#they feel emotional in this fic over it being a decade since they met but there are no hard feelings over their current life.

[puhpandas]

Decennial

(2,396 words)

Evan and Gregory, now age twenty-two, celebrate the tenth anniversary of their meeting in the comfort of their shared apartment.

Its already the afternoon when Evan meets Gregory at the couch in their shared apartment, smartphone in hand. Gregory glances up from whatever he was watching on TV, quickly grabbing the remote to pause the channel.

He doesn't even have a chance to greet him before he notices Evan's face. Worry quickly creases his brows, and he moves to get off of the couch. "Evan? Hey, what's wron--"

Evan tries to convey that everything's fine with no words. Because it's true. He just can't muster any up right now. When Gregory seems to understand enough, that's when Evan thrusts his phone into Gregory's line of sight.

Gregory shifts on the couch, taking the phone and studying the screen to no avail. Hes pulled up the calendar on his phone, the date reading March 4th, 2045. Gregorys brows furrow, then, "Uh. I dont understand."

Evan would have rolled his eyes if he weren't so emotional right now. He scoffs, tapping the screen and mumbling "The date. Look at the date."

It only takes another moment for Gregory to understand. Evan can almost see the gears turning in his friends head in the moments before he gasps sharply. "Oh!"

Gregory doesn't look away immediately, just taking it in as if it surpises him. "Its ten years since we met today."

Evan nods at that. A small smile stretching on his face when Gregory finally turns to look at him.

But he should know by now -really, it's been ten years after all- that Gregory knows him. Probably better than Evan himself.

"What's with that look?" Gregory questions, seemingly noticing how Evans smile doesnt quite reach his eyes. "You look sad."

Evan shakes his head immediately. "No-- that's not it." He replies, feeling a bit more fit to speak. "Its just..."

"Ten years?" Gregory prompts, and Evan nods. Gregory seems to get it. He sighs a bit, and Evan can tell hes not alone in reminiscing. "Jeez. Thats..."

"...A long time ago." "A big number." They say at the same time.

Evan joins Gregory on the couch, taking his phone back. Ten years. Ten years since he met Gregory. Ten years since Evan had been that little ball of anxiety. Ten years since the best thing that ever happened to him.

Nine years since their first holidays together. Eight years since they started high school. Four since they graduated. Three since they started college.

One year since they got their first apartment together.

Evan chuckles all of the sudden, loud as a jet engine in the seemingly silent room. "Do you remember what we always wanted to do as kids?"

Gregory only has to think for a moment. "You mean what we made a reality?"

"Yeah." Evan replies. "We got that apartment. Not exactly the college dorm we imagined, though."

"Psh. Are you kidding? Our apartment is way better than any dorm we could have gotten." Gregory scoffs. "We would have like. One room to our name, and we would have to share."

Its Evan's turn to scoff, this time. He smiles, the memories coming back easily. "You're acting like we didnt basically share your room when we were thirteen."

"You were always there." Gregory agrees, but Evan knows by now that Gregory doesn't mean it in a bad way. Never. That's one of the things that have changed since they met. Evan doesnt assume the worst first, and ask questions later anymore. "You got that right."

"Thank god we had Vanessa to tell us what to do." Evan says. "We would be lost without her."

Gregory snorts, shuffling on the couch. Evan glances over, and strangely, being here, in this moment, even though its nothing differnet from what he and Gregory do every day, reminds him so much of when he and Gregory would just hang out together on his bed. Drawing, watching videos, talking and laughing... all of it.

"Its a good thing she told us to get an apartment while we still could." Gregory says. "We would have burned down the entire dorm."

Evan giggles at the thought. It wouldn't be the first time he and Gregory would make a mess in the kitchen. He still remembers how scared he was as a fourteen year old, when he had burned some of the food meant for Vanessa's 'Welcome Home' dinner Gregory insisted they make. The Fazbears house had stunk of char and smoke for days afterwards.

He was terrified at the time. If he had ever done anything like that at his old house...

He shakes that thought away. He does that often. Thinking back to his time alone with his father and brother. His biological ones. It's been a challenge, shutting down his brain when it tries to recall the memories.

Its another thing that's changed. As a kid, he knew nothing about helping himself and his anxiety. He didnt want to. He never saw himself as worthy of deserving relief, and it was so subconscious, little Evan never even realized it.

Now, it couldn't be more different. Hes never been healthier.

Who knew all it took was a best friend for life?

He looks over at Gregory. Who's still recounting some of their old childhood memories. Evan doesnt talk to Michael anymore. The damage he caused is too much to ignore. Evan... Evan doesnt want to see him anymore. Despite Michaels wake up call, it had been all too late. The damage had been done.

Michael missed his chance. Evan had decided that a long time ago. Maybe he should have had his change if heart earlier if he didnt want Evan to find the brother he always wanted in someone else.

Because that's what Gregory is. Its nothing new, they were having these revelations when they were only teenagers. Probably even earlier for Evan. But Evan never stops thinking about how much Gregory truly is his family.

That suprise and shock of the kindness hed received from Gregory from little Evan ten years ago is hard to shake when all hed been taught his whole life is how to hate himself. How he deserved to be treated badly, because if he hadn't been the way he was, he could have made himself worthy. A respectable man. Tough. An immovable rock. Real men dont show their emotions, or even experience them. Real men can defend themselves. Real men start to toughen up at the ripe age of twelve.

Evan is twenty two, now. So is Gregory. This life they'd built for themselves, with such a bright future... little Evan never would have even dreamed of. Little Evan had thought there was nothing there for him. Little Evan had thought there was no light at the end of the tunnel. That he had been doomed from the start. That his nature nipped his figure at the bud before it could begin.

This life theyve built for themselves. When Evan had ran to the Fazbears as soon as he'd turned eighteen with only a bag of clothes, a binder full of drawings, and yellow bear to his name. When he'd shared the room that felt like his own as well growing up with Gregory. When they'd spent those few months together until getting into the same college and choosing an apartment.

This life theyve built for themselves. That Evan would have only seen as a fantasy when he was eleven.

Theyve changed so much. It always shocks Evan every time he sees an old photo, or really remembers what it had been like pre-Gregory. Evan is growing out his hair, now. Before, all hed ever had was a months overgrown generic slickback. But he gets to choose now. Like how he paints his nails. Gregory has never really cared about his appearance, but he saw a photo of his Dad as a college student and immediately went to go replicate the blue streaks in his hair when it was time for himself to go off to college.

Evan almost laughs sometimes when he thinks about how much Gregory really is just an older version of who he was when he was twelve. He's different, like Evan is, but he's the same as well. A constant.

He knows hes the same, as well. Just with longer hair, bolder clothes, and the power of experimentation. Gregory has never been one to care much about his clothes, but to Evan, its everything. To be able to wear what he always wanted as a kid. To not be confined to whatever annual clothes his Father would buy him from the back to school section. Its freeing.

It's in that moment that he thinks back, really thinks back to his life pre-Gregory, and the contrast of the before and after.

It's all too much, in that moment. The memories and the sentiments and the nostalgia. In true Evan fashion, he cries about it.

Gregory has long since learned how to differentiate Evan's tears between his emotionality and a genuine issue. So when Evan begins wiping silent tears away, he just smiles one of those smiles he does, and pats him on the shoulder, pulling him in for a side hug.

Its digging a hole in Evan's chest, this feeling. It's not bad. But it's not exactly good either. It's some kind of a loss, but a hope as well. Remembering how much he loved back then. As much as he loves right now.

"I--" Evan stutters, sniffling. Gregory hands him one of the many boxes of tissues they always have on hand in their apartment. "It... It feels like we need to celebrate, somehow. I mean... ten years is big."

Evans mind floats to a cake. Or a two person party. Or a collaborated drawing. Evan's mind floats to many things. Many options. Ten years is big, right? Something that big needs a big party. Something big to commemorate it.

But Gregory just hums, and lays eyes on the thick shelf of DVDs they have tucked by the wall right by their TV. "How about a movie night?"

Evan's about to interrupt, say something about the milestone, but Gregory continues. "Do you remember all our favorites as a kid?"

Evan stops himself short, almost scoffing, because of couse he does. How could he not, when he and Gregory had stayed up so many times to watch them together, alongside stifled giggles and ice cream straight out of the carton? "Of course I do."

Gregory gets off the couch, crouching by the bookshelf and picking out a select few movies. Evan catches the titles on the packaging from all the way were hes sitting. Every single one of them is special to him.

Gregory deposits the movies on their coffee table, three DVDs spilling out onto the glass surface. "Then I can't think of a better way to spend the night."

Despite Evan's attempts, he cant either. Despite watching these movies almost regularly with Gregory even now, opening the casing feels different in this moment. It feels special. Evan feels like hes thirteen again.

Before starting their marathon, they make a huge bowl of popcorn, pouring caramel on it just how they liked it as kids. As they continue to now. Evan gets the carton of ice cream out of the fridge, handing Gregory his spoon and taking his own.

All they need is a throw blanket and they're ready. It's the exact setup they've done for years. Starting ten years ago today. This tradition has lasted this long, and it will outlive the milestone.

It feels so familiar, Evan cant stop thinking. His emotions are dialed up to eleven tonight. It only increases when the sky darkens outside their windows. He remembers coming home from school with Gregory and just. Immediately piling onto his bed with snacks and pillows and turning the lights off before they'd dive into another movie. Only going to bed when Freddy forced them to.

