loki he always excused himself immediately. Well, "excused" was putting it gently. Rather, he would quit the room without a word. Their interactions were made no less awkward by the fact that they seemed to run into each other all the time.

Althea spent most of her day systematically pouring through the vast library Tony had amassed in the lounge. She settled herself in one of the large window seats, basking in the warm sunlight and oscillating her attention between the written word and the expansive city skyline. After years without a single window, now she found herself unable to tear herself away from them.

It seemed Loki was similarly drawn to the same spot, turning around in exasperation when he found she had gotten there first, or getting up in a huff if he beat her and she tried to join him. At first, she had been offended. Soon though, it turned into a game of sorts. She always greeted him warmly, proferring a cheerful smile or casual remark about the weather. If he ever regarded her in turn, it was limited to an annoyed, haughty glance in her direction as he made his exit. Althea wasn't sure what her goal was with these interactions, but she knew she hadn't done anything to earn his attitude and therefore refused to simply lie down and take it.

He was an outsider, that much was clear. She wasn't the only one he avoided. Other than a few, tense interactions with his brother, she had never seen him so much as greet anyone, let alone converse with any of them. And as aloof as he acted, she could see the animosity was not one-sided. The others never attempted to connect with him either, not the way they did with her. When she questioned Thor about Loki, his answer was earnest but ambiguous.

"Loki has made his fair share of mistakes; mistakes that are not easily forgiven or forgotten. He has also been through his fair share of sorrow and loss... more than his fair share. Under it all, my brother has a good heart. I have seen it, and I believe the others will see it also, in time. Please do not judge him too quickly or harshly."

She trusted Thor. Besides a few embellished war stories, he seemed entirely incapable of lying. But if she was going to open up to these people, she had to trust all of them. That included Loki. Thor's endorsement was not enough. Until she knew more about him, she would keep her secrets to herself.

[melacka]

Hey @crisblcklst​! I tried to answer your ask and then experienced a whole range of rather frustrating technical issues. Isn’t tumblr fun?!?!

Anyway...

You asked for Lizzington and NAP for the i love you prompts.

‘i love you’ prompts

Thanks for the prompt! It took me a while but I got there! I have written you a Season 3A, on the run, bed sharing, accidental date night fic. Also, it is way longer than I planned. Hope you enjoy!

You can read it here on AO3 or keep reading below.

Title: Date Night by Melacka

Summary: “Who would’ve thought that one thing that would come  out of this whole thing would be an evening spent on the couch eating  Chinese food and watching Casablanca.” Liz laughed and scooped some  noodles into her mouth. “Next thing you’re going to tell me we’re going  dancing.”

Liz and Red share an accidental date night while on the run.

They’d shared a bed a few times since they’d been on the run. The necessity of it made it easier for her to deal with. She could compartmentalise this fairly easily. It was absolutely necessary that she share a bed with him and therefore she would make it no more difficult than it absolutely had to be. They were closer now than she ever thought they could be, he had allowed her to see parts of him that he had kept so carefully hidden before. Another necessity most likely requiring compartmentalisation on his part. She knew that there were probably lots of secrets that she was not yet privy to. She knew, too, that she might never really know the whole truth about him and his history with her. She tried to make herself be okay with that, but it was a constant battle.

She suspected that he was uncomfortable being this close to her all the time, but she didn’t know if it was the same discomfort that he would feel with anyone or if it was specific to her. She tried to take her cue from him, tried to make things easier for him, but he was always so good at hiding what he was thinking that most of the time she had to rely on her own instincts. It bothered her because her instincts had become alarmingly unreliable recently. She didn’t have the time these days to indulge her self-doubt too often, so she was just doing the best she could. She watched him closely for any signs of discomfort or unease and tried to adjust her behaviour accordingly. She was so completely dependent on him right then and she couldn’t afford to jeopardise the fragile peace they’d achieved in the midst of all the chaos.

When he told her that they would have to share a bed for the first time, she could tell that he was worried about her reaction. She made a point of smiling reassuringly at him and tried to keep her instinctive panic from showing in her eyes. She hadn’t shared a bed with anyone other than Tom in years and she’d recently become so used to sleeping alone again. Her sleep was often disturbed by nightmares that she struggled to wake up from and she worried about Red seeing that. She didn’t even want to think about what secrets she might reveal just by sleeping beside him.

That first time had been difficult. Apart from that one night in the shipping container that they never spoke about, she’d rarely even been in the same room as him while sleeping, let alone the same bed. They were both almost ridiculously considerate of each other, respecting the other’s space and maintaining as much distance as possible in the small bed. Liz went to bed first and, by unspoken agreement, Red waited long enough for her to get settled and have a chance at falling asleep before he joined her. She was still awake when he quietly entered the room nearly an hour later, but she kept her face turned away and her breathing as deep and even as she could manage. She doubted that it fooled him, but the fiction was as much for her benefit as it was for him, so she’d kept it up until she’d actually fallen asleep. She’d felt a strange comfort in having him beside her, the warmth of his body and the rhythmic sounds of his breathing made her feel almost like she was home again.

The second time they shared a bed was better. Easier. Red was more matter of fact and there was less of an air of apology in his face and voice when he told her. She reacted better as well, she had been more prepared for the possibility and slightly more comfortable with the idea. She still feigned sleep when he came to bed and wore a lot more clothes than she’d normally bother with but told herself that it was only for security reasons. She figured that the few extra seconds it would take to put on her pants could be crucial in their escape, should it suddenly become necessary. Besides, Red slept practically fully clothed as well.

The third time they shared a bed, it wasn’t because they had to.

Red had been required to go out to meet a contact and he had encouraged her to stay at the safe house. Liz couldn’t figure out if it was because he was worried about her being seen out in public or because he just needed to have some time away from her. Either way, she’d been perfectly willing to go along with it. They’d been on the move almost constantly for the last three weeks, and she was happy to have a quiet night in. Relatively speaking, of course.

Two hours after he left, she felt like she was going out of her mind. She’d become so accustomed to Red’s presence that she felt jumpy and on edge with him gone. She checked and rechecked all the locks on the windows and doors and kept her gun close by her side. She tried to watch TV but found the noise distracting rather than soothing and so switched to reading a book. Every safe house they stayed in at least some books in it and she’d read more in the last few weeks than she’d managed to in the last three years. Her job and all its resultant distractions and dramas had kept her from some of the simpler pleasures she used to enjoy.

Just as she was headed to the kitchen to fetch a glass of wine, she heard the front door open quietly. She moved quickly to the dark hall and silently extracted her gun from her jeans. She stood, tense and ready, waiting for whoever it was to move into the light. Liz slowed her breathing with an effort and forced herself to calm down. It was probably just Red, but one thing she’d learned on the run was not to trust probabilities. And if it wasn’t Red, she’d need a clear head to extract herself from the situation.

“Lizzy?” Red called out. “Where are you?”

She let out a breath, relieved more than she cared to admit that he was back.

“Hey,” she said quietly, stepping out of the hallway and into the light.

Red raised his eyebrows in surprise when he noticed the gun in her hands. She slipped it back into the back of her jeans and smiled.

“Can’t be too careful.”

“Very true,” he agreed, moving quickly to the kitchen. “I’m just glad that your abundance of caution didn’t lead to any unfortunate accidents. Bullet wounds can be terribly awkward to explain away, you know.”

Liz stared after him, open-mouthed, unable to find anything to say in response to that.

“Are you hungry? I’ve brought you some food.”

She trailed after him curiously, peering into the plastic bag as he got out plates and cutlery.

“What is it?”

“Chinese food, Lizzy,” he said quietly. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself and as much as I dislike the idea of encouraging bad habits—”

“Since when?” she scoffed.

“Bad eating habits,” he continued smoothly. “I want you to eat something tonight, and Chinese food seemed like the safest option.”

Liz grinned and hopped up on the counter, extracting one of the containers of food and opening it eagerly. Red took it from her with a disapproving frown, closing it quickly as Liz scowled at him.

“Hey!” she protested. “I wanted that!”

She tried to grab it but he held it teasingly out of reach.

“Now, now, Lizzy,” he chided. “Do be civilised. How about you go and select a movie for us to watch and I will prepare the food?”

“You want to watch a movie?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind?”

“No! Of course, I don’t mind,” Liz said quickly, not quite able to cover her disbelief. “And you want me to choose it?”

“Well, I chose the food, it seems only fair.”

He shooed her out of the kitchen, and she left without complaint. When he joined her a few minutes later, she was just sliding the DVD into the player.

“Tell me the truth,” she said, sitting on the couch and picking up the remote. “Did you let me choose the movie because you knew that all the movies here are ones you would want to watch?”

“Really, Lizzy, this suspicious nature of yours—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just give me my food, okay?”

He handed her a plate and she pressed play on the remote. He smiled at her and she grinned back.

“Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“Who would’ve thought, what?” he asked curiously.

“Who would’ve thought that one thing that would come out of this whole thing would be an evening spent on the couch eating Chinese food and watching Casablanca.” Liz laughed and scooped some noodles into her mouth. “Next thing you’re going to tell me we’re going dancing.”

“Dancing, Lizzy?”

“To really make it a proper date night,” she said teasingly. “Dinner, a movie, and dancing.”

“I’ll take you dancing any time you want to, Lizzy,” Red replied softly. “Just say the word.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She looked down at herself and shrugged. “You should probably give me more warning, next time. I can make myself look more presentable if we’re going dancing.”

“Nonsense,” he said gallantly. “You look beautiful.”

Liz blushed and looked down.

“You’re not just saying that because you feel sorry for me?”

“Why would I feel sorry for you?”

“You’re kidding, right?” she said incredulously.

Red shrugged and kept his eyes on the screen as he spoke.

“You made a choice, Lizzy, and you’re living with the consequences of that choice. Do I wish you hadn’t been put in the position where you felt the need to make that choice? Of course. Do I feel sorry for you? Absolutely not.”

Liz watched him in silence, chewing thoughtfully on her food.

“Besides,” he said in a lighter tone, “do you know how many women would kill to be in the position you’re in right now?”

Liz choked slightly and then burst out laughing.

“I’m going to ignore that appalling choice of words, Red, and instead focus on the message behind them.”

“Very wise,” Red agreed solemnly, settling back on the sofa and balancing his plate on his knees. “And what message have you chosen to see in my words today?”

“Today, I choose to believe that you have my best interests at heart and that I should be grateful for the opportunity to have a quiet night in with you. How’s that?”

“Very near perfect, Lizzy.”

She nodded her satisfaction and leaned back on the sofa next to him, allowing her body to brush up gently against his. It was practically a real date night, after all. No reason to maintain strict distance between them. He casually draped an arm along the back of the sofa, and she took the hint, settling herself into his side with a sigh.

“Lizzy.”

“Hmm?” she said sleepily.

“Lizzy, it’s time for bed, sweetheart.”

Liz mumbled something incoherent and drifted off to sleep again.

“Lizzy, come on.”

“Red?”

“Yes, I’m going to take you to bed, okay?”

Liz grinned, her eyes still closed, and said, “Like a real date night.”

“Come on, now,” Red said quietly, ignoring her comment. “Stand up.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Lizzy,” he sighed. “Please.”

She finally opened her eyes and realised that she was cuddled into Red’s side, her face mere inches from his. She lurched back in surprise.

“Oh!” she cried. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright, Lizzy,” Red reassured her with a gentle sigh. “Let me take you to bed.”

She stood up shakily and smoothed down her hair, noticing that the movie had ended.

“How long was I asleep?”

“About an hour.” Red stood up and stretched his arms quickly. “I thought it was better to let you sleep.”

“Thanks,” she said, still feeling embarrassed.

“I’m just going to tidy up in here,” Red continued briskly, piling up their plates and glasses on the table. “Why don’t you go and get ready for bed? I’ll just do a quick security check and then go to bed myself.”

Liz nodded and wandered off to the bathroom. She washed her face quickly and brushed her teeth. She could hear Red in the kitchen and was just about to go and offer to help him when he knocked gently at the bathroom door.

“Lizzy?”

She opened the door and smiled at him, absurdly shy all of a sudden.

“I’m going to do a sweep of the house. Can you make sure you check the locks on the windows in your bedroom?”

“Of course.”

He nodded and walked away. Liz sighed and wandered into her bedroom. She quickly changed clothes and checked the windows were still securely locked. Then, hesitating slightly, she opened the door to her room. She was hoping that Red would come by to check on her once more before turning in.

She sat on the bed and started to brush her hair, the slow, rhythmic strokes calming her agitation. After a few minutes, Red knocked on the doorframe and peered inside.

“All secure,” he reassured her.

She nodded and put the brush down. She looked at him with a smile and patted the bed next to her. He hesitated for a moment and then entered the room, taking the space next to her. She reached out and grasped his hand, holding it tight in her own.

“Lizzy? Did you need something?”

“Red,” she whispered, not quite knowing what had come over her. “You said you were going to take me to bed.”

“Lizzy,” he said, a warning clear in his voice.

“You don’t lie to me, Red,” she continued, unperturbed. “Take me to bed.”