Because that's what it was. Thats what it still is. Home. All Evan feels right now is home.

They laugh at all the same parts. They cry as well. They cheer. They point out the same things. Nothing has changed.

Sure, ten years is big. But Evan can't think of a better way of spending the anniversary than continuing to do what hes loved to do with Gregory throughout the years. This doesnt mark the end of an era, or a big change. It marks how long hes had the gift of his brother. His family. His real family. The fifteenth mark will, as well. So will the twentieth.

All the tenth mark says is hes had ten years worth of joy and growth. and He'll continue to do just that.

After the third movie, Evan takes a quick look at his phone. The numbers 12:03 look back at him from his lockscreen, a picture of him and Gregory. The date has switched to the 5th.

"You're my brother." Evan says suddenly to Gregory at the beginning of the fourth movie. Gregory pauses in stuffing his face with popcorn to look over at Evan's earnest face. "You know that?"

Gregory chuckles wetly. It seems Evan isn't alone in the sentimentality tonight. "Only since we were preteens."

Gregory pulls him into that same side hug he always does. "You're my family." Gregory tells him sincerely. "You always will be, too. Hell would freeze over before our family would ever say you aren't one of theirs."

Evan chuckles, eyes misty, because he knows its true. He can imagine his family's reactions so vividly. "I know."

They only sink further into the hug after that, the movie continuing on. Theyve long since stopped with the thank yous. Not since they got it through Evan's thick skull that they arent doing him a favor. They just love him.

It's in that moment that Evan realizes that tomorrow is another day. And there are more after that and after that. Theres more milestones to reach, more years to spend with his brother and their family, and he cant wait to experience them.

But right now, he's content continuing a ten year long tradition as a mundane celebration for a non-mundane achievement.

It's not mundane to him at all, anyway. It means the world to him.

Besides, he can't imagine a world where his family doesn't throw a suprise party for him when he and Gregory visit them tomorrow.

ao3 link

[gilverrwrites]

Dickies Mom has got it goin’ on

Had to get this convoluted, angsty but fun idea out of my head. One day I might expand it into a better-written, fleshed-out fic, but for now please enjoy my yappy ramblings.

Wally West/BatMom!Reader

CWs: Wally being a not so great friend.

So like, imagine you're roughly late 20s/early 30s and happily married to the love of your life Bruce Wayne, there's an age gap sure, but ultimately that's not important. What matters is that you've made a life with him and his children. You're especially close with Dick, his eldest (late teens/early 20s) as you've known him since he was a teenybopper.

All is well, until one day in true comic book fashion; you die. You sacrifice yourself for a greater cause. It's all very tragic.

A decade later, it turns out fate isn't done with you. You've no idea how or why, but you wake in a coffin one day and have to claw yourself out of it. Cold, alone, and afraid, you make your way back to Wayne Manor. There you're greeted by your husband Bruce, but not really. This Bruce is greying. There are fine lines on his face you've never seen before and a ring on his finger that does not match yours.

You're not mad, it's been 10 years, and he was supposed to move on! But it doesn't feel like 10 years to you, it feels like only yesterday everything was perfect. It's devastating.

Queue Dick finding out. He just so happened to be hanging with his best pal Wally at the time, they both drop everything to rush over in a flash.

Your first night back on earth is messy. It's emotional, and stressful, a hell of a roller coaster. Ultimately, you spend most of it with Dick and Jay who surprise is also back from the dead. Dick is really your emotional soundboard, while Jay offers more practical advice about navigating a world that has gone on without you. He recommends you just take some time off, heal your wounds, catch-up with friends and family. You should learn from his mistakes.

Wally helps too. Primarily in a comedian relief way but also just as a sunny friendly face. His freckles and kind green eyes go a long way in making you feel at ease amongst a sea of familiar strangers.

He's adamant you've met before but you insist you'd never forget eyes that green and it stops his heart. You mean nothing by it, but it means a lot to him.

After you’ve parted ways, Dick makes a point of telling Wally not to flirt with you if he ever meets you again.

“Flirting? I wasn't flirting.”

“I was there.”

“But, come on man she's hot!”

“She’s my mom.”

“But she's our age now.”

“Wally, she's my mom!”

Eventually, after a lot of teasing, Wally surrenders but he deliberately makes no promises. He can't, not when he's been replaying the same 5-second interaction you'd had at Dicks 18th Birthday party many moons ago in his head over and over. He’ll try for his best friend, but it seems to him like this was meant to be.

Bruce may not be in love with you anymore, but he still loves you. So he helps how he can, offers you food and shelter, medical attention, a job, whatever you need to get yourself back on your feet.

You decide to take Jasons advice. Bruce still has a lot of your things; your clothes and your car. You ‘borrow’ gas money from your widowed husband and hit the road to seek out lost friends and family. Sad, but eager to get away from the city that no longer feels like home. You leave your rings with Alfred, a sign to Bruce that you expect nothing from him, that you'll leave him and his new wife be even though it breaks your heart.

The first stop is Dick, obviously, since you have to travel through Blüd. After joining him for a routine patrol, you spend the night on his couch, eating Thai food and talking about his life since you… passed. Nightwing as just finding his footing back then, but now he's a force to rival Batman.

You're two states over when you get a call from a number you don't recognise. Most of the people you know have changed their numbers since you last spoke, so don't hesitate to answer. You're surprised however by whose on the other end.

“Wally West? How did you get this number?”

“From Dick.”

He's not lying, he's just omitting the fact that Dick doesn't know Wally got your number from his phone bill. If he didn't want that info getting out he should probably put his bills somewhere other than a lockbox in a safe and quit being only person in the entire world to still actively use a landline.

His not-a-lie works however, the implication of Dick's approval helps you to let down those mother-appropriate conversation walls.

“Heard you're travelling cross country, any chance you plan on stopping in Keystone?”

“Why? Whats in Keystone?”

“Um, the Patriots?”

“Baseball?”

“And hotdogs! Al who serves em does not skimp on all the toppings, you've gotta try em.”

“You want me to detour in Keystone for baseball and hotdogs?”

“Well, there is something else.”

“And whats that?”

“Guess.”

“Unmmm… You?”

“Ding ding ding. She's smart and beautiful, a woman after my own heart.”

He's cute. So cute. He's no Bruce, but Bruce never made you laugh like this.

“Wally, this is a bad ideas. I was married until like a week ago.”

“And? I'm not askin’ you to walk down the aisle again, just one game and like 20 hotdogs. For me. You don't have to eat that many unless you want too.”

[slytherinshua]

RUBY OUT OF CONTROL

genre. fluff. brief angst(?). friends to lovers. steven universe au (post steven universe future by a few decades). nicholas is half-gem half-human like steven :D warnings. yn and nico arguing (before the fic starts). nico produces some fire accidentally. just two flustered friends in love with each other. not proofread. pairing. half ruby!nicholas x fem!human!reader. wc. 2k. request. no. a/n. i need to write more steven universe aus fr why is this hitting so hard skdjks. net. @kstrucknet

You had never really fought with Nicholas, at least, never like this. You’d been best friends for years since you met one Summer at an ice cream parlour when you were 16. It seemed like fate when you started talking and bonded immediately. He lived only 5 minutes away from your house with his dad, so seeing him every day started to become routine. 

He said he didn’t really have many friends, besides some gem buddies. You were his first human friend, but you didn’t find it unusual. Gems had assimilated to human society for a few decades since the infamous Crystal Gems created Little Homeworld. You’d had some fun conversations with a few introspective sapphires and a rambunctious peridot yourself. You were always curious to learn more about them, if you ever got the chance. 

Over the years, Nicholas learned everything about you, and you thought you knew everything about him too. You had never expected him to be hiding such a big secret as… this. He was half-gem himself. A rarity, even since the population of gems came to Earth. As far as you knew, there had only ever been one other; Steven Universe himself. 

It wasn’t the fact that he was a half gem that made you upset. You were always ready to accept Nicholas for whatever he was. But the fact that he hid it from you for so long had you confused, and regrettably, you had let your hurt emotions lash out at him. To make matters worse, in the heat of the moment, your feelings for him had slipped out in a messy spew of upset rambling. You weren’t ready for that— neither was Nico. The result? He hadn’t texted you in 3 days.

You were a bit scared to reach out, and too busy overthinking and beating yourself up about how you reacted to even think of how to make it up to him. He deserved better than his closest friend starting an argument when he was vulnerable. It was so easy to see now that he had probably been scared to tell you for years. Of course it was a sensitive topic; and now you had fucked it all up by making it about yourself. 

It was painstakingly clear now that you could put the pieces together. You were almost surprised you had never suspected him of being a gem before. You’d sometimes spotted over the years a hint of red peeking from under his hoodies or t-shirts. And you often wondered why he didn’t like swimming, or wouldn’t show off his muscles like other teenage boys. He was obviously in shape, you’d seen his arm muscles enough times to know that at least.

The red mark you always spotted wasn’t a birthmark, or skin irritation, or acne, but his gem. You felt so dumb for not putting the pieces together earlier, and even dumber for not being gentler with him. But, after the third day of stewing in your regrets and sorrows, you decided enough was enough. 