“Lizzy, please, don’t—”

She turned his face towards hers and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. She pulled back and searched his face, looking for any indication that he didn’t want her to continue. He looked at her seriously but didn’t try to stop her when she leaned forward again. This time, she kissed him for longer. His lips parted and she moaned in relief. He allowed the kiss to continue for a few more moments before he pulled away again, his breathing heavy and his eyes wild.

“Lizzy,” he gasped. “I will not take advantage of you like this.”

She smiled and shook her head. She trailed a hand down his shoulder, exploring his arm with interest.

“Red, how would it be taking advantage of me? I’m the one who started this.”

“Things happen when you’re on the run, Lizzy, things you might think the better of later.” He grasped both her hands in his, preventing them from wandering any further over his body. She pouted at him playfully. “I won’t be something you regret, Elizabeth.”

Liz froze, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“Oh.” She looked down at their joined hands and bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Red said. “But now isn’t the time for this to happen.” He released her hands and cupped her face gently, encouraging her to look at him. “When this is all over—”

He left the sentence unfinished and she felt a small hope kindle in her chest.

“When this is over?” she prompted.

“If you still want—” he trailed off, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“If I still want you, you mean?”

“When you’ve had time to think it through, think about what you really want.”

“And if I tell you then that what I really want is you,” Liz said shrewdly. “Will you believe me?”

Red smiled at her, but it was a pained smile.

“You should go to sleep, Lizzy. We’ll have to move on in the morning.”

“Will you believe me?” Liz searched his face desperately, not willing to let this go just yet.

Red sighed and nodded slightly.

“I’ll try.”

Liz leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I guess that’ll have to do,” she said sadly. “For now, at least.”

Red chuckled and stood up.

“Good night, Lizzy.”

“Red?” she said quietly, almost timidly. “Will you stay here with me?”

He considered her in silence for a long moment, seeming to wage a furious battle within himself while she waited. Hopeful. Eventually, he nodded.

“Get in bed, Lizzy,” he said quietly.

She flung the blankets back and lay down, still looking at him apprehensively, like she expected him to change his mind. He tucked the blankets around her securely and pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Oh, Lizzy,” he breathed against her lips. “What you do to me.”

He switched off the light and then slid quickly into bed beside her, not removing any clothing. Liz smiled in the dark as he lined his body up beside hers, spooning her carefully, his hand resting gently against her stomach.

“Don’t leave me, Red,” Liz whispered once they were settled. “Don’t ever leave me.”

Red pressed a kiss to the back of her head.

“Don’t worry, Lizzy,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[spnfanficpond]

October 2019 Pond LiveChat Recap

We had a great time chatting with @evansrogerskitten tonight! Thank you so much for joining us and sharing your wisdom!

Today, we got together and talked about writing smut! We discussed the legalities around sharing smut on the internet, vocabulary choices, created a spreadsheet of terms we can all share and use, and encouraged each other to not be afraid to just write. A rundown of the chat, as well as general Pond news, is below the cut. Due to the nature of the chat, there may be some parts of this recap that might be considered NSFW. 

To start us off, @mrswhozeewhatsiswrites shared some research into the legalities of posting erotica on the internet as it relates to minors. (We are not legal experts. This information was obtained through Google searches. If anyone can provide links to sources that contradict these, we will add them to this post to ensure the most correct information is provided here.)

Michelle: To try and keep it short and sweet, from everything I read, if a minor reads smut online, it's not the writer's, poster's, or web site's responsibility to keep it from them. It is the parent's, or the school's/library's responsibility. (Basically, whoever is providing the internet connection to the minor is responsible for filtering out content that might be harmful to that minor, not the parties creating or disseminating that content online.) Schools and libraries and other institutions that get government funds are usually required to have some sort of filter in place to prevent minors from accessing porn and erotica. 

What makes this so difficult to research is that written erotica is not mentioned very often in obscenity laws. Most laws focus on images or videos, not the written word. 

No matter what it is, though, to be prosecuted under obscenity laws, the material must first be ruled to be obscene. Legally, there is a difference between obscenity and erotica. Obscenity is generally illegal, and erotica is protected speech. There are many different sets of rules and guidelines that have been used to determine if something is considered obscene or not. The most widely used current set of guidelines is the Miller test. From my research, most (if not all) erotic fan fiction would not be considered obscene because of its ‘literary, artistic, political, or scientific value’.

Some interesting links in relation to this subject that go into detail:

Wikipedia - US Obscenity Law - About halfway down, there is a section on non image-based obscenity cases in the US. The first part of this section, which deals with the written word, is very enlightening about the differences between obscenity and erotica. Further down is a section about criticism of the laws which shows some of the gaps in the law where free speech lives. Continuing on, the section about censorship in schools and libraries explains the part CIPA (Children’s Internet Protection Act) plays in protecting minors from material that could be considered harmful to them.

Online Art Rights - Sexual Content - This site details the many attempts at limiting indecent material on the internet through the years. (Scroll down and click on the plus signs in the black bars to expand each section.) In each case cited, the court ruled that to ban all objectionable material would interfere with free speech because it would reduce all content to a level appropriate for children. They also concluded that since less restrictive means exist, such as user-controlled filters and the like, those tools can be used without reducing all discourse on the internet. The section on Child Pornography at the bottom might be of interest to anyone who writes Weecest smut, though.

The only possible exception that I think would affect the SPN fandom would be those who write Weecest smut. Child pornography seems to be the exception to every rule that protects free speech. Where every other depiction of a sex act might have a ‘but’ that makes it erotica (and therefore legal) instead of obscenity, child pornography in any medium is considered obscenity. Anything that even just looks like child porn is considered child porn, even if no children were a part of the making of it. This includes cartoons and CGI and adults made up to look like kids. If it’s advertised as children in a sexual situation, it’s child porn. So, I imagine it could extend to written erotica IF someone were to decide to push it.

Now, that’s a huge if. Someone would have to read it, object to it, and insist on prosecution for it. I think if that were going to happen, given 15 years of SPN fan fiction, it would have happened by now. But I would still keep my Weecest smut-free, or implied, or at least over the age of consent (which varies, so 18 is just easiest to use). 

Also, AO3 complies with the laws regarding filtering for minors. If you do not have an account, you are required to click through a step that tells you that you are about to view something explicit. That's really all that sites and such are required to do. Hence, Tumblr making you click through and view on dash blogs they mark as explicit.

@emilyshurley I think there might also be a sorta solution just to play it safe. I saw that people who make mods for games like Sims 4 and stuff have a page for terms of download. What that is is that if you click their masterlist it will take you to a post where they list their conditions and have the words "I agree" and link the actual masterlist to that. Now this might take a little effort but we could add something similar before our masterlists.

This is all legal stuff, not site-specific rules. Each site can implement their own decency rules and enforce them how they see fit. For example, Tumblr, as a company, can decide to delete your blog. (They’ve stopped doing this since The Purge, now just marking each blog explicit and making you click on a couple things to get to those blogs they deem explicit.) Should they choose to do this, it does not mean that you’re in trouble with the law.

Now, onto the fun stuff!

Q: What is the first thing you think of when someone asks you for advice about writing smut?

Ash: Word choice- don't make the reader cringe. It's easy to fall into that because smut can be graceful and tasteful if it's done right. And that starts with thinking through word choice and how the scene is flowing. It's not easy to write smut! I think a lot of non-writer readers do not realize that.

Note: During the chat, we created a Google Sheets spreadsheet, with two sheets in it, with lists of words to use to refer to different things when you’re writing smut. The first sheet is Good Words, and the second sheet is Bad Words. Everyone can enter words they like and don’t like on both sheets, and we’ll crowd-source this problem! Check it out and add your favorites!

Michelle: A smut scene takes ten times as long for me to write as anything else. Just keeping track of limbs is difficult! And clothing....sometimes, I just make them dry hump so I don't have to deal with removing all the clothing! Other times, it's just, "Somehow, you suddenly found yourself naked." Like, there's a million great ways to get characters naked, but if I'm tired, angels snap.

@fictionalabyss (Mel): I've read stuff where a position makes no sense and it ruins the whole thing for me. Michelle: I actually bought a couple of those posable dolls from IKEA. (IKEA - GESTALTA, Artist’s figure)  @babypieandwhiskey (Cam): I’ll have to use my daughter’s old Barbie dolls! I can keep track of both limbs and clothing!

Q: Ash, what are a few of the words that turn you off when you're reading smut?

Ash: It's usually words that sound so "romance novel"-ish to me. So "turgid member" is a good example. Please no one ever write that. Mel: Sometimes, keeping it simple is the safest and best bet. Ash: Absolutely, Mel! Sometimes we don't need all the extra words if we're showing the heat that's already there between them. 

[What followed was a long discussion of various terms you definitely should not use in serious smut. They’ve all been added to the spreadsheet linked above, so fee free to check it out.]

Michelle: EVERYONE has those words that squick them, and it's damn near impossible to write a smut scene that doesn't include a word that will squick someone out there. So, don't stress about what words you do or don't use, cuz there's always gonna be someone out there who doesn't like something. Just make sure YOU think what you're writing is hot. If you don't get warm under the collar from it, no one else will, either. Ash: I highly recommend everyone is reading their fics out loud to see how it all flows. You'll catch errors and weird words there too.

Q: Ash, how do you get in the frame of mind to write something you personally have never experienced? For example, certain kinks.

Ash: Whiskey? LOL No, I do a lot of research- google, porn, erotica. Trying something out in person helps too! But we're writing fiction. You can make a kink work for your scenario too.I mean, I've written a reader squirting after 5 minutes to move things along but we all know it takes longer usually. And that's the fun! I've never actually been with 2 dudes but I f-ing love writing it. @atc74 (Angelina): I've always said I don't need to kill someone to write a murder scene. Ash: Smut is all about having an open mind. It lets us and the readers be someone else. 

Question submitted earlier by @erins-culinary-service: I've wanted to try writing smut but never known exactly how to start and what words to use to describe everything. I've had sex so I know the sensations, positions, etc I'm just not sure how to write it all down any advice?

Ash: So sometimes I can't just start from "they kissed..." I start wherever I can see it best. So is it oral sex, or already doing it, I just jump in. And then I come back and fill it in. And I just write, no stopping once I get going. So the "cock into her hole" can be fixed later on my next edit. I just gotta get the idea out and then go back and make it hot. My smut is never hot in my first draft.  Michelle: I think that's what stops a lot of writers, is thinking they have to publish their first draft. Editing is totally a thing. Just get the ideas on paper, and then make them hot later. Ash: Oh yeah, I go through at least 3 drafts per fic. Plus my beta version. Yeah, no one is ever going to see your drafts so don't worry about starting somewhere, anywhere.  Michelle: And remember, practice practice practice - As with any writing, the more you write it, the easier it becomes. I wrote Third Wheel as a way to challenge myself with writing smut. Do a kink bingo or alphabet challenge. Just remember, you’re gonna write crap at the start, but crap makes good compost. Ash: Taking some time between edits is important too. It'll help you see different ways, AND you'll start having breakthroughs during the time away. Bingos are a great challenge that will help a writer grow.  Cam: Writing smut is like sex, you're first time is going to be awkward and things won't be perfect, but with practice it gets better. Mel: I have a series that shows even the millionth time having sex isn't perfect and can be all laughs 🤣. But yeah.

Question submitted earlier by @focusonspn: i wanted to know about ways and words to describe orgasms and how to approach the moment after it without being awkward or forced. some people say those are the easiest things to write, but somehow i always have a hard moment trying to write them.

Ash: Hmmmm, as for the moments after- that's understandable, it is hard because its a transition. I think it's doesn't have to be an extended part of it- unless they're about to have a talk or aftercare needs a scene, it can be as simple as "we drifted off to sleep." Michelle: As always, my advice is to read smut that other people write that you like, and take note of what they do. Mel: Someone can get up and get dressed and leave. They can play in the fluids. They can lay there catching their breaths for a moment. It can be simple. Sometimes it doesn't need a flourish and that flourish can make it seem forced. Michelle: I think it depends on what type of smut fic you're writing. Is it fluffy smut where they're all in LOVE and kissy and stuff? Or is it Soulless Sam and Demon Dean just getting down and dirty and claiming you for themselves? Or, Soulless Sam or Demon Dean just getting their rocks off and they don't give a shit? @emilyshurley (Emily): Also this might be my f*cked up brain but I think if someone is not comfortable with a lot of fluffy buildup to smut trying soulless!Sam or Demon!Dean could be a great start. You also have a little room to do a little out of character.  Michelle: We are blessed with a world that includes all types of characters and all types of situations, from curses (sex pollen, love potions, etc) to supernatural beings, to inspire and give us chances to write all kinds of smut. There are no limits to what you can do in Supernatural, so there are no limits to what we can write.  Ash: Yeah we can really make most kinks work in some way in the SPN worlds.  Emily: Also again with going out of character I read a captain America fic where it could have been a little out of character how he jumped straight to sex (someone commented that) but sex pollen made it work. So basically these tropes/kinks can also be good devices for writing NSFW fics to if you struggle to get the characters write in the beginning.

Other links mentioned:

Emily: I saw this advice list on Tumblr, so thought I should share it: List of Smut Writing Guides

Ash: This one, too: @smut-101′s Smut Tips Masterlist 

And last, but definitely not least...

Ash: Always, always, always write for you. Readers come and go but you have to be satisfied and proud of what you've written. And everyone should get so much credit for trying to write smut. It's difficult but its does get easier and more fun with practice!

General Pond Updates and Reminders

What we’ve got cooking up next: Not much, at the moment, since everyone is busy, so we’re just trying to keep up with the day-to-day at the moment! Our to do list is still long, though, and will not be neglected forever!

Reminders:

Angel Fish Award nominations are accepted all month long! No need to wait to tell us how much you liked a fellow Fish’s work!  IF YOU HAVE SENT IN A NOMINATION, BUT HAVE NOT RECEIVED A PRIVATE MESSAGE CONFIRMING WE RECEIVED IT, WE DIDN’T GET IT. Be sure to use Submit instead of Ask!

Don’t forget to submit your stories to be posted to the blog! When your stories are on the blog, then they are easier to nominate for Angel Fish Awards!

Say hi to September’s New Members!

Check the Pond CALENDAR to see when Big Fish will be in the Skype chat room/discord general channel and other Pond and SPN events are happening! Know of something that’s not on the calendar, send us an ask or submission with the deets info details!  The calendar offers a lot of features, such as showing you when things are in your own timezone! Since we’re an international group, that’s a definite plus!!

We don’t have a topic or speaker set up for November’s event, yet, so if there’s something you want to talk about, or someone you want to talk to, LET US KNOW!

[whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer]

Could you do a Naruto fanfiction recommendation? I loved your Sakura one but I was curious if you would do one in general for the series?

1.) serendipity by stirringwinds. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: Sasuke had never known Senju Hashirama in person, of course. But he had grown up hearing stories about the First Hokage at his mother’s knee—about the legend who had defeated the most powerful member of their own clan. Enough stories to recognise what he was seeing—and to know he was witnessing his teammate perform the impossible. Or, in the fight against Gaara during Suna’s attempted invasion of Konoha, the Ichibi’s attempt to kill Sakura awakens an unexpected power. It changes the destiny of Team Seven forever.

Yes, this is about Mokuton!Sakura but this is in Sasuke’s pov and, oh boy, is it so interesting in his point of view. There’s not only world building but nods to real life history that makes in the (casual) history nerd in me get really excited. So far we’ve only seen Uchiha clan politics that Sasuke remembers from when his family arrived but if this is ever continued the current politics is one of the main things  I look forward too.

2.) These Moments We Take for Granted by Applepie. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: Kakashi dies to Pain’s attack and wakes up in another world. It’s a world where Kakashi hadn’t failed Obito’s final wish and sacrificed himself for Rin’s sake instead. It’s a Konoha too similar, yet so different that Kakashi can’t bear to impose. So he doesn’t – not as ‘Kakashi’, at least.

I’m dying for the next chapter of this. The cliff hanger is partially why the other reason is the story is just that good. 

3.) Yes, my weird depressed half-tree uncle by Aesoleucian. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Sarada is such a lonely kid, and Sakura has such a dissociative disorder. Where are Sakura's parents? Where is the support? Being a single mom is hard and therefore I crafted this AU where Obito survives the war and retires to help restore his clan which he helped murder. 

A good way to get me to love any fic: let characters who go through traumatic situations actually show they’re not okay afterwards. 

4.) your skeleton will carry by theformerone. On ao3. Rated E. Summary: He doesn't want to have children for the clan that murdered his father, or for the village that let it happen.

Neji and Sasuke discover that they are more alike than they think.

I’m so glad the author tagged this Anti Sandaime. That tag is the reason why I found this beautiful fic. 

5.) Just the Usual Habits by Applepie. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Sakumo has no idea where all of these habits of Kakashi's are coming from. In which five-year-old Kakashi forgets the existence of his left eye, loses his ability to lie believably, and is a little too knowledgeable about the Birds and Bees. Still, no matter what oddities went on in Kakashi's head, one thing is certain – the boy will always love his father, through thick and thin.

6.) Get Shisui by DoodlesOfTheMind. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: Get Shisui. It was a common refrain throughout the Uchiha compound, though its meaning had shifted a number of times over the years.

Both beautiful and heartbreaking. 

7.) a beating heart of stone by FantasyDeath. On ao3. Rated Not Rated. Summary: During Iruka's first year teaching — on his own, because apparently there is a severe lack of teachers — he loses his curriculum, gets into a low-key fight with Shimura Danzo and accidentally creates an army. To be fair, none of this was planned.

8.) In Sound Judgement by NegativeAperture. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: The main question, she thinks, isn’t her chance at survival or whether she’ll stick to the plot. No, it’s whether she should change the inherently flawed system that has caused every single problem ever. Arguably, she’s in the best position to fix it. People are certainly more willing to listen to you when you threaten them with the giant fox demon in your gut. But what would the cost be? Her morals? Her humanity?

The road to hell is paved with good intentions after all. (In which a human rights lawyer is reincarnated into a world without morality, without logic, and most of all, without laws. Helping the world was easier when people weren’t ninjas.)

Even if self inserts or ocs are not your thing I still strongly suggest you read this.

9.) Mirage by xantissa. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Can be read as stand alone. Itachi's ANBU exam through Kakashi's eyes. Kakashi knew something wasn't right with the whole thing, he just couldn't put his finger on what exactly.

10.) Catch Me (If You Can) by BasicallyAnIdiot. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Five times the ANBU tried to catch Uzumaki Naruto (and that one time someone else did).

Why you should read this: “Knowing Naruto-kun,” Itachi interrupted from his locker as he checked his arm bracers, “If he had more than a hour, the traps were at least 2 layers deep.” He closed the locker door firmly, mask in hand, “But he can be caught.”

“Lies and hearsay.” Neko’s muffled offer came from the women’s shower area. 

“Impossible. Never happened.”

A delicate brow arched, and Itachi continued. “There is one person in the village who can successfully catch Uzumaki Naruto whenever he feels inclined to.”

Inu sat up like a shot, unheeding the bag of ice dropping to his lap with a thud. 

“Who? Is it the Commander? Hokage-sama?”

Shisui snorted, and transitioned smoothly to a new pose, “He means the only chunin in the history of chunin to turn down a full position in ANBU corps, complete with no probation and instant pay raise.”

Inu was silent for a moment. Then he declared, “I will find this chunin and make him my teacher.”

11.) Fish Stew by Masu_Trout. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: There was a bowl of stew in Kisame's lap, a cup of tea on the ground next to him, and a small blank-eyed teenager staring at him from over the rim of his own teacup.

Kisame's new partner is one of the strangest people he's ever met, and that's coming from a man with gills on his face.

12.) What A Big Heart You Have by LullabyKnell. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: In which a little red fox saves the big white wolf.

Bless this fic. 

In which Hatake Sakumo lives.

13): Autonomy by beetlebee. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: "But this Not-Sensei soulmate guy could be anybody," Naruto whines.

Sasuke narrows his eyes. "No. He tried to act like Kakashi, use his techniques. He must be familiar with him already..."

"They could be childhood friends!" Sakura gasps.

"Sensei has friends?" Naruto asks, squinting at Obito.

"Or he's a stalker." Sasuke grips the kunai he still hasn't put away.

"I'm not a stalker," Obito lies, pushing away the kunai edging towards him.

----

(A soulmate bodyswap AU)

I would kill to read a sequel of this where we see Kakashi’s in Obito’s body.

14.) Written with Heart by Brookelocks. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: "Sometimes just sharing your opinion or a conversation about something someone else enjoys, even if you have to grit your teeth through it, can be the little push of support that makes them keep pursuing their passion."

or Kakashi has a strange way of showing his support, Jiraiya doesn't mind.

15.) The Good Life by orphan_account. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: There had to be protocol for this. They were shinobi in a hidden village; there was protocol for everything. Sadly, the authors of the Konoha Mission Administration Office Employee Handbook had committed the potentially fatal oversight of not dedicating a single paragraph to the now more than hypothetical situation of your current Hokage starting a mostly one-sided screaming match with your former Hokage in front of your very desk.

16.) these chains on me won't let me be pg13. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: The first time you ever feel like a shinobi, you are ugly and messy and scared out of your mind and not even wearing your hitai-ate. — implied sakura/ino

Out of all the Sakura centric fics I’ve read - trust me I have read a lot - this is till one of my favorites.

17.) got a boy in the war by Lisse. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Naruto's parents don't so much fall in love as accidentally trip over it.

18.) sabotage by stirringwinds. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: “Itachi,” His mentor and commanding officer says grimly, his single visible eye angry, the line of his jaw tense under the black of his mask. “You forget that I was the Yondaime’s student. I may not be as politically influential as those old codgers sitting on the council, but there is plenty I can do to try and stop this shitshow.”

The horrible, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach hasn't vanished. But, staring at the firm, unflinching expression on his captain’s face, he feels the tiniest flicker of…hope.

Or: In another universe, Itachi breaks down and ends up spilling the beans to Hatake Kakashi.

Honestly, damn it why couldn’t this have happened? 

20.) Nothing like the storm by Aesoleucian. On ao3. Rated Not Rated. Summary: There's a girl in Kushina's class at the academy, with perfect hair and perfect poise. She's nothing like loud, angry Kushina, but she's not exactly shy either.

21.) Shine Bright, Shine Far, (Oh Sun of Mine) by Applepie. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: This Konoha is not the one Himawari knows; everything is wrong, and everyone is gone. A strange man who's not Papa is claiming to be the Hokage.

22.) i have a girlfriend!? by chadsuke. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: ino wants training from the best genin kunoichi - naturally, that means tracking down tenten.

23.) Eyestealer by nirejseki, robininthelabyrinth (nirejseki). On ao3. Rated Summary: Hashirama really doesn't approve of the thoughtful way his father looks at his younger brother's bright red eyes. He's sure it doesn't mean anything good for anyone.

He's right.

I just binge read this today (I haven’t even bookmarked it yet) and now I’m left wanting for more darker than canon Hashirama.

24.) Unison by Laylah. On ao3. Rated M. Summary: Kakashi knows damn well that it isn't a healthy coping mechanism.

Do read the warnings at the top of the author’s notes. 

25.) Got Nothing to Prove (but I'ma show you how I do) by GuardianMars. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: Civilians and orphans are always used as cannon fodder. Sakura’s not sure where she first came by this phrase. Whether she heard it or read it, she can’t quite remember, but it stuck in her head and it stays in the back of her mind whenever Team 7 takes a mission.

When Sakura and Tenten get placed on a temporary team looking into a series of kidnappings of local village girls, Sakura is naturally worried. She doesn't want to be cannon fodder. When the mission goes to pot, Sakura and Tenten find themselves far away from home and with only each other to rely on. As it turns out being cannon fodder is the least of their worries.

26.) Once Again by pupeez4eva. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: If you asked anyone what they thought of Sasuke Uchiha, they'd say that he was cheerful, overly-hyper, and loved glitter and sweaters WAY too much.

(Mabel Pines is reborn as Sasuke Uchiha. Unsurprisingly, this changes things a lot).

27.) Blame it on the Moon by Tozette. On ao3 (you can only see this if you have logged-in ). Rated G. Summary: Itachi likes cats. In hindsight, that's probably his first mistake.

* * *

Really? Thought Itachi dubiously. He did it anyway. "For love and justice," he deadpanned flatly.

28.) Adoption by Defenestration; or, A Family Can Be A Fox Demon, Its Jinchuuriki, and Three Dozen Highly-Trained Assassins elumish. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: He will not be the ANBU who let the jinchuuriki plummet to his death out a fourth story window. Let that be another ANBU’s legacy.

[oswald-privileges]

Imperfect Specimen

(Written for @pilesofnonsense and the RQBB event! You can also read it here on ao3.

Also, it’s a companion piece to @throwaninkpot‘s podfic! You can listen to it here and here. They also put together a really nice moodboard which is just. So perfect.)

Statement of Llewellyn Morgan. Regarding the donation of an unusual specimen jar to the Magnus Institute, originally resident in the archival basement of Shropshire County Natural History Museum. Recording by Kat Vandemeer, Assistant Archivist to the Usher Foundation. Statement begins.

I am not here because I changed my mind about your offer.

I feel as though it’s important that you understand that. I like the job I’ve already got. It took a long time to get everything just how I like it, and I can work to my own schedule without oversight from people who think they know better. So, in spite of everything that’s happened to bring me here, I am not about to go abandoning that.

And maybe if I fill in one of your forms and give you something for your archives, you’ll stop trying to drag me out of mine.

For all that we call ourselves after the county, I don’t think the museum building is actually in Shropshire. The turning is just after the “Welcome to” sign, but the road doubles back over the border almost immediately, meaning most visitors end up here by accident. Anyone actively trying to find us doesn’t seem to have a hope. So it’s not unusual for me to find myself standing at the turning, looking to wave down a delivery I’m expecting. It saves a lot of arduous conversation over the phone.

Unfortunately, it also means that if a driver wants to just pull over, drop the donations on the pavement, and take off again, there’s very little I can do to stop them. And that’s pretty much exactly how that morning started. With me ankle deep in cardboard boxes, sheaves of string-bound papers, and bubble-wrapped display trays, shouting after a disappearing van.