You were going to apologize to Nicholas at the very least, and hopefully, he would put the argument behind you (and forget about your stupid confession). You really didn’t want to lose your best friend after almost 8 years. You didn’t care about the secrets or even your feelings for him anymore. All that mattered was saving the friendship and seeing him again. 

So, you bravely walked out the front door and started the dreadful 5 minute walk to his house. You hoped he was home. Chances were high that he was. He had never been one to get outside on a Saturday morning when he could be lazing around in bed instead. When you knocked on the door to his house, his dad answered it. 

“Y/n… You looking for Nico?” He asked gently. He looked tired, and you were sure it wasn’t just because it was 9 am on a Saturday. You hoped you hadn’t hurt Nicholas that much…

You nodded, “Is he home?” You were surprised at your own ability to regulate your voice. Although you were seconds away from crying in reality, you tried not to show it to Mr. Wang.

“Of course, of course— he doesn’t go anywhere on a Saturday. I was hoping you’d stop by, actually. Nico’s been having a tough time for a few days; I was hoping you’d be able to cheer him up.” You tried not to get too disheartened by hearing that. You didn’t have the heart to tell Mr. Wang that you were the very reason he must have been having a hard time. He opened the door wider for you to step inside. When you did, you were met with the distinct smell of smoke. 

“Is something burning in the kitchen?” You asked immediately, assuming that your knock on the door had distracted Mr. Wang from cooking his morning breakfast or something.

“No, that’s just… Nicholas.” 

Your eyes widened in confusion, but Mr. Wang merely ushered you towards Nico’s room, backtracking to hand you a small fire extinguisher before allowing you to knock. You didn’t have time to ask why in the world you would need it, before he was knocking on the door for you and then disappearing to a different part of the house. You gulped nervously before forcing words from your throat. 

“H-hey, um, Nico? It’s me… If you don’t want to see me right now, that’s okay, but… I wanted to say I’m really sorry for the other day. I shouldn’t have reacted like that and—” 

The door swung open, and Nico’s dark eyes and red hair came into view. He was in a loose t-shirt, and you could notably see his gem poking up from the neckline. Now that you knew about it, you couldn’t help but stare at the shimmering jewel. You forced your eyes back up to meet his, though.

“—I hope I can make it up to you.” You finished quietly. 

Nicholas sucked in a breath, pulled you into the room by your wrist, and shut the door. Neither of you said a word, and you avoided eye contact with him or even looking at him, surveying the room as a distraction instead. 

“Are you aware your bed is… on fire?” You whispered, not sure whether to be alarmed or not about it. There was already so much else going wrong that a small flame in the room somehow wasn’t your biggest worry. Now the fire extinguisher that Mr. Wang had handed you made sense. 

“Uhm… yeah. Sorry about that.” He awkwardly patted out the flame with his hand, but soon another one sprouted. Flustered, he tried to smack them with his pillow, but as his face grew redder, the flames only grew.

“Is it from your gem?” You took a guess, fairly certain that the fire wasn’t of natural causes. 

“It happens when I’m… angry. Or flustered. Or when I can’t think.” He explained softly, a pain and confusion to his voice. He gave up on the flames, knowing that they wouldn’t catch on anything else in his room. 

“I see. Are you angry at me?” You asked, hoping it wasn’t the case, but with no justification to blame him if it was. You deserved it.

“No. I’m not. I don’t blame you for reacting like that. I was the one hiding something so big from you for so long. I think it’s just cause I’m overwhelmed. I can’t really get myself to stop thinking about 3 days ago.” 

“Me too.” 

“You meant it, right? That you like me?” He dared to maintain eye contact with you, anticipation and nerves bubbling in his chest. They manifested themselves as little puffs of smoke surrounding him. 

You were embarrassed that he asked about it right away. Part of you hoped he would forget you ever said anything, but you supposed there was no way to go back and unsay it. 

“I did mean it. I still do. I’m sorry for the way I reacted, but I promise it was sincere when I said that.” 

It was almost as if you could see the relief wash over Nicholas at your words. The room, which was quite hot when you came in, noticeably cooled in temperature, and the flames on the bed died down. 

“Thank you.” Was all he said, yet the emotion in his voice cut deep into your heart. He took a seat on the bed, and you followed suit. Soon, both of you were shoulder-to-shoulder, sitting in silence. But unlike when you first came in, it was a comfortable silence. A familiar silence. The kind that usually happened naturally whenever you spent time together. But still, something had shifted. There were still unanswered questions to get to— you were both waiting for who would be brave enough to address them first. You took your shot first.

“So… I assume you’re part ruby, right?” 

He nodded, “To be honest, I don’t know much about my gem. My dad tells me stuff about my mom sometimes, but I still feel disconnected from it. Rubies are pretty weak. They used to just be low-ranking soldiers for Homeworld. That’s the capital gem planet out there in space. I’m not sure why or how… I came to be. My dad won’t tell me much about that. He’s a little sensitive when it comes to the whole… self-sacrifice thing.” 

You nodded along to his explanation, all of it making a decent amount of sense for what you knew already about gems. 

“Can I see it? Do you mind?” 

Nicholas could see the sparkle in your eye, filled with curiosity and wonder. He smiled— he always loved your excitable fascination with new things. This reaction to his gem was one he infinitely preferred. He pulled the neckline of his shirt down a bit, revealing the entire gemstone. It was even prettier when you saw it up close. A dark rich red colour with glints of shimmer and sharp cut edges just below his collarbone. 

“Can I…?” You asked softly, hesitant to touch the gemstone without his approval. A cute flush of red covered his ears and cheeks and he nodded, eyes following your hand as it made gentle contact with the gem. He could feel his heart beating faster in his chest at the contact, his suppressed feelings for you growing to an uncontainable size. As if it was about to spill over. As if he was about to do something that he might regret. 

You looked so beautiful, admiring him and his gemstone like he was the most precious thing in the world. He had never felt precious, or like anyone cared about him in this way. His dad loved him, but he could feel how he missed his mother every time he looked at the ruby. Other gems found him unique, and naturally compared him to Steven, only to get disappointed once they realized he would never be as influential or powerful as the legendary diamond. 

But the way you looked at him was different. You didn’t see him as a replacement to his mom, or falling short of a living legend. You just saw him as Nicholas. Nothing more, nothing less. He was the same in your eyes; still your best friend, still the boy you had a massive crush on, still the most important person in your life. 

The feelings exploded, just as Nicholas feared, and a small spark lit under his hands, producing the smallest of flames.

“Oh my god—“ You laughed, eyes travelling down to the flame and then back up to his face, “Are you flustered right now?” You were smiling so fondly, giggles escaping past your lips in a hypnotising and beautiful way. He was frozen— all he could do was stare at you, his face turning a deeper shade of red as butterflies swarmed and his heart raced from your presence. 

And then he felt your lips kissing his cheek softly, and it broke him out of his trance. You still had that same smile on your face. A mix of adoration and amusement towards him. And there was a particular glint in your eyes, as if teasing him, telling him to make the move and kiss you properly. The chance was laid out right in front of him. Who was he to let it run away from him?

↳ &team taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @kpoprhia,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,,

@chiiyuuvv,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,,

@talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @hursheys

[atimesfeeler]

I can’t figure out how to get to this part in my fic “Rotten Ones” but I’ve been sitting on this wip forever *throws it at you*

(Old Logan in Wade’s universe is dead btw)

“So whats your fucking deal, huh? What’s your problem?”

“Nothing. I don’t have a problem,” Scott said coldly.

Logan snorted. “Yeah right. Look if you want me off your fucking property take it up with Chuck, alright?”

Scott took a slow steady breath. “The school is for all mutants.”

Logan made a grumbling laugh into his drink and took a swig. The large gulp swooped through his stomach and up to his brain, an instant but brief buzz. It made him tipsy enough to yank the bottle away and squint at Scott.

“You hate him or something?”

Scott bristled, “Who?”

“Your Logan,” he clarified, “Did you hate ‘im?”

“Did you hate your Scott?” he fired back, and Logan couldn’t help but tip his head back and laugh. A deep laugh that shook his stomach and made him feel even worse. It was funny, and it hurt like nothing else.

“Hate him? Sure,” Logan said with a smile and watery eyes, “but god, did I love him.”

Scott looked taken aback, and it was the first real emotion Logan saw on his face since he met this version of Scott. The worst part was that Logan knew him, and while this wasn’t his Scott, he was close enough that Logan could probably figure him out. Logan loved his Scott. Of course he knew him.

Scott was standoffish and an asshole and had the biggest stick up his ass out of anyone that Logan knew. It was a combination of a traumatic childhood paired with the innate awkwardness that Scott carried and the fact that he wasn’t allowed to be a human being for a little while. He told Logan his whole past once, drunk out of his mind and slumped against Logan on the couch. It was during his grief over Jean, and Logan had asked what made her so fucking special. She was special, no doubt, and Logan had picked up on it as soon as he met her, but Scott clung to her like an anchor- like he was a sailor lost at sea and she was his buoy, his fucking savior. He couldn’t let her go, and he couldn’t let Logan in, and Logan wanted to know why. So Scott told him. Misfortune, abuse, alienation, pressure. Jean helped him out of the dark place Scott had been in, like a candle in a cave and Logan couldn’t fault him for holding onto her like he was scared of the dark. Scott was scarred and broken, and Logan foolishly thought he could help out Scott back together, like Jean did. But Logan didn’t fix things. He broke them.