Now, I wouldn’t say I’m a stereotype of my profession, but doing delicate work for long hours indoors has certain drawbacks. I had to call the front desk and ask the receptionist to give me a hand. It’s not like it was her responsibility to come and help me- after all, her job description is visitor check-ins and answering the phone, not lugging crates of dead insects around. But on my own, I would have been trekking back and forth along the road all morning.

Still, there were no complaints from her. Just rather a lot of professionally chirrupy chatter. The obligation to make conversation is not one I shoulder with enthusiasm, but happily for the both of us, she seemed not to need her conversation partner to really say anything, or even give much of an indication that they’d been listening. All I had to do was occasionally say things like “Right” and “Mmhm” and “Please, please be careful with that.”

She was the one to find the jar first.

“Were you leaving this for me to carry?” She asked. It was probably a joke. I told her no, just in case it wasn’t. I hadn’t even seen the thing before she’d called me over to take a look.

“How could you have missed this?” She said, “It’s huge!”

She was right. It was maybe two feet tall, and bulky with it. A sealed specimen jar, poorly made and poorly maintained. The solution was a dullish, near-opaque brown, obscuring the specimen itself almost completely.

The receptionist didn’t seem phased by this. She was crouched on her heels, turning the jar back and forth.

“What do you think’s inside it?” She asked.

Her fascination was beginning to irritate me. The jar wasn’t listed on my inventory, but then neither were half the items surrounding it. The other half that were listed were missing from the delivery entirely. Add to that the way that the specimen was floating and therefore clearly rotten, and it was like finding a dead mouse in your post. If the post was mostly addressed to someone else, and the mouse was starting to ooze.

I let the receptionist know all of this, and finished by telling her that it didn’t matter what it had been to begin with, as by this point it was just a hazard and disposing of it was just another thing taking up space on my to-do list.

I probably came off as rather terse. But I rather feel that bridge was never even built, let alone there to be burned.

Here is what happened next; I remember relocating most of the donations to my darkroom to reduce any further light damage. I remember getting in the car, the trip to the waste centre, and I remember talking to the front desk worker, explaining the problem. I handed over the butterfly trays I had in the boot. He gave me a bit of a look, but was very polite as he explained that he didn’t think that there was any alcohol or formaldehyde in there, and that they didn’t accept material over the counter anyway. Besides, didn’t the museum already have a collection contract with the company?

I already knew this, and told him so. Possibly less politely than he really deserved. Then I took the butterfly trays back, and drove away.

Something had gone wrong somewhere, and I couldn’t work out exactly what. I turned the past half hour over in my head as I drove. Darkroom, car, front desk, butterflies - no step in that process was missing. But something wasn’t there. Wasn’t right.

I missed the turning, as everyone does, and spent twenty minutes trying to find a place to turn around. By the time I got back, the mental itch was maddening.

To make matters worse, I found the receptionist was in my workroom, waiting for me. Actually in my workroom- not waylaying me at the front desk or hovering around the doorway, actually in there. I asked her what she thought she was doing.

“I wanted to watch while you changed the alcohol,” she said, bright as anything, “If that’s okay?”

Over her shoulder, the jar was squatting in the centre of my work bench.

I knew I had taken the thing to be destroyed. The jar wasn't listed-

No. No, I knew that I had gotten into the car, to go to the waste centre. That was not the same thing as knowing that I had taken the jar with me. I hadn’t, I obviously hadn’t. The proof was there, solid and filthy as ever.

But I had decided to destroy it. And then I had gotten into the car, with the butterfly trays. Somewhere between deciding and acting, something had gotten lost. Or, not lost. Cut. A taut thread of intent, or control, or direction, neatly split.

Somehow, that idea felt so much worse.

That realisation came coupled with another; I was still speaking. The receptionist was staring at me, attentive as a schoolchild, and I listened with her as my lungs and throat and tongue worked without my input. I was in the middle of promising her, or maybe asking for, or maybe ordering, “The other necessary things.”

If I had already said what those things were, I don’t remember. If I hadn’t, I didn’t want to allow it. My voice stumbled and died, and for a moment, my tongue was limp and alien in my mouth. I was intruding on myself.

The feeling passed almost instantly, and at once I told her to get out of my archive. Those were my exact words. I do remember that. I know it wasn’t professional, and I know for certain that I hurt her feelings, but I needed to be alone.

The receptionist retreated without a word, and I was left trying to work out what the hell had been happening to me all morning. Not for a minute did I think that I might be going mad, or that some form of early on-set dementia might be manifesting. I didn’t believe in the supernatural, but neither did I make a habit of doubting myself or my senses. Something had interfered, that much I couldn’t argue with.

I needed to take another look at that jar.

Trying to examine the thing was- strange. It was right there, in plain view, but- it’s difficult to explain. It wasn’t that I couldn’t see it, just that what I could see didn’t… prompt anything. No connections, no fear, no interest, nothing. And that wasn’t right, it’s very lack of wrongness was wrong, because everything you can see has a connection to something else.

I sat in front of it, hands at the sides of my head to tunnel my vision, and looked.

It was big, I could see that much. And it was sealed with rubber in a way that should have immediately called up the word “antique” or “old fashioned” or “obsolete”. But I can only add those words now, without it here in front of me. The seal also hid the central point of an expanding pattern of fractures. They spread outwards from the rim, and they didn’t look like anything other than the cracked glass of a jar.

The fluid inside was just as opaque, concealing the specimen it held. That, though, was something I could fix, with a bit of direct light.

I looked up, reaching for the overhead lamp.

I picked up a block of notecards from the shelf. The butterfly trays at the end of my work bench needed relabelling, but were otherwise in remarkably good condition. Perhaps they could form the centre point of a new exhibit. Not for too long, though, of course. Overexposure would ruin them completely.

It wasn’t until I was driving home that I realised vaguely that it had happened again. A cut. The connection between what I had meant to do and what I had done had been severed.

But by that time, well. Since the discrepancy didn’t cause any problems like it had at the waste centre, and my cassette player had just that moment decided to throw a fit, I was more concerned about the tape that was being chewed. After all, nowhere nearby sells the damn things any more.

After that - and this is going to sound stupid, but - I just sort of forgot. I don’t know how much of it was the quiet severing of mental threads, but for the next few days, when I came into work and saw the jar on my workbench, or the floor, or up on a shelf, I would think, I really must get around to throwing that horrible thing away, and then I would go on to do something else. And when it vanished entirely, I didn’t even think that.

It never sat quite right with me, but there were... other things to occupy my attention. At first it was just the usual work things - restoration, admin, trying to keep the photosensitives from fading too quickly. Then things started to go missing. First it was from the archives themselves; I would pick up a tray and find a handful of the pins no longer held their insects. Any inventory I tried to make would come up full of holes. Then the branch of mounted lorikeets that was the centrepiece of our exhibit on Non-Native Taxidermy vanished, and nothing was really done. We all just stood around, looking at the gap, and someone said something about phoning the police and then we all just… drifted away.

And then there was the receptionist. At some point, she stopped showing up to work. It was generally agreed that she had left, had better prospects elsewhere, and there was some vague mention of setting up a leaving do. But since she seemed to have already gone, the idea sort of fizzled out. A replacement was hired, a boy barely out of his teens who typed at the speed of someone trying to win a slow bicycle race against a glacier. I think his name was Adam, or something.

I didn’t even know what the previous receptionist’s name had been.

If anybody else felt the same unease as I did, they didn’t show it. I tried to talk to the general manager about the missing lorikeets, and then again when I first realised that I hadn’t seen the receptionist in a while, but she genuinely did not seem concerned.

“Don’t worry about it,” was all she’d say to me, “Don’t worry about a thing.”

I always worry about things.

It was kind of a clever trick, really, all those little disruptions in the workplace. They distracted me from that nagging half awareness, the feeling that something was wrong. But it wasn’t enough. The lack of knowledge bothered me. It shifted in my head, unmoored, the itching ache of a loose tooth.

Even so, a vague feeling wouldn’t have done me much good if I hadn’t spent so much time at work. It’s always been kind of habit of mine to stay longer than I really need to, to the point where in the winter months I doesn’t always get a chance to see the sunlight hours. It’s a point of much entertainment amongst my colleagues. I’m fairly sure they even make bets about it at times.

Still, the point remains that nobody knows the building better than I do, especially not its archives. They’re more of a home to me than the flat where I happen to sleep. I’m more comfortable surrounded by my papers and my specimens than I am anywhere else.

Except I wasn’t any longer. Coming into work, shutting the door behind me - instead of relief, I would begin to feel almost claustrophobic. Only imperceptibly at first, but getting worse as the days inched by. It was like putting on a pair of shoes you’ve owned for years, only to discover that for no discernible reason, they’ve begun to pinch and give you blisters.

When it got to the point where I found myself standing there, outside the door, wrist locked and physically willing myself to turn the handle, I decided that I’d had enough.

Instead of setting to work and giving anything the opportunity to distract me, I put the back of a chair against the door, sat down, and looked at the room in front of me. Now that I was paying attention - really paying attention - the feeling of something missing was stronger than ever. But nothing seemed to be actually out of place. Books on my desk, desk itself to my left. Specimens on the workbench and the lamp that hung overhead. Cabinets and cases to my right. The pattern of items didn’t change, no matter how many times I went over it.

Obviously I needed to try something else.

I allowed myself a moment to fetch a pen and paper, an errand that had me organising and reorganising the books on my desk for nearly half an hour before I was able to drag my focus back to what I had intended to do. Then, without looking up, I made a list of what I should be able to see. Desk on the left, a list of the titles I knew were there. Another list of specimens, workbench and lamp in front of me, door to the darkroom beyond that. Three filing cabinets on my right, only two of which locked. Then I scanned the room, slowly, marking off what I saw against my list.

I stayed in my archive for a long while that day, long after everyone else had gone home. The words I wrote on the page writhed in the corners of my vision, squirming from the grip of my memory the second I looked up. I would write things down twice, or not at all, and eventually have to start over again when the page became more crossing-out than word.

I sat. I wrote. I checked. Crumpled paper forming a small pile around my ankles.

And then - oh, then - I caught it.

“Got you now, you little bastard,” I told it. “You can’t hide from me here.”

The handle to the door of the darkroom was covered in a very fine layer of dust. I hadn’t opened it in weeks, even as the butterflies and ink on paper faded right in front of me. Why would I? There had been nothing in my head to connect the need to use a darkroom and the fact that I had one. Another thread cut.

I opened the door.

The smell hit me first. Thick, and chemical, and dead. The greasy stink of formaldehyde. No time even to choke, though, because I was pulled in, and the door shut behind me.

Whatever the jar had been doing to hide itself, hide this room, didn’t apply here. It distorted space like a huge weight, skewing the outline of everything towards it. The floor sloped upwards, the ceiling, down, the bench it rested on splintered under the pressure of it. I skidded towards it, impossibly, uphill.

I flailed to keep my balance, and ran into resistance immediately. Strands of- what, fishing wire? Hair?- webbed out from the jar, strung with things I couldn’t make out at first. Dead insects and butterfly wings, photographs of people I recognised from work. Bright feathers that must have come from the stolen lorikeets. The strands all thrummed with a horrible, living energy, squirming against my vision like an afterimage.

I could regain my footing, but not stop myself from stumbling towards the jar. The pressure of it’s pull, the weight of it, physically hurt to look at. The fluid inside wasn’t opaque any longer, but luminescent, like filthy amber, and I could finally see what was inside.

A bundle of chitinous legs, suspended under a flattish mass the size of my palm, stretching and bumping against the glass. Gently shifting mouthparts causing flakes of dead matter to swirl in tiny eddies. A studding of blank, bead-like eyes. A spider. Not of any genus or species I could have named. More like someone had taken all the worst possible ideas of a spider, observable or imaginary, and jammed them together into one horrible, twitching creature.

I am not afraid of spiders. But, confronted with the raw spider-likeness in that jar, somehow that didn’t matter in the slightest.

My impossible upwards fall was brought to a halt. The jar didn’t take up any more room in my line of sight than it ought to, but I could see every detail of the thing inside it. It’s pedipalps weren’t moving idly. They were latching onto flecks of something that was drifting downwards through the fluid. With an effort of will, I forced my gaze upwards.

The receptionist was standing over the jar’s unsealed mouth. She bent and twisted with the warped dimensions of the room, but either it didn’t hurt her, or she didn’t care. Her hair hung down in patchy sheets, her scalp scabbed.

She had a box cutter in one hand, and was carving slivers of flesh from her fingertips. They left a tiny ballooning trail of blood as they drifted down towards the waiting spider.

I tried to call out to her, but my voice was swallowed immediately by the dead air. And, of course, I didn’t even know her name. I didn’t know anything, not how to move, how to blink, how to breathe. All ties between my mind and my body were cut, and with no connection, no strings to pull them, my limbs just hung there, useless.

The receptionist kept carving away.

I am not afraid of spiders. I was very, very afraid of the thing in the jar. The fear kept me paralysed, a familiar paralysis, the feeling I have after a nightmare. I wake and the terror is still real, some animal instinct keeping me locked still.

I am not afraid of spiders.

Move, I thought, move.

If I could move, then the nightmare would have lost. It’s logic would collapse, the whole structure would break up into a hundred odd-shaped pieces that never fitted together to begin with. Strange, but not frightening, only ever faintly ridiculous. Get up, I told myself, Time to start the day. There is work to do. You don’t have time to be frightened.

I still couldn’t move. I was being pumped full of fear as though it were venom, and that, I realised, that was important, because it was not my fear. And spiders do not kill their prey with similes.

The thing in the jar was not a spider. It was inconsistent, contradictory mess. It didn’t matter whether it had eight eyes or six or four, so long as it had too many, whether it spun web or hunted, so long as it was a predator. If I were to take it from the jar and clean it and dry it and cut it open, I’d find no venom glands, no internal structure at all. It matched nothing, and it was not real.

And it was trying to frighten me with that.

It had invaded my archives, filled my memory and my inventory with holes, stolen a room from me to hide in, and then, as if that weren’t enough, it had the audacity to tell me that I should be scared of it? Why? Because it was a made-up spider hiding a receptionist in my back room?

I was moving again, reaching for the jar. The ties were not longer cut, because that is not how brain and nerves and muscle work, not in the real world, and, for just a moment, not in this nightmare-world either. Just for a moment. The flare of anger that powered me was drowning already, overwhelmed by fear that wasn’t mine.

The receptionist slammed into me, wrapping me in arms and wire and hair. My mouth was full of butterfly wings. But she must have been down here since she disappeared; her limbs were nothing but bone, and any strength she had came entirely from rage. I lunged forward and through the humming, living wire, and the jar shattered on the ground.

The receptionist screamed, hurling herself at the spider-thing as it slithered across the floor. I hung onto her, not thinking about why or what to do next. Her howls thrummed along the wires and bit into my skin and I could do nothing but tighten my grip and wait.

The air contorted, and slowly, far too slowly, it relaxed. The receptionist was slumped in my arms, unmoving. It wasn’t until I had dragged her out into the electric light of the main room that I saw how much damage she’d done to my arms and side with her box cutter. Of course, I wasn’t until after I’d noticed it that it started to hurt.

The next few hours were the cliche, post-trauma blur. Bandages from the first aid kit, helping her into the passenger seat, waiting at A&E. The receptionist barely moved the whole time, except when I directed her. Even if the cutting of ties wasn’t real for me, it seemed to have had a much worse effect on her.

I returned to the museum in the early hours of the morning. I didn’t feel like having to explain my bandages to any of my co-workers, and I was hardly going to waste my time with the police. They might try to poke through my archive, and I already had enough cleaning up to do.

The darkroom was as I’d left it - strung with wire, smelling of formaldehyde. But that’s all it was, a tangle of garbage and a bad smell. Whatever power had been channelled, whatever awful weight the thing in the jar had had was gone.

Almost gone. The spider-thing still pulsed weakly as I scooped it out of the pool of fluid and broken glass and into a plastic container. Looking at it, it seemed kind of shrunken and vulnerable out in the open.

I decided to take it to be incinerated with the rest of the rubbish.

I cleared out everything that the receptionist had brought into my darkroom. The decorated strings of wire and hair, containers of chemicals and empty plastic tubs that seemed to have once held mealworms, all of it. I bagged it up, and left it and the container with the spider-thing outside in the courtyard. Then I went back into the archive.

After a bit of digging, I found what I was looking for. A jar, one of the old glass ones with an antique seal, dusty from years spent sitting in the corner, repeatedly forgotten every time the recycling came around. With the spider thing inside it, and the alcohol in place, it might as well have never been broken. The solution was already starting to cloud.

I could have resisted. I’m certain of that. But honestly, the thing seemed to want to move on, and by that point I was more than happy to speed it on its way. I don’t need to explain why I thought to send it to you. Either you actually deal with things like this, and will know what to do with it, or you don’t, and I’ll have given you the first genuine piece of supernatural nastiness you’ve seen. Possibly the last, as well.

Either way, it’s your problem now.

So you can stop sending me emails.

Statement ends. It’s always such a pleasure to hear from our sister institute, even if this is the wrong place to file complaints. Their recruitment drive seems to be proceeding apace.

It’s always a pity when someone promising won’t share their talent. Selfish, some would say. And there’s always a risk that another side will poach them off us. But I don’t think there’s any need to worry about his turning into a spider freak, at least.

What does worry me is the fact that this statement turned up so far away from home, and without the jar it was supposedly attached to. The intake form lists both an artefact and a statement, but the statement was all I could find.

If she had succeeded in hatching the jar, we would have had another Amalgam on our hands, and that’s always a pain. Why dear old Mother keeps trying to make them, I’ll never know. They’re always unstable, they always collapse, and they always make a mess. Still. I suppose it’s nice to have a hobby.

[thewriterofmanythings]

Undercover

Day 3 of Widojest Week-Kissing as a Distraction or Mischief

The Mighty Nein are under hire to retrieve an item from a merchant. Jester and Caleb must go undercover to try to extract it, but the nature of the mission forces them to confront how they see each other.

Once again I kind of went a little wild with this prompt. It’s loosely based on the season 2 finale of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Also this is the longest non-multi-chapter thing I’ve ever written which is kind of wild. You can also read this on AO3. Once again the ever-lovely @3fling deserves all the love for the help and support. Please enjoy!

“Caleb, you should stop bouncing your leg. Everything is going to be fine, okay?”

In the history of the Mighty Nein’s plans, this was definitely low on the list for “Most Likely to Succeed”.  Caleb would be the first to admit though that he didn’t have a better one, so undercover date night it was.

When they had been assigned the mission of retrieving a special magic item from a merchant, it had seemed fairly simple. After two weeks of reconnaissance however, it quickly became clear that if they wanted to nab the item they were going to have to get personal fast, since the merchant would be leaving the Empire any day now.

Thanks to some clever strategy and a few dramatics, Nott and Yeza had managed to figure out that the merchant was planning on celebrating his last day in the city by dining at the fanciest restaurant this side of the border. Although the Mighty Nein hadn’t been able to pin down the exact drop off point, they knew he hadn’t yet gotten the item to its buyer meaning this would be their last chance to retrieve it without being forced to leave the Empire.

Thus the idea was born that they would sneak into the restaurant, try to get some information from the merchant, and attempt to follow him as he moved to the drop off point. There they could sneak away with the item before the other person arrived.

What it came down to next was the execution. The restaurant was known for catering mostly to couples, so it needed to be two of them, no more and no less. Beau had originally volunteered, but was quickly shot down after the group reminded her that looking human was not a benefit in this case. Shifting appearances would once again be helpful, but that left four contenders. After nearly an hour of arguing, the group voted in favor of Jester and Caleb. The two of them could shapeshift if needed and had the widest range of spells between the two of them on top of that. The others would be waiting in a rented carriage outside the restaurant, allowing Caleb and Nott to communicate if needed.

With all things settled, nothing was left but to do it. Jester hadn’t changed much of her appearance; as a tiefling she was already well off but she did lengthen her horns and change her hair to a long black elegant hairdo, making her a little less conspicuous. Caleb on the other hand needed to change quite a bit. He had modeled his new look after their Kryn friends, turning his skin dark and his eyes and hair a silvery-white. His normal brown clothes became freshly pressed black robes with silver trim to match the dress Jester had chosen. They were as ready as they were going to be for this mission.

“Ya, sorry Jester,” he said. He forced himself to stay still for a moment, letting the soft lamplights of the city streets wash over him as they made their way to the restaurant. “This will go well.”

“It better!” Nott’s muffled voice came from underneath the blanket in the floor of the carriage. Fjord had disguised himself to look appropriate as the carriage driver and Beau, Caduceus, and Yasha and secreted themselves at different points near the restaurant to make sure they could jump out at a moment’s notice, but Nott was on carriage duty. To avoid anyone peeking in and seeing her, she had brought a dark blanket to cover herself with, though she was prepared to use her invisibility if necessary.

“Nott, you worry too much. Caleb is like an honorary detective so we’ll crack the case in no time.” Jester smiled at Caleb, scrunching up her nose in a display of utter optimism.

Caleb felt his heart flutter and had to force himself not to begin his leg jittering again. To tell the truth, he was less nervous about the prospects of the job rather than he was spending the evening virtually alone with Jester. Even if it was all a ploy, they were technically going on a date. And the way her long hair framed her face, the silver of her dress complimented her soft blue freckled skin…. It was all too much for Caleb. He turned his head to stare out the window, to look at anything but Jester. “We are approaching the restaurant.”

“Remember the plan!” came from under the blanket. Jester tapped her foot gently on the floor to indicate she heard Nott as the carriage slowed down.

A half-orc gentleman walked up to the carriage window, dressed in elegant gold and purple robes. “Reservation?” he asked, with a smug smile.

Carefully, Caleb handed over the piece of paper that would give them access to the building. It felt much heavier to him then it actually was; the Mighty Nein had been forced to promise more than one favor in order to get not only a reservation at all but specifically a reservation for the table next to the merchant.

The host gave the document a heavy glance over, taking his time verifying its authenticity. With every passing second Caleb felt his body wanting to tense up more and more; as far as all of the Mighty Nein knew the paper was legitimate but there was always a possibility the party had been double crossed.

Finally the host returned the paper to Caleb’s hand. “We are pleased to welcome you to The Lagoon, Sir Phillip and Lady Fiona.” He opened the door of the carriage and stepped to the side to allow them to exit. “Enjoy your evening and do let us know if there is anything we can do for you during your time with us.”

Caleb stepped down from the carriage and turned around to offer Jester his hand. For a moment as she grasped his arm, Caleb’s mind drifted off to another world, one where this wasn’t a cover scheme, where he was able to take Jester out on a fancy dinner and enjoy her company, listening to her observations of the world and enjoying how she made him laugh. It was a dream world in every possible way but it was for a fleeting moment real to him and he savored the fleeting taste of it on his tongue, tucking away the reverie for another more appropriate time. Wallowing in self-pity and loneliness wasn’t going to help anyone on this mission.

As the host closed the door Caleb saw Nott’s tiny hand peek out from the blanket and tap the floor of the carriage three times to indicate they were proceeding with their indicated part of the plan. He sent a silent prayer out to the Traveler, the Wildmother and the Stormlord to protect the rest of the group as he and Jester walked up the steps to the entrance of the lavish restaurant.

Jester and Caleb had been told that the restaurant was incredibly expensive and therefore decorated to reflect this, but it surpassed both of their wildest expectations. Jester let a small gasp escape her as they stepped through the gilded doors into the enormous room before them. Directly in the center of the room was a tiered marble fountain, pouring water from the jar of an operatic elven figure perched on top. Gorgeous chandeliers made with glass, gold and gems hung from the ceiling, casting colored candle light across the expanse of the room. Tables were spaced evenly enough to allow each party their own comfortable area, and set upon each were crystalline wine glasses, napkins folded into the shape of swans and far too many gilded utensils than one person could reasonably use within a meal. Each step they took as they approached the second host echoed slightly, the heeled shoes clacking against the exquisite marbled floor.

“Good evening Master Phillip, Mistress Fiona.” A tall grey-skinned tiefling with golden eyes and long spiraling horns adorned with jewelry greeted them, her slender fingers beckoning them inside. “Your table is directly this way.”

The hostess brought them into the center of the room and indicated they should sit at a small table with two plush velvet chairs. Caleb pulled out Jester’s chair for her, tapping her lightly on her left side to make sure she had seen the table next to them. Their target for the evening, Augustine himself, was right here in their grasp.

“Are we celebrating anything tonight?” the hostess asked, circling the table to block their view of the merchant. Caleb immediately tensed up-they hadn’t gotten as far as thinking of an excuse for why they had come.

“Ya, we are… um, we are certainly celebrating a thing. It’s….”

Jester reached across the table and put her hand on Caleb’s, stopping his flustered muttering. “We’re engaged!” Jester gave an enormous smile to the hostess. “It was so beautiful, you really should have been there. We were on a hill and there were so many stars and I was in this beautiful red dress with all these bows that matched my hair and-”

“Sounds like a lovely night. I’ll make sure your server knows,” the host said, stepping away from the table. The look on her face barely disguised how uninterested she was in the engagement story.

As she shifted, Caleb could see Augustine and his date. The woman seemed to be whispering to Augustine, with her eyes glancing back and forth from Jester and Caleb to her partner. It made Caleb feel uneasy to have eyes on him like this; even though it was their mission to catch the dealer in the act, knowing he had his eyes on them escalated everything.

“Sorry to spring that on you, Caleb.” Jester began mixing up the utensil arrangement in front of her as she talked. “I know that’s kind of weird and all but you know it’s kind of cute and maybe we’ll get some free food out of it!”

Ya, you did good Jester.” Caleb found himself fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by fanciful thoughts of his friend, not tonight. A swallow managed to push down the lump in his throat and he felt increasingly grateful for the spell disguising his face.

A green-skinned humanoid dressed in black robes had made his way to Augustine’s table and was discussing in detail with the merchant. Caleb and Jester tried to keep an eye on the conversation without making it obvious, talking to each other and looking over the menu.