So of course he knew that Scott was just like this, and Logan hated that he understood and that this Scott didn’t know. Didn’t know that he knew. That he cared. That he understood.

Scott was silent for a moment and then he said, quietly, “Then why did you leave?”

It was said curiously this time, and it clicked to Logan that this was the reason Scott didn’t like him. Scott thought he left and abandoned his X-Men for another world, and he was right, in a way. Duty and responsibility were ingrained into Scott’s personality. If nothing else, he was there for his X-Men, for Charles, for Jean. He always had a bone to pick with Logan over leaving the mansion periodically when the responsibilities were too much, and Scott’s heart eyes for Jean were too loud. Scott always got on Logan for leaving when they might need him, and he was right in the end.

Logan took a shuttering inhale. Part of him knew he didn’t have to tell Scott. A voice that sounded like Wade, a little bit. But Logan was nothing if not self-sabotaging and a larger part of him wanted to hear, deserved to hear it. He’d imagined and dreamt of Scott’s reaction for a decade at least, and it haunted him- not knowing. He found Scott dead. The last thing he heard Scott say was over the phone in a voice recording. “Come on, Logan. Just come back. I know I… I know we have our differences but… we need you. The X-Men need you. Just come home, please.”

“He’s gone,” Logan croaked, and it never got easier saying it. “They’re gone. All of them. Couldn’t save them.”

Scott didn’t say anything, and Logan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rim of his bottle.

“I wanted-” Logan's voice cracked. “I didn’t want to tell you, you know.”

He glanced up and saw red reflected back at him and quickly looked away.

“Didn’t want to see that look you’d give me,” Logan admitted and chuckled, though it wasn’t funny. He swallowed. “But I deserve it. I deserve it.”

Logan took a large swig of his bottle, almost emptying it. Scott was silent and that was almost worse. In all his horrible fantasies, Scott yelled and reprimanded. He blamed and cried and they argued just like how they fought when Jean came back, but worse. Logan always made him meaner, in his mind. He didn’t know why. In reality, Scott was maybe not nice, but he was kind. Compassionate. Always the bigger person. Better than Logan despite all his baggage. Not more likable, not by a long shot, but more of a hero than Logan would ever be.

“I didn’t, by the way,” Scott said, breaking the heavy silence.

Logan looked up with a frown, confused.

“I didn’t hate you,” Scott clarified, “Him, I mean. We were…”

Scott looked away, and Logan clung to his murmured words like a dying man, blinking through the drunken state so he could remember what Scott was going to say.

“I didn’t love him like you loved each other,” Scott settled on and his brow furrowed. “I don’t think he loved me like that either. But I did love him. He was… he was my best friend.”

Logan didn’t know what to say.

“I can’t say for sure, but your Scott… he probably loved you too,” Scott said simply, and Logan sucked in a sharp breath. “And I don’t think he blamed you either.”

Tears welled in Logan’s eyes, and he grunted, shoving his palm hard into his eye socket. A shaky sob-like breath escaped his lips against his will. The last thing Logan wanted to do was cry in front of a Scott that didn’t know him like his Scott did and didn’t know what Logan had done.

Wordlessly, Logan shook his head, shoulders tensed from holding back emotion. Logan hadn’t cried over the attack in years. He had buried the pain and become numb to it after awhile, but coming here, seeing the X-Men alive and different- it was too much. He had held it together for Wade and Laura and the missions, but of course it all came crashing down when he talked to the one person who didn’t give a shit about him. God. He missed his Scott. Even if his Scott wouldn’t be as kind as this one, he missed him. Wasn’t that fucked up?

Logan must have said it outloud, a mangled sentence choked around a sob, “I miss him.”

Because a warm hand landed on his shoulder, and Scott murmured, “I miss him too.”

It was all the more painful knowing that Scott missed a different version of him, comforting Logan missing a different version of him. Wade was right. This multiverse stuff was all bullshit.

“Isn’t that fucked up?” Scott echoed, and he let out a huff of a laugh, but it wasn’t amused.

“I’m sorry I-” Logan exhaled shakily, trying to calm himself. “I’m sorry I’m here.”

Logan glanced up at Scott, probably looking pathetic with red-rimmed watery eyes and a crumpled expression. He saw a crease in Scott’s brow, and despite how different this Scott was, Logan once was fluent in all Scott’s micro expressions. He looked nervous, a little unsure, a little sad. Sympathetic maybe. It would have been better if Logan found anger there and resentment, but he didn’t.

“Don’t be,” Scott said, “Don’t be. Look, I’m sorry I was an asshole. I didn’t know if you were like him or if you were going to be worse.”

“Worse,” Logan laughed wetly. “Definitely worse.”

“Good.” Scott cracked a smile. “I’d hate you if you were better.”

Logan huffed a weak laugh through his nose at that.

Scott squeezed his shoulder once and said, “Take it easy, Logan,” and quietly left the kitchen.

Logan was glad for the solitude even if the ache of missing his dead lover grew. But there was this sort of… peace that settled over him. Maybe his Scott really wouldn’t blame Logan if he could speak to him. Maybe his Scott really did love Logan once. The things that kept him up at night were answered, and while it wasn’t by his Scott, it helped. Logan didn’t want it to help. He wanted it to feel worse, but he exhaled a large breath through his mouth and felt his tears subside and felt better despite it. Logan set down his almost empty bottle on the kitchen island and didn’t pick it back up again.

Logan calmed himself by taking large gulps of air through his nose and out through his mouth. He was alone but on every inhale he could smell the children and the teachers. Warmth. Life. He caught a whiff of blood- Wade’s signature scent- and realized he didn’t want to sit alone anymore. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted Wade to chat his ear off and distract him from his thoughts better than any bottle ever had.

Logan pushed himself to stand and dumped the rest of the bottle down the sink and tossed it in the trash. He ambled up to his room with dragging steps and cracked the door open.

Wade was lying on the bed on his stomach, tapping away on his phone. Playing some brightly colored game.

“Hey! You’re back-“ Wade stopped when he saw Logan’s face. “What happened?”

There was so much concern, so much care behind Wade’s voice that the tears Logan fought so hard to get rid of swelled back. He ducked his head to hide himself and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Wade was there in a second, sitting on his knees behind Logan and putting an arm on his shoulder.

Logan hid his face in his hands as he spoke. “Talked to Scott.”

“Oh,” Wade said, knowing and… something else. Disappointed, maybe.

“It… it wasn’t easy,” Logan said.

“What did he say?” Wade asked, and Logan could tell by his tone that he was trying never hard not to jump out of the room and hunt Scott down. The thought almost made him smile.

Logan shrugged, failing to find the right words.

“You gotta give me something, honey, do I need to steal his tooth brush and stick it in questionable places, or do I need to get my gun?”

Logan huffed and chanced a look at Wade, seeing his innocent look that spoke volumes of violence.

“Neither. It… helped. What he said,” Logan admitted, “I guess I wanted him to, I don’t know, yell at me. Blame me for shit. But he didn’t.”

“Oh,” Wade relaxed slightly. “That’s good, then. So he was nice?”

“As nice as Scott can be, yeah,” Logan said.

Wade frowned. His hand left Logan’s shoulder.

“Do you…” Wade started in a small voice, “Are you two-“

“No,” Logan cut him off with a scoff, “With this Scott? No. And I wouldn’t. He’s different, and he’s got Jean.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” Wade hummed and Logan could take offense, but he was too tired, and he could tell Wade didn’t mean to push his buttons. It was said gently, proddingly.

“No,” Logan conceded, “But he didn’t love his Logan like that. Not like in my universe. My Scott is long gone. I… I’ve accepted that.”

Wade didn’t say anything, and Logan tacked on. “And I’m not putting myself through that love triangle shit again.”

Wade laughed softly, “You don’t like to share?”

“No,” Logan growled. It was fun at the time, and Logan told himself that it was what he wanted. Both of them. And maybe if they loved him the same amount they loved each other, Logan could have been happy. But they loved each other in the light, and they loved Logan in the dark. He was their vice, their third, their fun, their fights. But he wasn’t their partner. Logan always went and loved people who used him and even if they loved him: Scott, Jean, Kayla- they used him too.

“I don’t want to get in between their shit again. Butt in their life. I just want to live mine.”

And it shocked him a little to hear himself say that. Logan hadn’t wanted to live his life in a long time. For a while, he didn’t even want to live.

“Oh thank god,” Wade exasperated, “I didn’t know how to break the news to you that second time is really not the charm.”

Logan snorted. “Asshole.”

Wade laughed softly and silence fell between them. It was that weighted kind; the one where Logan knew Wade was rearing up to say something.

“Can I hug you?”

Logan lifted his head from his hands and looked at him. There was this hopeful expression on his face, and he started rambling before Logan could answer.