“What do you think they are talking about?”

“I do not know. Perhaps he has business with, uh, one of the chefs or something.”

“Oh no Caleb!” Jester’s menu flew up to her face to hide her expression but her wide eyes were clearly visible. “He pointed at our table! Did he recognize us?”

“Stay calm Jester, he might have been pointing at something just past us. If we do anything now we will give ourselves away without a doubt.” Caleb managed to keep his voice calm in an effort to reassure Jester but his stomach felt as if he had just swallowed an anchor. The tension eased for a moment as the server moved away from Augustine’s table and left their field of vision.

“Oh that wasn’t too bad… Maybe he just wanted to chat about how fantastic we look?”

“Ya, I am sure he was getting tailor recommendations from the server.” Caleb began muttering spell components under his breath in an effort to keep himself calm.

“Good evening, esteemed guests,” came a voice from the other side of the table. Both Jester and Caleb jumped in their seats as their heads whipped away from Augustine’s table to take stock of who had managed to sneak up on them. Somehow the waiter from the other table had gone from the door to their table in a matter of seconds.

“I hope the two of you are having a wonderful time, my name is Xandor and I will be your host for the evening.” As he spoke he set down a plate of gorgeously dressed oysters and began to open an expensive-looking bottle of wine.

“Ah, we have not ordered yet, perhaps you have mistaken us for another table ya?”

A dignified laugh came from Xandor’s throat. “Oh of course not. These are compliments of your friends across the way.” As he spoke he gestured to Augustine’s table. Augustine himself gave an acknowledging wave while his partner giggled and winked. Jester enthusiastically waved back at the two before catching herself. “They heard about your engagement and wanted to congratulate you.”

“Well, that is certainly a pleasant surprise. Please thank the couple for us and we will greatly enjoy.”

“My pleasure. Do you need more time to look over the menu?”

“Yes pleeaaasssee!” Jester gave Xandor a wide smile and pulled her menu up to her face. The host nodded at the two of them and walked off.

“Well this certainly got more complicated than we bargained for,” Caleb found himself pulling at a loose thread on the edge of the tablecloth. “Perhaps we won’t have to worry about them now that they have given us a gift.”

“I seriously doubt that’s the case Caleb,” Jester said, her eyes pointing to her left. As she said this Caleb felt a strong hand rest on his shoulder. He watched as panic briefly flickered across Jester’s eyes before her face settled into fake politeness.

“Congratulations on the engagement,” said a deep voice coming from behind Caleb. Turning his head slightly, Caleb saw Augustine towering above him. The orc was strikingly tall, especially in comparison to his guest.

“You two are just so cute!” The air genasi woman moved around Augustine to get close to Jester. “Sooo, where’s the ring?”

“Ooohh, uhh we actually had to get it resized so I don’t have it on me right now…” Jester gave the woman a big grin. “But it’s really pretty and it has a big sapphire surrounded by diamonds, trust me you would really love it!”

“Thank you for the wine, it was very generous of you to do that,” Caleb said, extending his hand to the merchant. Augustine’s grip was extremely firm and Caleb had to steel himself so as not to show how much it hurt his hand.

“It was my pleasure. You kids enjoy the rest of the evening and have a good honeymoon.”

“Ah yes, we will be going to Hupperdook.” Caleb winced internally as he said it, noticing the strange look that glanced across the genasi’s face. Regardless the couple made their way back to their table seemingly without a suspicion.

“Really, Caleb? Hupperdook?” Jester said, arching her brow at the man across from her.

“Sorry, I was just talking about it with Nott so it was on my mind…”

“Ooh he’s going to the kitchen!” Jester interrupted. Caleb carefully turned his head to see Augustine heading back into the kitchen with a leather bag in tow while his partner made her way towards the front door.

“He is going to be making the drop, we should follow him.” Caleb immediately stood up and began to walk towards the kitchen door, feeling Jester follow. The distance to the kitchen was small and the door was open, allowing them to watch as Augustine approached one of the cooks. The orc embraced the tall red tiefling and began talking animatedly about the dish in front of them.

“Maybe he really is just saying hello to cook?” Jester asked, her voice a whisper. The two of them weren’t exactly trying to hide but had naturally pressed themselves into the corner. Caleb was incredibly aware of how close Jester was to him, her hair tickling his chin. He was forcing himself to breath, to stay calm amidst the stakes of the mission and his proximity to the woman he-

“Oh no, he’s coming this way!” Jester whispered frantically. Augustine was indeed making his way out of the kitchen, towards right where the two of them were standing. Caleb couldn’t tell if he had seen them yet but there’s wasn’t enough time to move away from the door without him noticing.

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Caleb knew he had to do something to get them out of this situation. His hands grabbed Jester’s waist and spun her around to face him before bringing her face up to his. He felt her body tense at first, but as their lips met he felt her pause before beginning to kiss him back. As Jester’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, Caleb felt his hands wandering up to her back, pulling her even closer to him. Her lips tasted sweet, the remnants of an earlier pastry lingering and he found himself kissing her harder, deeper….

The sound of Augustine clearing his throat pulled Caleb back to the present, wrenching him away from Jester with a deep breath. “Oh, hello, sorry to be in your way, we were just, uh, looking for a place, to uh…”

“Boink!” Jester yelled excitedly, fondly resting her hand on Caleb’s chest. Caleb was grateful to Jester for stopping his rambling but even more glad the disguise spell covered up what was sure to be a bright red face at his companion’s choice of words.

“Don’t worry, I understand. Young lovers. You two have a good night.” With nothing more than a smile, Augustine slipped past the two of them and made his way through the restaurant. He was still holding the leather bag which appeared to be full.

As soon as the merchant was a good distance from the kitchen Caleb abruptly pulled away from Jester. “Good job Jester.” He began to fidget with the wire he used to send messages back and forth to Nott.

“Good job Caleb,” Jester responded, straightening her dress. He could tell something about her demeanor had changed but through the disguise it was hard to tell exactly how she was feeling about the situation.

“It seems the cook was not the buyer then. But now we are back at square one.”

“Come on, let’s get back to the carriage.”

                                                    ***

Jester had transported the two of them back into the carriage, with Caleb messaging Nott to warn her of their sudden appearance. Fjord had eyes on Augustine from the minute he exited the restaurant and once Caleb and Jester were securely inside he had begun to follow the merchant from a safe distance.

Nott had emerged from the blanket on the floor and was now sitting directly across from Jester and Caleb, who had made sure to leave a healthy amount of room in the middle of the bench. “So, how did it go?”

“Fine,” Jester said at the same time Caleb said “Good.” The silence that followed was incredibly tense and Nott’s eyes darted back and forth between the two people in front of her, sensing that something was different.

“All right! Spit it out!! What happened in there?” Nott unleashed her best mom glare and crossed her arms, waiting for an answer.

“We kissed,” Caleb said, pointedly not looking at Jester. He could feel the tension and his mind began to race with the possibility he had ruined their friendship at the cost of a small move. No matter how much he might have wanted to kiss Jester, he would never have done it if he had known it would ruin how Jester viewed him. Even now the silence was crushing his chest, the weight of every breath making it hard to concentrate.

“You KISSED?” Nott screeched. Caleb could feel the carriage lurch as Fjord reacted to the sudden exclamation coming from behind him. Nott’s yellow eyes grew wide as she jumped off of the bench and into a standing position. “That’s amazing! How was it?” She latched on to Jester’s arm and glanced excitedly between the two of them.

“It was just a cover, Nott.”

Jester gave a half-hearted smile as she looked at the little goblin girl. “Yeah you know just a friendly kiss between two party members to keep from blowing our cover, it’s not a big deal Nott.”

“Hmm, all right well if you want to believe that then go ahead but IIII know better.” She hopped back onto the bench and narrowed her eyes at the two of them, barely hiding a smirk.

“Nott, we should focus on the mission first. You should come with us Nott in case we need help” Caleb poked his head just out through the window to see the carriage they were following slow down before pulling off to a set of shops on the right. Taking out his wire, he muttered to Fjord “Go down the street a little while longer and you can drop us off.”

“Yessir,” came the reply from outside the carriage. Caleb made sure to adjust the curtains and crouch down as they passed the merchant’s chariot.

“Caleb, we should change our disguises in case Augustine catches a glimpse of us.” Before Jester was even done speaking, she had transformed herself into a drow women wearing plain red robes. Following her lead, Caleb adjusted the look of his drow persona, shortening the hair, softening the cheekbones and changing the clothes to a more pedestrian style than what he wore to the restaurant.

The carriage finally slowed to a stop and Fjord knocked twice to indicate they should get out. “You two got this!” Nott gave Caleb and Jester a thumbs up as they stepped down into the quiet streets of the city. It was late and many of the shops had closed, but a number of people were roaming around still. The majority of people were singular, shady, trying to get in and out without being noticed, and Caleb and Jester made their best effort to blend in as they walked down to the spice shop they had seen Augustine walk into.

Nott had waited a few minutes before exiting the carriage and crossing the street. She was matching their pace along the shops opposite the road, wire in hand in case she needed to message one of them. Caleb kept an eye on her, checking occasionally across the street.

“Hey Caleb?”

“Ya, Jester?” He didn’t like how soft and nervous Jester’s voice sounded but now wasn’t the time to discuss it.

“We’re cool right? After the thing in the restaurant.”

“Oh. Ya, we are cool.” Caleb forced himself to swallow the lump that was building in his throat. They were getting close to the spice shop now and while Augustine wasn’t in sight the drop off would probably be happening sometime soon.

Jester stopped at the shop next to where their target was and mimed pointing at the carvings in the window. Caleb mimed along, using his peripheral vision to monitor the door.

A good five minutes passed, at which point Caleb was beginning to run out of ways to be excited about the same wooden carving of a duck. He was about to suggest to Jester that they move to keep from arousing suspicion when Augustine finally emerged from the store, bag in hand. The merchant glanced around and gently placed the bag on small bench next to the shop before walking back east towards town.

Caleb pretended to stroke his chin so he could message Nott. “He has left the bag on the bench, can you retrieve it?”

“I don’t think I can get to it without alerting that tiefling,” Nott responded. Even as she spoke, a red tiefling in black robes seemed to be slowly making her way over to the bench, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“If we cause a distraction, do you think you could grab it?”

“It’s worth a shot at least.”

“Jester, we need a distraction as we pass this woman.” Caleb grabbed Jester’s hand and began to pull her towards the bench.

“What? What do you mean?” Jester’s voice was a panicked whisper.

“Nott’s going to grab the bag but we need to think of something to distract her.” Her hand tensed up inside his and he was hoping, praying to Jester and to the Traveler that she could save them, like she always did, because she was competent and wonderful and-

“Well, this is happening,” he heard from beside him, and before he knew it she had grabbed his robes and pulled his face down to hers. She captured his lips with her, and for the second time in one night Caleb felt his mind go numb from pure adrenaline he received from kissing the woman he was so desperately in love with. Without a second of hesitation he began to kiss her back, his hands latching onto her waist, pulling her closer…

“Excuse you,” a stern voice came from behind Caleb as his back slammed into the tiefling. She was clearly upset, her solid black eyes shooting icy daggers at the two of them. “Watch where you are going.”

“Oh I’m so sorry!” Jester giggled and smiled at the tall woman. Caleb glanced over and saw that Nott had grabbed the bag and was already halfway across the street with it, so he gently elbowed Jester. “We’ll get right of your way. Also you’re very beautiful! Goodbye!”

With that the two of them began to walk at a brisk pace back down to where their carriage was parked. Once they got a decent distance between the spice shop, they broke into a run. Nott threw the carriage door open for them, and as soon as Caleb had climbed in the horses took off.

“Good job, Detective Caleb,” Jester said breathlessly, not looking at him as she collapsed into her seat. Nott was across from them, peeking into the bag she had managed to get away with.

“Good job, Detective Jester.”

                                               ***

Caleb entered the kitchen of the Xorhouse as quietly as possible. Frumpkin let out a “mrrp” as he hopped off of Caleb’s shoulder and onto the counter. He absentmindedly pet the familiar, exhausted from the ordeal of the day and overthinking every little encounter with Jester. Immediately after the Mighty Nein had dropped off the magic item, Jester and Caleb had immediately gone into their rooms. Nott had tried to get inside and talk to him but he refused to open the door, choosing instead to wallow in silence. After a few hours, Nott had left and Caleb heard the last few voices quit echoing inside the house, meaning it was safe to come out.

Caduceus liked to keep the kitchen well-stocked with food so he would have plenty of items on hand to cook with, but with the last few missions it had been a while since Caduceus and Nott could make it to the market. After some searching through cabinets, he managed to find a small jar of honey and a biscuit that didn’t appear to be too stale. He broke off a small piece of bread for Frumpkin and had begun to slather honey on the biscuit when he heard the soft sound of footsteps behind him.

“Oh, sorry Caleb. I thought everyone was asleep,” Jester said, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Nein, it is okay Jester. You are not disturbing me.” He moved away from the icebox, knowing she would be getting a glass of milk before bed. She hesitantly tiptoed up next to him and pulled the jar of milk out before reaching into the cabinet below and pulling out one of the tankards the group kept on hand.