“You just look like you could use a hug. And I could too. If I’m being honest. Who wouldn’t need a hug from that amazing sack of pillows? God, you could suffocate me in them and I’d thank you, really-“

Logan just leaned towards him, bumping his head against Wade's shoulder. Before he could decide if he regretted it or not, Wade melted into him. Immediately Wade pulled Logan closer, turning him so that he could wrap his arms around Logan’s neck, and Logan found himself pressing his face into Wade’s warm shoulder. His arms gradually came up to his waist and gripped the back of his shirt. Wade let out a shuddering sigh and that’s all it took for the water to leak out of his eyes. Logan smudged his silent tears against Wade’s soft cotton shirt and sniffled.

“There you go, big guy,” Wade murmured and while it might have sounded condescending to Logan once, now it just sounded soft. “Let it all out. Papa Wade’s gotcha.”

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Sinking My Claws Into You ~Dark!Claire Debella xFem Younger!Wealthy!Reader

Summary— A darker fic, set after Claire gets back from Miles’ private island, and she now has to deal with the reality of basically going bankrupt. Luckily, Claire has got her hooks in you, a young, wealthy enthusiast from New York…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: dark fic, lightly implied smut, age gap (all legal), teasing, taunting, manipulation, alcohol consumption, unrequited feelings, little bit of gold digging behavior, praise, flustering, wealth, yucky men, flirting, little bit of sugar mommy behavior, etc.

Enjoy (;

Ever since Claire had backed away from her friendship with Miles, she had hit nothing but impossible obstacles one after another. Without Miles’ endorsement and backing for her campaign for the U.S. Senate, the middle aged woman was facing a fate worse than death. She would have happily rode on the back of Miles’ wealth all the way, but she couldn’t ignore the events that had come to pass. However, her decision now left the woman desperate.

Miles was an eccentric prick whom Claire had met more than 20 years ago. Back then, he had charmed her. And being the young, naive woman that she was, Claire had fallen for his persuasive nature. Not to mention how easy it was considering he was loaded. But Miles never wanted anything more than a friendship from Claire, and Claire eventually was forced to accept this by the amount of pretty models and talented girls that he always had in rotation and the overtly harsh rejection he gave her, which the snob was always happy to remind her of. Over the years, the only reason Claire put up with Miles was for the money. Miles had endorsed her when she ran for mayor, and then now for governor as well.

Miles was always there to dole out a check for whatever the woman needed. And Claire took full advantage of that. The price she paid over the years was well worth the bank she raked in. Miles would compare her to others and batter Claire all the time, she was his favorite plaything. But she always took it with a stoic face, telling herself that it would be worth it, that the amount of money she was getting leveled out the fact that he was a knee-faced jerk.

But then she and Claire had had a falling out. Claire had gone behind her back and stabbed a mutual friend in the back. And if there was one thing that Claire could not stand, it was betrayal. In the heat of the moment, Claire let emotions get the best of her and she broke it off. God she kicked herself for being friends with Miles for as long as she had been… It had been over 2 decades of unhealthy friendship, but in her eyes, the money had made it all worth it. But now, without Miles’ money… She was through. Finished. Done.

That was until she met you.

Claire had met you at an art benefit, one of those fancy events where the rich and wealthy got together, socialized, and gave away millions of dollars like it was nothing. Claire had been there campaigning for more funding and endorsements. She had already talked with three or twelve basic, filthy rich white guys, the kind that flashed toothy smiles while heavily and shamelessly flirting with her. She would indulge these men as little as possible, before moving past them. Those guys weren’t the type she was looking for. They weren't a Miles or a Y/N Astor… Claire rolled her eyes and shrugged off her disgust at the idea of what those rich guys wanted from her.

After a particularly gagging interaction with a young bachelor (at least half her age and nonetheless just as gross as the rest of them who only wanted her body and willing to give nothing in return), Claire had looked around the room, champagne glass in hand, when her gaze had landed on you at the bar. She immediately noticed how the woman carried herself with youthful elegance, and that she was the type of lady who could make anything look good. She could also tell that the woman had money, she was not the type of lady that flattered and flirted with filthy rich men to get into their pockets. She wasn’t a part of the common folk. No, this woman was in the one percent. Her clothing and accessories were not loud, but Claire could read the nicheness of the fashion and knew that she was wearing thousands of dollars: her Manolo pumps, the Cartier watch, the small Dolce purse, etc. This was the type of girl she needed, and she knew this woman could replace Miles and his money. Claire finished her glass, gave it to a server, took a deep breath, put on a smile, and then sauntered over to the stunning lady.

“I would buy you a drink, ‘hun, but it is an open bar…” Claire hummed, glancing over to the wealthy woman with a sly smirk.

You blushed just a smidge, and Claire immediately took that as her first win of the night. This girl was young. Not young enough to not be able to handle commitment, but definitely young enough to fall for Claire’s charm and to agree to hand over her money without a second thought. Again, the perfect mark. While Claire waited for you to make your move, she ordered herself a red wine from the open bar.

“You’re too kind…” you lightly retorted, swirling the expensive amber liquid in your glass.

“And who do I have the pleasure of giving my kindness to today…?” Claire cooed widening her smirk as she now turned her body from the bar to face you.

You slowly swiveled towards the older woman. Claire allowed her eyes to wander and take in the younger woman in front of her. You took a swig of her whiskey, before humming lightly.

“I’m Y/N.”

Claire nodded in satisfaction, taking the glass of red from the bartender when it was ready for her. Her eyes shimmered with predatory intent. She could tell this woman was book smart. But she was confident that she could outplay you in this game.

“I’m Claire Debella. My colleagues call me Debella, you can call me Claire…” the older woman hummed, with a teasing tone.

You sucked in a breath, your face flushing some more, before you nodded lightly.

“Where are you from, Y/N?” Claire cooed, playing with the younger woman’s name in her mouth.

“New York. I went to Harvard, have family in Connecticut” You breathed out, lightly fidgeting with your fingers and your glass while struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Smart girl…” the older brunette cooed, sending a sly wink your way.

Another blush rippled through the wealthy woman’s face. Claire could tell this girl was shy. That was also good, it spoke to her privacy and naivety.

“What about you…?” You softly asked.

“Connecticut.” Peggy promptly responded, before taking control of the conversation once more,

“Are you here alone, Y/N?”

Claire could tell that her words were having an effect on the young, wealthy woman. You nearly choked on her drink at her last words, as well as flushed, fidgeting, struggling to hold eye contact… But not in an uncomfortable way, in a flustered way. In a way where you looked adorable while you were trying to cover her ruby red cheeks in embarrassment. And that was exactly what Claire was going for.

“I am…” you breathed out.

“Really?” Claire cooed, quirking her brow dramatically accompanied by a sip of red, “A stunning girl like you…? I’m surprised that a cute guy or girl hasn’t snatched you up yet…”

Now your face was beet red, and she was desperately trying to swallow all of her liquid courage, overwhelmed from all the praise that the older woman was showering her with. Now the your glass was empty.

“Why don’t we ditch this open bar and go somewhere that has some nice, expensive whiskey for you? Hmmmmm, ‘hun?” Claire purred, leaning in close to the woman’s personal space.

You gulped and nodded mindlessly.

“I’d like that…” you breathed out nervously.

“Good girl…” Claire hummed out in delight.

She placed her glass along with the younger woman’s on the bar, signaling to the bartender that the two of you were done. She then linked her arm with yours with ease and guided you, the clueless, naive, wealthy, young woman out of the expensive, testosterone filled event, getting in the back of your Maserati and heading into a future filled with good fortune for the one and only Claire Debella.

~~~

Claire Debella Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my August 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

With The Strength To Carry On by lovelarry10, therogueskimo (113k)

The American British Doctoral Exchange Program was the best thing that ever happened to Louis. It gave him a chance to start over and make a real difference in the world. He could focus on work and not be distracted by anything or anyone. When Harry Styles shows up as the new intern, he turns Louis' world upside down. ~ Harry Styles had one passion in life, and that was helping sick children feel better. Putting smiles on their faces made Harry feel like he was making up for past mistakes and losses. When he gets accepted to the American British Doctoral Exchange Program, he treats it as the chance of a lifetime to make a difference internationally. He didn't expect to fall for his mentor along the way.

... or the one where Louis and Harry are doctors, and things happen.

Stranger Than Larry Fiction by Larrysmomfics / @larrysmomfics (90k)

It's been twelve years since Harry met Louis on TXF, became best mates with him, eventually falling head over heels in love with him. Six years post One Direction deciding to go on hiatus and now everyone is doing their own thing. All the boys have solo careers, some are touring, and with their busy lives in play, Harry and Louis have sort of grown apart. Harry's been filling the Louis void by devouring Larry fanfics, giving himself a chance to love Louis from afar in his own way. So far it's worked for him and he's content with his love of Louis being of the unrequited variety.

That all changes, however, when Harry reads a particularly emotional and classic fic in the fandom, and he simply can't help but call Louis despite his sobs to tell him all about it, inadvertently sending Louis down the Larry fic rabbit hole as well.

OR

A canon-divergent AU where Louis and Harry read Larry Stylinson fanfiction.

Can’t Hide It, You Might As Well Embrace It by supernope (67k)

Together since they were teenagers, Harry and Louis are professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They may also secretly be married.

Someone to Fly Home To by kingsofeverything / @kingsofeverything (34k)

Louis. 55 year old pilot who wants someone to fly home to.

Harry swipes right. Or Louis and Harry’s marriage ended more than a decade ago, but fate keeps bringing them back together.

You Are Half of Me (and I Am All for You) by angelichl / @angelichl (24k)

One Direction, an obscure indie rock band, is about to embark on their first cross-country tour, living out of Louis' beloved van named Patricia.

Harry is in love, and Louis is oblivious. Or is he?

Featuring skinny-dipping in Texas waterfalls, getting lost in the desert, stargazing under the New Mexico sky, performing in front of crowds that grow in size each night, and falling in love on the road during the greatest summer of their lives.

Just a Minute More by kingofthefridaynight (6k)

“Look,” Harry said now, tapping Louis repeatedly on his thigh. There it was, the proud beam on Harry’s face, as he showed off a piece of fabric in a wooden circle. The bright yarn in the middle vaguely resembled a flower. Either way, Louis smiled, “It’s beautiful, angel.” “You recognise it?” Harry asked with a teasing smirk, wagging the hoop a little into Louis’ direction. “Or are you just being nice?” Harry knew him too well. He could read him like a book. That’s what marriage is about though, Louis figured, as he tried to squint at the flower to see what it was supposed to resemble. “I’m sorry, love,” Louis confessed after a second. “Tell me, though?”

Or, a rainy day in bed, where all they do is enjoy each other’s company.

[leahsgf]

omg could u write adult lottie x reader?? maybe w lottie js comforting reader or something? theres such a lack in lottie fics its heartbreaking :((

an instant cure

pairings. adult!lottie x reader

i actually wrote two different versions of this! the other is a little more heavy so i’ll post this one first, thank you so much for the req! and i agree i wish there was more fics out there for lottie :(

-

“honey are you coming?” lottie’s voice sounded from the other side of the bathroom door, so soft and full of love that you could almost melt.

“yeah, yeah. just a second!” you shook off the threatening tears as you glanced over your appearance in the mirror. it’d been one of those days that had just been off. nothing particularly out of the ordinary had happened, just the usual jobs and classes around the compound, but since you had woken up you had felt like you had a brick sat on your chest, refusing to shift.

you were desperately clinging to the logical side of your brain, trying to convince yourself that it was all in your head and to not let your thoughts completely overwhelm you. however nothing could quite quell the crummy feeling lingering in your gut.

you’d been delaying leaving the bathroom and joining your wife in bed because you didn’t want to dampen her mood. she was a constant beam of light, and spent her days helping people navigate their feelings purely out of the goodness of her own heart, and the last thing you wanted to do was to taint her high spirit and put her back into work mode when she should be relaxing. maybe, you thought, spending a second longer getting ready would be able to shake that off you - but, you were mistaken. so with a deep breath you opened the door, heading towards your shared bedroom.

your entrance instantly caught lottie’s attention, her eyes softening as she saw you, instantly plastering a smile across your features. “come on.” she demaned lightheartedly, holding up the sheets. “get over here.” you laughed and waltzed over, snuggling down next to her, inhaling her scent and instantly feeling comforted, and lighter.

the fuzzy feeling surrounding you reminded you of the first time you’d had the pleasure of being taken out on a date by her, decades ago, before the thought of nationals, before the crash, before switzerland, before everything. the pair of you had genuinely been through it all, and had always had each-other.

you’d met lottie when you were six. you were the terrified, shy new kid, and had refused to speak to anybody for the entirety of your first day. until she had toddled over, plonking herself down next to you and wordlessly started braiding your hair, beaming at you with her gappy smile.

her playing with your hair had always been a huge comfort to you - from the playground decades ago, to now, wrapped in her embrace from as she pressed kisses to the crook of your neck every now and again.

alongside her ability to love beyond belief, one of the things you loved the most about lottie was how observant she was, the little things that would fall unnoticed to most being the things that she would notice the most. she quite literally knew you inside and out, and was in touch with your emotions just as much, if not more than her own.

her fingers branched out from your hair, feathering over your cheeks ever so slightly, pulling you back into reality.

“what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?” she quizzed, her eyes studying your expression.

“just thinking about you.” you replied, so softly it was barely audible. “about the first day we met.”

“oh yeah?” she raised an eyebrow, the very same smile from that day spread across her cheeks. “you were so cute. i think i knew i loved you from the second my eyes set on you that day.” your eyes glazed over once more as your cheeks heated in response to her words.

after a moment of silence that fell between you, she nudged you slightly, an expectant look across her features, sighing softly as you met it with confusion.

“i don’t help people navigate their feelings everyday for nothing you know. what’s actually going on?”

“nothing,” you mumbled, “honestly, it was just a weird day.”

“weird?” her eyebrows furrowed as she scolded herself internally for busying herself today to the point of missing that you weren’t a hundred percent.

“yeah. just off. you know those days that just feel wrong, even though you don’t really know why?”

“absolutely baby.” she assured. “please always tell me or just give me a signal when you’re feeling like this. you are my top priority, always.” she pulled you into her arms further, caressing your back as she pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“thank you lot. i’m honestly feeling much better now. it’s quietened down a lot.”

“you sure? i don’t want you feeling icky before bed. i know it can take a while for it to let you relax sometimes. i could make you a smoothie? one of the ones you really like? o-or i could run us a bubble bath? or give you-“ she rambled, her brain scrambling for every possible way to comfort you, not realising that she is comfort enough.

“hey, hey.” you stopped her, a small chuckle slipping past your lips. “all i need is you, right here with me. i promise.”

lottie grinned over at you, pausing her train of very enticing ideas. “as long as you’re sure. i can very much do that. i’m not going anywhere.” she shifted your position so your head lay on her chest, her arms securely around your frame, almost cradling you. butterflies erupted within you, like they always had done at the slightest touch from her. she had had this effect on you for as long as you had known her.

“i love you so much.” you whispered, sleep now fully prepared to overcome you.

“i love you more sweetheart. don’t hesitate to wake me if you need me.” she soothed, gently squeezing you as your lips met hers to say goodnight.

lottie had always been like an instant cure to every negative emotion you had ever experienced. it seemed to again of worked effectively, as you drifted off to sleep happier than you’d been all day, knowing that you could get through anything as long as you had your love.

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Fire in the Sin

Chapter 18 - Welcome (Back) to Heaven

Word count: 4,246. Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Previous Chapter.

Summary: Alastor and Mina's anniversary and a little epilogue for Part 6. TW: mentions of past suicidal thoughts.

Artwork by @lustylita. Please give her a follow, her Alastor artwork is the best!

Series Summary:

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

Chapter 18 - Welcome (Back) to Heaven

Present Day

Mina was stuck in her own head as she made her way back to her and Alastor’s room.

She was hurt he wasn’t there and embarrassed by the conversation downstairs when Niffty had announced to everyone that it was their anniversary. That led to reflecting on their wedding day, his proposal, and the events with Kassandra that had led up to it. And anytime she let her mind wander there, it eventually led to her remembering the hour of her and Alastor’s finest debauchery that day in the church. They had never been able to top that day, because it had been such a perfect storm of anger, trauma, love and lust, and delayed gratification, that had all boiled over far more than they had even meant for it to.

God she missed Alastor.

How had she gone seven years without him? Now that he was back a single day felt unbearable. And she had been waiting since his return specifically for this day, had patiently planned out her gifts for years because of his absence and now he wasn’t there again.

Mina felt a painful lump forming in her throat as she approached her bedroom door. She was so sick of crying. She hated crying, hated feeling sorry for herself, prided herself in not being the kind of woman that broke down over every little fucking thing-

She opened the door and there was Alastor, in their bedroom, which was now covered in dark red and black roses.

He was sitting in one of the two armchairs by the fireplace that was almost never used because it was Hell and it was always too warm anyway, but he had it going now. Light green flames illuminated the small space and they felt like they were putting off cool air while keeping the ambiance warm and inviting. Mina wondered if there would ever come a day when his powers would cease to amaze her.