“Are you doing okay Caleb?” she asked, replacing the milk inside the icebox. He could hear the concern in her voice but felt a pang in his chest as he noticed she was refusing to meet his eyes.

“I am as well as I can be. And you?” 

“Of course I’m all right. We just pulled off a really cool heist mission!”

Caleb liked (he still refused to even allow himself to think about the word love, how could he when the last people he truly loved met such a fate) Jester for so many reasons, and one of them was the constant positive attitude that she kept, especially when the rest of the Nein were around. But with the familiarity also came the realization that so often the positivity was a front, a cover for issues lurking deeper. The party counted on her so much as an emotional crutch and she had taken that role on diligently, but that made her feel at times like she had to hide her true feelings from the group. Caleb wanted so desperately to sit her down and let her talk, let her cry all her emotions out and comfort her, but he was hardly the master of opening up about his trauma himself.

“Ya, we did a very good job tonight. You should be proud of yourself.” Caleb shoved the last of his biscuit inside of his mouth. As he chewed, he watched Jester stand still, holding her glass of milk, staring contemplatively into the liquid. It was quiet in the kitchen save for the soft sound of Frumpkin cleaning himself.

“Hey Caleb?” 

“Ya?”

“Are we okay? You know, after the whole, thing, in the restaurant, and in front of the shop?” She sat her glass down on the counter and leaned against the ice box. Finally, her eyes lifted up to meet Caleb’s and he could see the depths of worry that were just below the surface.

“Of course, Jester. We are okay.”

“Okay good because I didn’t want things to be weird between us since we kissed, I mean I know I joke about you being secretly in love with me but I really do like you Caleb and I don’t want to lose you and if anything happened I would be really really sad and….” Here Jester stopped and looked at the ground, shielding her eyes from Caleb.

“What is the matter, Jester?” He instinctively moved closer to Jester, resting a hand cautiously on her arm. She shook her head, her right hand moving up to her mouth to cover a sob. A tear fell from under the curtain of her hair and Caleb felt sorrow, anger and fear well up in his chest. “It is all right Jester, everything is okay…” Slowly, carefully he began to pull her in towards him.

After a tense moment when he wasn’t sure if she would accept or pull away, Jester threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her tear-soaked face into his neck. Her sobbing was audible now and Caleb rested one hand on the back of her head in an attempt to comfort her.

“I’m so sorry, Caleb….”

“What is there to be sorry about, Blueberry?” Seeing Jester in so much distress was tearing at him, but he forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. “You have done nothing wrong.”

“Caleb, I… I love you…” 

The words were like a slap in Caleb’s face. This confession, whispered into his neck softly, by the woman he… loved in return was so much to take in. It shocked him to his core, leaving him silent and unmoving.

“I’m sorry Caleb, I know you don’t love me back and I don’t want this to ruin our friendship, but I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Please don’t be mad at me Caleb, I-”

Pulling away from her, Caleb removed his hand from her head, lifting her chin upwards. For the first time in years he was incredibly, inevitably sure of what he was doing. He felt her soft breath on his face, tickling the small beard hairs that were beginning to show themselves once again. Slowly but firmly he captured her lips with his, using his thumb to stroke her jaw. Hot tears landed on his hand and for a moment Jester hesitated, but after a second she had a vice like grip on his coat. Caleb was no longer in control; she was pulling him into her orbit like a comet into a star and he was ready and willing to burn up in her atmosphere if she wanted him this close.

He felt his lips being parted and her tongue made its way inside, playing with his own. Her hand had found its way into his hair, locking the ginger curls tight to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. Caleb felt her other hand tighten its grip on his clothes and let out a moan at the thought of how needy Jester seemed to be.

The kisses before had seemed so enormous before, but compared to what they were doing now, telling each other how much they loved and needed the other with their hands and lips, the earlier kisses were nothing.

A soft meow from the counter finally pulled them apart, each of them gasping for air. Caleb, eyes closed, pressed his forehead against Jester’s and took her hands in his own. He let the moment exist, enjoying her presence and reveling in the knowledge that she loved him just as much as he loved her.

“I love you too Jester Lavorre.”

[paganinpurple]

A Feline’s Family - MariChat May 2019

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Buy Me A Coffee?

AO3

Chapters (If there’s no link, it’s not written yet)

1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10

11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20

21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30  31

Day 5- Cooking/Baking

“I knew you shouldn’t have let me help,” Chat whispered to Marinette as her mother placed the slightly lop-sided cake in the centre of the table.

For a first attempt at baking a layered cake, it wasn’t too bad. He had obviously put the layers together too heavily, and there were still some lumps in the icing from where the crumb coat had failed to hide that the buttercream and jam inside was desperately trying to escape. But it still stood on its own, and Marinette had taught him how to ice little golf clubs on top, even if they were a little messy. The letters spelling out, ‘Happy Birthday’ had been piped by Sabine, so they looked strangely elegant next to the rest.

But it was clearly kilometres from what they could have achieved without him.

He’d been so nervous all night about what Tom would think of such a disaster food stuff, that he’d snuck away early this morning to ensure he could be there to see for himself –and plead forgiveness if necessary.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marinette hissed back, “Papa’s gonna love that you wanted to do something for him.”

“I hear whispering,” Tom said from his seat at the table, eyes clamped tight shut at Sabine’s earlier insistence, “Can I look yet?”

“Yes, now you can,” his wife answered, finishing lighting the candle on top quickly, “Happy Birthday, dear.”

Chat held his breath as Tom opened his eyes and took in the cake before him. He looked puzzled for a moment and Chat felt his heart drop from his chest to his stomach. But the look only appeared briefly before it slid from his face, leaving a delighted glow instead.

“It’s fantastic!”

The large man leant forward to blow out the candle, leaning further still when Sabine reached across to kiss him on the cheek. “We all made it. Together,” she said, very deliberate in how she stressed the word to include everyone standing round the table.

“I had a feeling.” Tom beamed and turned his face to address the boy beside him when he spoke again. “I’m so glad you took part, son. Did you enjoy it?”

Giving a nervous laugh and awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck, Chat considered the question. While the whole baking experience could have been considered enjoyable (he fondly remembered the fits of laughter he and Marinette had gotten themselves into when he’d kept getting cake batter all over his face) overall, he’d felt too stressed to fully relax. He wished he’d trusted the Cheng ladies when they’d insisted Tom preferred the hard work and intention that went into making something than some over-priced flashy present. Maybe he could convince them to let him help another time.

“It was good,” he said shyly, his forced bravado no longer something he felt was needed with these people, “I think if I hadn’t been worrying about messing it up so much, I would’ve liked it even more.”

“Hey, as long as it’s edible, it’s a success.”

The hand on his shoulder and the voice in his ear made his gaze stray from her father’s face for Marinette’s instead. She was smiling fondly at him, the reassurance he took from her appearing to take no extra thought on her part – as if it were simply built into her nature to be there for him.

“I’m not sure that’s the best business model for a bakery,” he snickered, “I hear presentation is key.”

“For customers maybe. But we don’t know them, so the way the food looks is all they have to go on. When it’s just us, we know care went into making it.”

***

“Do you have to go?” Marinette asked, walking beside Chat as he made his way downstairs to the front door, “You’ve barely been here an hour.”

“Sorry.” He grimaced at her words. “It’s a lot earlier than I usually sneak off. I’m frightened someone will notice this time.”

“You say that a lot,” she frowned, “That you sneak off.”

She watched his face for any sign of a reaction, but one didn’t seem to be forth coming when he suddenly became very interested in the last stair they had just stepped down. While she didn’t want to press the issue, she felt it was important for Chat’s self-esteem that he knew she wanted to be there for him, whatever he needed. She just wasn’t sure how to do it.

It was a strange thing, their new-found friendship on this side of her mask. She hadn’t expected him to be so interested in spending time with a random civilian girl he’d helped a bunch of times, but in hindsight now, she could see that Chat didn’t have a lot of positives in his home life.

As much as she liked to complain that her mama and papa were so involved in her life that they were embarrassing and knew too much, she knew that ultimately, they were amazing parents. They worried for her well-being whilst also giving her a lot of freedom to enjoy her young life – and even took an interest in what she liked and who she spent time with.

Chat had mentioned a few friends here and there, but she got the impression he never got much time to see them. Last night’s bombshell about not having a mother anymore, and the kind of person his dad was had made her realise just how much hurt her sweet Kitty must have been hiding the whole time she’d known him. Her heart ached when she thought about him going home to that every day.

“Hang on!”

Her dad’s hulking form came dashing around the corner at the top of the staircase and Marinette very nearly shrieked when he stumbled on his way down towards them. He took a moment to catch his breath before pressing a small cake box into Chat’s hands.

“A couple of slices of birthday cake,” he said in response to Chat’s blank look, “Take them home. Maybe…share one with your father?”

Ah, so her mama had spoken to him about her partner’s home life. It seemed they were just as concerned as she was.

“Oh, I couldn’t. It’s your birthday. I would-”

“You’re family, son. I insist.”

Chat’s mouth gaped and he took a few moments to remember how to form words, but when he did, it was with the largest grin she’d seen him wear in a while.

“Right. Thank you.”

***

As much as Adrien would have liked to just walk up to his father and offer him some of the cake he’d helped make, in reality he was borderline terrified of the questions that might lead to and he needed time to psyche himself up for them.

But he also didn’t want to let Tom down after the man had been so kind to him, so after a lengthy discussion with Plagg he had decided to leave a slice of cake in the box, along with a brief note saying he hadn’t wanted to disturb his father. Hopefully, he would be more prepared by the time the man found time to ask him about it.

A quick check by Plagg to make sure the coast was clear, and Adrien had stolen away into his father’s empty office. He left Plagg to listen for anyone making their way towards him as he placed the cake on the desk, but he had barely taken two steps away from the kwami when they both straightened at the sound of voices coming towards them.

Panicking, he grabbed Plagg and ducked down under Nathalie’s desk – figuring that if she was the one to find him, she’d be the more understanding and possibly keep quiet until he had managed to wiggle his way out of this. He waited with baited breath as the voices drew closer and it was only as the door was opening that he registered that while one of the two was certainly Gabriel Agreste, the other was unfamiliar to him.

“-just think there are better ways, Master.”

“I have told you time and time again, Nooroo. I am in charge here and I know what is in my family’s best interests. Now you will keep quiet until we are safely in the butterfly chamber – at which point you will be transforming me and therefore still silent.”

Unable to believe what his own ears were hearing, Adrien carefully lifted his head above the desk slowly until his wide eyes could make out his father, standing by his mother’s painting with his back to him.

As well as the small purple kwami floating beside his shoulder.

“Yes, Master,” the little being said sadly before flying into the suit jacket Gabriel was holding open for him. Unable to do anything more than stare in horror, the boy watched as his father pressed his hands against the painting before disappearing into the floor beneath it.

Buy Me A Coffee?

[taotrooper]

Colorful horizon

Title: Colorful horizon Series: Mo Dao Zu Shi Pairing: wangxian Summary:  Wei Wuxian wants to make Lan Wangji's life more fun, so he decides to make kites just for them. An afternoon together teaching his husband how to fly a kite under the breeze of a perfect sky, smiles and song and words of love on their lips, proves to be truly special. Notes:  For visual aids, this is the novel's description of WWX's kite back in Yunmeng. There are more pics of pretty Chinese kites that inspired me on the AO3 link.

🍃 On AO3

"What a cruel man," he pretended to be offended. "I worked for three days and you mock my beast. Is it too silly to you? Too tacky? Too childish?"

"No," Lan Wangji replied. "It is in fact extremely well done."

"Well, I would hope so. Then why did you laugh at it?"

"It suits Wei Ying."

Silence fell. Wei Wuxian frowned. He turned the head around and leveled its large eyes with his. While it was a great dragon-like creature, that wasn't exactly a beautiful animal. Unbelievable. Lan Zhan was teasing him once more!

"It is lively and bright and loud," his husband continued. "It takes the entire sky, fills it with color and horror, and it's impossible to look away. It suits you."

************

Wei Wuxian leaned back. He stared at his work and sighed in relief. His nimble fingers were covered in ink, paint of every possible hue, paper cuts, and even splinters after hours of work. The desk was a real mess that could attest to the intense creative process. However, it was worth the effort if he could say so himself. Not bad for his first and second attempts at this craft! It wasn't as gentle as Shijie's brushwork or as sturdy as Uncle Jiang's frame, true, but he felt pride in his chest as he raised both toys to the light for a final inspection.

But would the elegant Hanguang-Jun consider them worthy?

'Well,' he thought with a cheeky grin, 'he ended up liking me. His taste isn't that graceful or refined as he'd like to think.' He couldn't wait to see his beloved's reaction to those masterpieces.

The crazier the kites, the more fun you have flying and shooting them. That's just a fact.

************

The wide blue sky over his head was clear, with barely some white clouds spread across. Yet the wind was both gentle enough to refresh the summer heat, and strong enough to lift anything weightless —the grass under his boots, the clothes he was wearing, hopefully papercraft— into a disarray. In short, it was the perfect afternoon to fly a kite.