Alastor also looked like he had been very bored, waiting for her to return. He had one leg crossed over the other, his chin resting in the palm of one hand, with his elbow supporting himself as it propped him up against the arm of the chair, and he had clearly been lost in his thoughts as he watched the fireplace.

His head shot up as she opened the door and he smiled pleasantly at her before standing.

“Really Mina,” he said as he stood, “you were down there for so long, I was beginning to worry I would have to ruin the surprise and come get you myself.”

She practically ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace that he eagerly returned.

“You’re here,” she said with a sigh of relief, pressing her face into his collar to better feel his warmth and breath in his scent.

“Of course!” he said cheerfully, but then she pulled away and he really looked at her face, and she watched as his eyebrows creased with concern. “You were starting to have your doubts, weren’t you?”

Mina felt a bit embarrassed that he had read her so easily and smothered that emotion down with defensiveness. “So I get a little jumpy when you’re not around. I have my reasons to be.”

“Oh, Mina,” he said, for once ignoring the bite in her tone and opting to take the apologetic road right away. He cupped her cheek and kissed her, a short and sweet press of his lips to hers. “I intend to be here for every one of these days, for as long as you and I exist. I never meant . . . well it doesn’t matter now, I suppose, but I promise you’ll never miss me like that again.”

“Then the rest of the day . . . it’s ours, right?” she asked.

“I have to leave again first thing tomorrow, I’m afraid, but yes. I have cleared my schedule for the rest of the day. All duties to the hotel have been seen to and as for my other responsibilities, well let’s just say I’ve made sure we will not be bothered.”

Mina smiled and relaxed, fully believing his promise, and let herself really look around the room.

“It’s beautiful in here. Not your usual style, though.”

“Eh, I can be flexible,” he said with a grin. “Besides, I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

She was not going to complain. Alastor was not the kind of man to bring home flowers or any kind of romantic trinkets. Not that he never did, but she could probably count on one hand how many times he had. If he was apt to show any inclination for romance, he would rather show it by wanting to spend time with her than by giving her what he looked at as useless and meaningless gifts. It wasn’t necessarily a wrong perspective and it never bothered Mina too much, but what woman didn’t want flowers now and then? And now she had a room full of them, their heady scent filling the air, and they blended strangely well with their usual décor. The roses weren’t the common variety seen in Hell. Not a one of them had an eye in the center and the thorns were of perfectly unremarkable size. He had summoned these, created them out of his own magic, just for her.

“I have some gifts for you, too,” she said, with a nervous little bounce on the balls of her feet.

“Oh, well, these,” he said, gesturing at the roses with a chuckle, “these are not an anniversary gift. Not really. Think of them more as an apology. I have something a bit more substantial to give you, but you first, ma cher.”

“Okay,” she said with a shaky breath and went over to her dresser drawer. Bending down to the lower drawer, she pulled it all the way out, and reached deep into the back of the dresser, pulling out a cloth drawstring bag, which she then held behind her back.

“I’ve held onto these for a while now,” she admitted. “First, I just wanted to give them to you when you . . .well whenever you got back. But then I was mad at you. And well you know all that. But then, I don’t know, it didn’t seem like the right time, and then I knew our anniversary was coming up, so I held onto them even longer figuring that would be the right time . . .”

He was watching her babble on, his smile soft and relaxed, clearly a little amused by her obvious nervousness.

“Well, just . . . here.”

With her hands still behind her back, she took the bottle out of the bag and presented it to him.

It was a bottle of Old Overhold straight rye whiskey, bottled in 1930.

Alastor looked completely stunned as he turned it over in his hands, examining the label.

“I don’t know if that was your favorite brand to drink when you were alive. I – I don’t even know if it’s considered good whiskey, but it’s legitimate. It’s been stored properly and unopened.”

“How did you get this?” he asked, looking at her with amazement that made her blush.

“Let’s just say I stumbled upon it while looking around New Orleans.”

His eyebrows shot up, looking considerably more surprised. “You went to New Orleans?”

She thought he was upset and wrung her hands, feeling like she had somehow intruded on his privacy.

“I just thought, maybe if you were on Earth . . . I don’t know, I didn’t know where to even begin looking for you. And I just . . . missed you. And there was so much in that city that reminded me of you, so sometimes, even when I felt like I was on a dead end, I would just go there and-“

“Mina,” he said, stopping her. “Thank you. Really. It’s lovely. And quite impressive.”

“Really?” she asked, and he nodded, opening the antique bottle and bringing it to his nose.

He closed his eyes as the scent hit him and his smile lit up his face.

“You have outdone yourself, my love,” he said.

“Not really,” she said, biting her lip, tugging on the skin with one long canine. “There’s more.”

He put the top back on the bottle and raised an eyebrow at her.

She brought the drawstring bag in front of her and with trembling hands, reached into the bag and pulled out an envelope.

“They’re polaroids,” she said, handing the visibly shaking envelope to him, and quickly snatching her hand away when he took it from her. “Of your mother’s grave.”

“What?”

He was standing as if frozen in place, holding the envelope out in front of him, his arm stuck in the position it had been when he had taken it from her.

“I found it,” she said quietly. “Years ago. Maybe 5 now? And it was neglected quite badly. So I cleaned it up. It took forever. I even had to get my hands on a power washer,” she chuckled nervously. “And I can’t even really say why, but I took pictures of my progress of it. And then, whenever I had the time to spare, I still stopped by and left flowers. I just . . . I remember you saying once sunflowers were her favorite, so I tried to get those when I could . . .”

She trailed off as Alastor walked away from her. He sat on the edge of their bed and pulled the pictures out, silently looking through them.

His expression was truly unreadable to her. Alastor’s smile was thin and tight, his eyes were narrowed, and his ears were straight forward and unmoving. Mina worried she had taken things too far. She watched as he swallowed hard as he looked at the last couple of photos, his eyebrows knitted close together.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Al’, love, I’m really sorry.”

“This last one was taken the date of the last extermination,” he said in a low voice.

“What?” she said, confused.

“The dates,” he explained, holding up the photo. “They’re stamped in the top corner of each photo.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” she mumbled.

“That’s what you were doing when you disappeared before the extermination?”

Mina tried to shrug it off. “The job I was on was a quick one. I thought I would have more time so yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

The pure confusion on his face made her snap.

“Because I was mad at you!” she yelled. “Because you were gone, for so long, and I missed you, so fucking much! Every day! It was the most painful and awful feeling that I couldn’t ever turn off. God Alastor, how do you still not understand that?! And I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I started talking to her, whenever I was at her grave. It made me feel like . . . like there was someone else out there that knew what it was like to miss you, so much-“ she stopped as her voice broke, and she wiped away a tear impatiently. “And then you were back and everything was fucked. Everything was wrong. The day you came back should have been the happiest day of my life but it all went wrong. And I had no one to talk to that understood you the way I did.”

Alastor sat the photos down next to him and stood up from the bed. Then he walked back over to her and kissed her.

She melted into the kiss right away, finding immediate comfort in the way his lips caressed hers. Her eyes closed, making the last of her tears fall down her face, but she was soothed by his embrace, no longer feeling like she was on the edge of a breakdown.

He broke the kiss but still held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head between her ears.

“Thank you, Mina. I really can’t say . . .” he began but went quiet as his own voice began to crack, and not from the static. After a couple of breaths, he composed himself enough to say, “There are simply no words.”

“It’s okay then?” she said, pulling away enough to look up at his face.

“It’s more than okay,” he assured her. “I’m sorry you thought it wouldn’t be.”

“I just didn’t want to come across as intrusive,” she said, suddenly feeling silly at how emotional she had become.

He laughed then and kissed her forehead. “You intrude and invade my privacy every day that you are in my life. And every day that goes by, I’m surprised to say that I don’t hate it. That, my love, is why I married you.”

Mina laughed too, somehow understanding exactly what he meant.

“Now,” he said, raising up a finger and stepping away from her, “shall we continue with this invasive and emotional exchange? Because it’s feeling a little lopsided at the moment.”

“Okay,” Mina giggled, though she was eyeing him suspiciously. “Give me your worst.”

She couldn’t imagine what he could give her that would compare to her gift and was even more confused when he suddenly had a vinyl record in his hand. A very modern looking record.

“As it turns out,” he began explaining as he set the large disc down on the record player he had set aside to the left of the fireplace, “there was a singer/poet that died in 1917 that left a lot of her work unpublished. And because of all the red tape surrounding things like publishing rights and what have you, they stayed unknown to the general public for several decades. And then finally, just a few years ago, they were old enough to not have to worry about complications with copywrite infringement. And this long dead singer, who kept all these works a secret because she thought they would be too dark for people to enjoy, never got to know how much this modern world loved her.”

Mina’s heart began to pound all the way up in her ears. She thought she might be sick. There was no way, no way, those hidden works of hers would be enjoyed up on Earth. Alastor must be confused somehow.

“Anyway, this is just one record with one supposed modern version of something Mina Gallagher wrote long ago. But it was one I could easily get my hands on and supposedly it’s the most well-known cover of her work. Millions of copies of this record have been sold all over Earth.”

He snapped his fingers and the record began to scratch as he magically fast forwarded the vinyl to begin playing the song he was after.

A voice that sounded remarkably like hers, just singing a tad bit deeper than she had initially imagined the lyrics to be sung, came from the large speaker and Mina walked in a trance to a chair by the fireplace, feeling like she was in a dream as she recognized the words.

Looking up from underneath

Fractured moonlight on the sea

Reflections still look the same to me

As before I went under

And it’s peaceful in the deep

Cathedral where you cannot breathe

No need to pray, no need to speak

Now I am under all . . .

It was supposed to have been her suicide note.

A message left to the world of the perfect death she had imagined for herself, as she fell into the dark, deep embrace of the ocean. The death that had been stolen from her in a bizarre turn of events that involved an ex-lover and a black jaguar.

“Mina?” Alastor said her name, sounding very concerned by her reaction.

He had no idea what the song was about. She had never told him about her fantasy of suicide, just that she had been already nearly dead from tuberculosis when Johnathan had attacked her.