A strangely-shaped white shape moved closer and closer into the azure. As it reached the little valley, it was evident to the eyes that it was but a man. Patterns of blue clouds were embroidered into his white garb. For Wei Wuxian, the sight of that beauty warmed him more than the sun and shook him more than a gale.

Lan Wangji effortlessly unmounted his sword with a poised hop and pulled Wei Wuxian into his embrace right away. They joined lips, ignoring the distracting weather and taking their time to kiss in bliss.

"Did you wait long?"

"An eternity! What took you so long, Lan Zhan?"

"I was punctual."

"But I was early for once and I missed you..." A pout was quickly replaced by a mischievous laughter. "Ah, no matter, it's okay! You're mine for the rest of the day."

Lan Wangji tilted his neck to try to look at the pouch Wei Wuxian hid behind his back. "Will you tell me what you've planned, Wei Ying?"

It was natural he was curious. Three days of secret work, locked in a corner of the Library Pavilion, fingernails red and golden underneath. Of course his husband knew he was scheming and preparing something special, with this little date as the culmination of his labor. Anyone else would have been concerned to see the Yiling Patriarch crafting anything at all, yet Lan Wangji gave him space and trusted him, and never demanded to be told what that was about.

"Yeah, now I can say!" the devious artisan grinned. "We're flying kites! I made us some really cool ones since we didn't have any. Let's play, Lan Zhan."

Lan Wangji blinked in surprise. "Mn," he just said before reaching again for a final soft peck that made the other one purr.

Reluctant, Wei Wuxian let go and opened his pouch wide. He offered it to Lan Wangji, who took it. "Hold it, I need both hands to get them out."

After some rummage, Lan Wangji's eyes opened wide as a red monstrosity came out of the bag. It was all face and tail, the longest kite he had ever seen. The head was almost as large as a human's, with sharp horns and fierce eyebrows on top, bulging eyes, pig-like nostrils, and tusks coming out of a huge open mouth. While the base paint job was crimson, a plethora of vibrant colors adorned the flying beast's semblance.

Even though it should have looked intimidating or majestic, Lan Wangji's lips curved upwards and the softest chuckles were born and died in his throat in an instant. Wei Wuxian was left breathless, any outrage gone by the joy he felt, by the miracle that was making the stoic Hanguang-Jun laugh.

"What a cruel man," he pretended to be offended. "I worked for three days and you mock my beast. Is it too silly to you? Too tacky? Too childish?"

"No," Lan Wangji replied. "It is in fact extremely well done."

"Well, I would hope so. Then why did you laugh at it?"

"It suits Wei Ying."

Silence fell. Wei Wuxian frowned. He turned the head around and leveled its large eyes with his. While it was a great dragon-like creature, that wasn't exactly a beautiful animal. Unbelievable. Lan Zhan was teasing him once more!

"It is lively and bright and loud," his husband continued. "It takes the entire sky, fills it with color and horror, and it's impossible to look away. It suits you."

Whether he was saying it earnestly or trying to fix his comment to hurt Wei Wuxian's feelings less, the latter didn't know. He gaped, looked at his husband, looked back at the kite, and looked up again. He decided not to say that not only the design wasn't his, but also Jiang Cheng's kite was basically the same with slightly different colors.

"So... do you really like it?"

"Mn. It's perfect."

Beaming, and the weight in his stomach loosened a bit, Wei Wuxian turned the kite around and made the beast's mouth give a little nudge on Lan Wangji's cheek.

"Are you ready to see your own kite?"

Lan Wangji's face didn't change, but his shoulders tensed.

"Hahahaha, don't be alarmed! I made something completely different for you! Something pretty, I promise! Let me take it out."

Wei Wuxian put down the red beast on the ground and rummaged inside the pouch again. It didn't take him that long to fetch it, but he stalled and kept moving his arms for a while to increase the suspense. After building enough expectation, he pulled it out and rose it to Lan Wangji's face's level.

"Take it! It's yours now!"

Lan Wangji grabbed it with the utmost care, as if it was made of glass or silk instead, and glanced at it. The kite was larger than the targets that sect disciples and civilian children flew, but was still a more conventionally shaped kite than the beast. Bird shapes were already a current popular motive. Lan Wangji's kite was a rooster, which wasn't that usual nonetheless. It had a white body, a red comb on the upper tip, and a colorful tail made with long strips of different papers which simulated feathers. Its eyes and beak were painted. Its wings were part of the shape of the sail.

By itself, the rooster was quite beautiful. But Wei Wuxian didn't leave it there. Over the bird's body and wings, he had painted flower designs. Large pink peonies with small blue gentians around them, decorated the otherwise jade white canvas.

Lan Wangji's eyes shone bright like gold, full of emotion and wonder. With his free hand, he slid delicately his fingers across the paper, stopping on each of the peonies with tenderness. Wei Wuxian could see with delight that the tip of his ears had turned to a softer shade than those flowers'.

He didn't need to ask if Lan Wangji liked it.

"I told you it was pretty, see?" he said instead. "I gave it a lot of thought, and I think it suits you. Are you pleased with this kite, Lan Zhan?"

"Very much so," Lan Wangji spoke in a whisper, his eyes fixated on his present, on the tail feathers. "Wei Ying, it's gorgeous."

The weight in Wei Wuxian's stomach was completely gone, replaced with satisfaction. He would cherish Lan Zhan's delighted reaction forever in his memories.

"Why a rooster, of all things?"

Wei Wuxian contained a laughter. He saw that question coming and he was prepared. Of course, he couldn't just say it was because his husband had stolen two chickens the third time he had gotten drunk with him, therefore giving him a chicken kite was a highly amusing idea to him. Instead, he just pointed out at the toy.

"Turn it around and you'll see the answer."

On one of the bamboo sticks of the frame, there were three characters engraved in the wood. They read 'Lan Wangji', except wang was written with the character for watch, and ji was written with the character for chicken and rooster. As soon as Lan Wangji groaned at the pun, Wei Wuxian couldn't take it anymore and sat on the grass next to his own kite, holding his belly as he cackled.

There were so many layers to that rooster joke. Cocks, obviously —and a quality Wei Wuxian admired in his man. Not to mention, in a more serious sense, that it was a lucky, auspicious animal that symbolized wisdom, goodness, loyalty, and courage —all qualities Wei Wuxian admired in his man. It was really easy to keep the connection fun without making Lan Zhan losing face. Lan Wangji crouched next to him and held his shaking waist gently, waiting in silence for his fit to end.

"Come on," said Wei Wuxian afterwards as he took the hand offered to lift himself up. "Let's fly these handsome babies before the wind goes away."

"Mmn."

Wei Ying then took the pouch again and started to take out the two sets of bows and quivers. Lan Wangji tensed up again, his face looking angry and dismayed.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think? It's to shoot them."

"No."

"You do know, right?" Wei Wuxian threw his arms in the air, exasperated at the curt, stubborn negative. "It's an archery target game, right?"

"...You worked hard on them!"

"They can be fixed or made again. Shijie took care of ours all the time."

Lan Wangji fiercely protected the rooster in his arms as if it were a masterpiece, very much like his drunken self with the actual birds. "Nonetheless, I refuse to damage it."

"..."

They glanced at each other. Wei Wuxian understood: he saw it as a mere toy but it was something he made for Lan Wangji, who treasured everything related to the man he loved with zeal. It was just unthinkable to open holes in them. With that point of view, he felt a tug in his heart and he offered a conciliating smile while he put the bows back in the pouch. Time for a compromise.

"You win, Lan Zhan. There are other games we can play anyway: which one flies it for the longest time, or which can reach higher. And we can just be boring and look at them! That's nice, too."

"Mn." Lan Wangji had the hint of a smile in his eyes.

Wei Wuxian put his arms around Lan Wangji's shoulders. "Next time I'm bringing a few little cyclopes we can shoot into shreds. I kinda want to see which of us does better. You will shoot normal training kites, right?"

"I will, yes."

"Good boy!" He dived for a long kiss, licking his husband's lower lip before breaking apart. "Now let me show you how it's done by a true kite champion."

Lan Wangji followed his instructions carefully and emulated the way he had to run with nothing short of perfection. The rooster shot upwards and did well at first, but after he stopped in one spot it started to jerk down in the changing currents of gust.

"Do I give it more line?" he asked, glancing at the spool in his hands.

"Yeah but put... Ah, it's more complicated than that. Hold on, let me..."

Wei Wuxian quickly went and positioned himself behind his husband. He cupped each of his hands with his own, and gently moved his arms into the correct position.

"Like this, Er-gege," he murmured into flushing ears. And it would've been tender and erotic to fly the kite like this together for a while, their hands intertwined and their bodies against each other, but the breeze had another ideas. Lan Wangji's perfect silky mane was whipping against Wei Wuxian's face, not allowing him to see ahead or talk without eating hair.

He would be really annoyed if that hair didn't smell like sandalwood. He couldn't stay mad at that soothing scent. After some chuckles and coughs, he broke contact for a moment in order to grab the hair and shove it under Lan Wangji's collar. Then the lesson resumed until the kite was stabilized and the other man had learned the basics. As good as the embrace was, Wei Wuxian was itching to fly his own creation.

Soon a black-garbed man ran across the green, and a big red creature rose up behind him across the blue. Wei Wuxian managed to move so he stood up right next to Lan Wangji, but with enough space for the two kites.

"Lan Zhan~"

"Wei Ying?"

They glanced at each other, but careful not to leaving the kites completely unsupervised.

"First time flying a kite?"

"Mn."

"Have you shot kites, though?"

"I have. Archery training with moving targets is a group activity for junior disciples."

"But as a class, I assume? Not as a game with the other kids during your free time?"

"Indeed."

Just as he thought. He didn't expect Lan Wangji to share that common childhood experience. That was the real reason that drove him to get paper, scissors, paint, bamboo, string; to make something both fun and beautiful for a wonderful person who craved, deep down, for childish excitement he never had.

That, and the fact that during their drinking session last week, an inebriated Lan Wangji had demanded for kites after seeing children playing during the day. Wei Wuxian couldn't provide even one in the middle of the night and distracted him with a hide-and-seek game. Even if in the morning his husband had forgotten, he couldn't.

"Haha, look!" Wei Wuxian smirked and pointed above. "My red fury is flying higher than your white cock! I'm winning."

"Mn."

Lan Wangji was now looking at the kites closely. Even though the face remained with the same serious expression, he was mesmerized by the two figures. There was a happy shine in his eyes that told Wei Wuxian that he did not mind if he wasn't victorious. The same shine was in Wei Wuxian's eyes with that sight, infectious and endearing.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!"

"Wei Ying?"

"You're having fun, aren't you?"

"Yes. More challenging to keep it balanced than I thought."

An overwhelming emotion of joy filled Wei Wuxian's already puffed chest. Lan Wangji was having fun.

"Yeah, it's way less dull than I thought. And you're doing amazing for your first time, Lan Er-gege. Talented in everything he does, that's my husband."

"I have a talented instructor," Lan Wangji replied. Wei Wuxian guffawed, his cheeks flustered. Ah, that Lan Zhan was getting better and better at flirting and quips. His heart couldn't take it.

"Oh, yeah? I heard he was a champion or something."

He glanced again at Lan Wangji's direction, who had said all that without taking his eyes off his kite. Wei Wuxian's eyes wandered to his man's hands and how he was unwinding the line slowly, with care and dexterity. Then he dropped his voice to a hoarser tone. "Honestly, I wish I were that kite, to feel your fingers all over my spool until you take me to the heavens."

Lan Wangji almost dropped his kite, but he quickly recovered.

"Shameless."

"Ahahahaha!"

"...I will do that later."

"I know you will, my sweet Lan Zhan," he winked. "And I will make you fly so high as well, but let's play for a while while it's windy. After all my efforts to make these guys for us."

"Mn, let's."

He noticed that Lan Wangji was now looking at him with longing eyes.

"Are you envious of my kite, too?"

His husband didn't answer for a few seconds, weighing the question. "No need. You're the wind underneath my sail."

It was the red beast's turn to shake violently. He pouted, his face matching his own toy in color. "Argh, Lan Zhan! You're definitely doing it on purpose! And he has the audacity to call me shameless?"

But despite his complaints, this was truly happiness for Wei Wuxian. As he recovered altitude, a few notes from a tune that always calmed him against all turmoil came out of his lips, resonating in his throat and chest. Lan Wangji hummed back the following notes. It sounded so natural in his velvety deep voice, just like that time over a decade ago when the song was born out of reluctant young love in bloom. Wei Wuxian joined him for the next verse, and they kept singing along in an improvised duet.

The playful breeze made everything sway to the melody. The vibrant tails of the kites danced. Wei Wuxian's red ribbon and Lan Wangji's white forehead ribbon danced. The sleeves of their robes, their hair as dark as ink, the green grass around them. Even their souls danced to the wind and the music.

When the sky exploded in the soft colors of twilight and it was too late to play, they packed the kites; it was their time to glide in the air. Balanced on top of Bichen, Lan Wangji carried Wei Wuxian in his arms all the way home, both enjoying the sunset. Wei Ying's head rested on his beloved's shoulders. They couldn't wait to unravel in each other's hands, to make the other one reach those familiar heights.