Alastor must have just thought the song was pretty, and darkly romantic, as so many of her songs were. He couldn’t have been prepared for the onslaught of emotions that she hadn’t let herself feel in so very long.

He said her name again and then reached for the record player as if to stop it but she stood up from her chair and laid her hand on his arm.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Let it play.”

She would tell him later, on another day, what the song had meant to her. But she didn’t want to spoil their afternoon together by talking about such sad business as that.

But as she listened to the song go on, as she waited for those emotions to hit her, she felt very little. All that pain and misery, of bitterness and hate she felt towards a world she believed had utterly failed her, just wouldn’t rise to the surface. The burning hot anger had faded away apparently, over many years, without her realizing it.

And the realization of that, of having moved on so completely, was the greatest gift Alastor had ever given her.

“I’m just surprised is all,” Mina tried to explain without giving away the bit of existentialism she was currently experiencing. “And this singer, she really does the song justice. I never got to sing this one myself. Lungs were too shot to Hell by the time I wrote it. How did you find all this out?”

Alastor looked relieved but then shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you even half of the story, and the half that I can say right now just wouldn’t make much sense. Someday though, I promise I will.”

“You’re making lots of promises today,” she teased, and then only half joking, "are you sure you can keep them all?”  

“Hhhhmmmm,” he said with an evil grin and pulled her in, beginning to sway them both to the slow rhythm of the song. “Just try and stop me.”

___

True to his word, the next day Alastor was gone before Mina woke up. But the night before had been so remarkable, it left her feeling still quite sated and loved, more than enough to get her through the rest of the day without him.

It was a day out on the town, like they used to have when their marriage was simple and full of nothing but happiness. And when evening came, they went to dinner and then he had taken her dancing. The dance hall was one of their old favorites, a classier place for Sinners with less obvious vices and more refined tastes for what they took pleasure in. A place where manners were kept and the atmosphere less gluttonous. A place for Hell’s most dangerous demons who didn’t have to flaunt their debaucherous natures for show. Alastor and Mina had always been welcomed there and they were greeted with a warm welcome when they stepped through those doors for the first time in several years.

Alastor made a spectacle of them on the dance floor. He twirled and bent her around with moves that required skill and grace from them both, proving they hadn’t lost their touch. Then, with slower songs, he held her close, his hips doing wicked things against her, his hands either scandalously close to her breasts or low on her thighs, his breath hot and flirtatious against the skin of her neck. He never kissed her or let his touch become too brazen, but it was enough to reclaim her as his in the eyes of the public and more than enough to tease her until she was at the very edge of her restraint, ready to let him take her completely, right there on the dance floor.

When they got back to their room, they had shared a bit of the bottle of whiskey she had gotten him, playing a lover’s game of who could hold out the longest, letting their eyes linger on each other and more than a few suggestive teasing remarks were made between them.

Then he had broached the subject of the song again and despite what she had thought earlier that day about keeping the truth of it to herself a little while longer, she told him. Everything. At least, what she could remember, given how much opium she had been on in those final months of her life.

And she was still surprised at how incredibly okay she was talking about it. She didn’t cry or lose herself in the memories like she had been afraid she would. It had happened so long ago, and while the feelings those memories brought on were painful, they were overshadowed by the wonderful new life she had made for herself after death. A life she had carefully made and earned for herself. She had remade herself into something stronger than what she had been in life, and that reward was only made sweeter by the man who had then found her, pealed away her layers, and loved what he had discovered.

They made slow, drunken love after that. It was the most tender and sweetest it had been since his return, both of them finally feeling like the walls that had been keeping them apart finally crumbling into nothing. Even if Alastor still had to keep some secrets from her, Mina was finding that obstacle easier to navigate with each passing day.

And Alastor, of course, played Kassandra’s screams for her on his radio as they fell asleep together.

____

When she came down the staircase the next morning and met with the other residents in the lobby, who hadn’t even caught a glimpse of Mina since the morning before, they all looked a little confused.

“And where did you end up taking off to for the rest of the day?” Angel asked.

“Celebrating my anniversary,” she said with a proud smile but refused to say anything else on the subject.

She was in such a good mood that she even agreed to go out to the club with the others when Cheri showed up, though she turned up her nose a bit when they said they were going to a sex club. Luckily, Husker seemed just as uncomfortable with the idea as she did, and for once the two feline demons seem to agree to get along for an evening. They spent most of the night downing drink after drink on a couch away from the dance floor and sex rooms, and talking shit about the other people they were watching, until they were both pleasantly drunk.

At one point, Angel brought them a sobbing and completely langered Niffty, who then instantly perked up as she stood on their shoulders between them, calling them insulting but adorable cat-related nicknames.

“Why do I gotta entertain this shit, she’s your fucking pet,” Husk muttered, trying to be grumpy, but unable to hide the pleased look on his face as Niffty gave him a particular good scratch behind one of his ears.

“She’s not my pet, she’s Alastor’s,” Mina defended. “But I do love her just the same, so try not to be a dick about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffed, but Mina could tell he wasn’t nearly as grumpy as he was pretending to be, the little fond smile on his face as he glanced over at Niffty giving him away.

Niffty’s shoes were starting to dig into their shoulders and Mina directed her to sit down, but rather than join them on the seat like a normal person would, Niffty of course chose to sit on the back of the sofa, letting her legs dangle between them.

Then her hands shot out and she was grabbing at their ears.

“How come all the cats at the hotel have black fur? Even Keekee. Are you guys related?”

“Niffty, that’s racist,” Mina said, pulling her head away and freeing her sensitive ear from her grip but with an amused snort from Husk, they all began laughing.

Then he looked over at Mina as if just considering something. “Hey, where is Alastor anyway?”

Mina laughed into her glass, spitting the drink back as she failed to take a proper sip through her giggles.

“I have no fucking idea!” she said and broke into another fit of intoxicated laughter.

“Me neither!” Niffty shouted and joined in on the laughing hysteria.

Husker looked at the two women as if they had lost their minds, but their laughter was infectious, and after a moment, he began to laugh as well.

Later on, after she had proudly watched Angel stand up to Valentino, she made sure to make eye contact with the Overlord. He had spotted her after Niffty had assaulted him, his eyes angrily following the petite woman as she danced away.

She folded her arms and quirked an eyebrow at him, daring him to come after Niffty with her standing right there, and began laughing again when he broke eye contact and went back to his V.I.P. spot at the club.

Mina escorted Niffty towards the front door, who proudly showed off the fur she had ripped from Valentino’s jacket.

“Good for you!” Mina shouted, loud enough to Valentino to hear, and gave Niffty a high five.

Who needed redemption when life in Hell was this good?

Next Chapter ->

Author's Note: The song Alastor plays for Mina is "Never Let Me Go" by Florence and the Machine. Every other song of Mina's in this fic are original songs written by myself, but that song was just so damn perfectly Mina that it inspired a huge chunk of the first chapter she appeared in. And I feel like if there was a real Mina Gallagher, Florence Welch would have been a big fan of hers.

@inuhalfdemon @saccharine-nectarine @whoknowswhoiamtoday

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic preview

A sneak peek of the next chapter of Come Away, O Human Child on AO3

Buck doesn’t know what to think.

He doesn’t know what to feel.

He…he doesn’t know what to do. Everything—everything that he thought was real and true and solid only a week ago has been turned on its head and shaken to pieces.

His deal holder had come here tonight to collect. He’s sure of it. He’d finally pushed the Fae’s patience too far by calling the leyline in front of so many witnesses and he’d waited until he thought Buck was going to be alone to come and take his magic. He’d come with the intention of killing Buck—this should have been his last day alive. Instead…instead, God…Ali had gotten here first with something Buck had given up hope of existing. A loophole. A way out. A way to live.

It still doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel possible. He has lived with the specter of his impending death looming over him for a decade, has known he was going to die since he was eighteen years old. How can that just…not be true anymore? He can’t wrap his head around it. Can’t feel it. He keeps waiting to wake up, keeps waiting for Ali to come knocking on his door again to tell him she was mistaken, keeps waiting for the Fae who holds his deal to reappear with a vicious smirk and a mocking laugh, asking if Buck really thought he was getting away that easily.

But…but it looks like he is.

He can’t even process it, can’t even begin to sort out the tangled mass of emotions churning in his chest, buzzing like static in his mind. It’s all wrapped up in a ball of agitation that feels like it’s buzzing right under his sternum, trembling in the aching emptiness where his magic should be. His magic—the price he has to pay in order to keep living. The part of him that he has to give up to avoid the fate he’s been speeding towards for over a decade, now. He feels like he might burst into wild laughter or wracking sobs at any moment, and if he starts either, he has serious doubts about his ability to stop any time soon.

As if that’s not enough, there’s also the news Isa and Nobb just casually lobbed in his direction, as if it’s not another piece of information that shakes the foundations of what he knows about himself like an earthquake. He doesn’t understand it. The city…the city itself helped him? The city chose to help him?

The city itself can do that?

The brownies were speaking as though the city was some kind of conscious being—like it had preferences and wants and desires, and could make choices. Like it was a living creature that could direct its own magic…and had chosen to do so to help him.

And not just the city.

Magic, Mr. Buck. It be the magic.

Isa had said it so casually. With such certainty. As if she were just remarking on the weather, or stating a well-known fact. As if magic were also something living, something conscious, something that could choose how to direct its power and had chosen to direct it to defend him. It’s insane. It’s impossible. It…Christ, it would sound delusional coming from his own mouth…

Still.

Hasn’t…hasn’t magic always felt that way to him? Something living? Something real and aware and alive? He has always known, in some strange, inescapable way, that he belongs to magic. It had seemed logical to him after his father told him about the deal—he was only ever made to be a vessel for the magic his parents had bought their defective “chance” for Daniel with. Of course he belonged to magic. But. But. If he thinks about it, really thinks about it, something about that certainty feels separate to his curse. The Fae talks about him like he’s a thing, a possession, an asset…an investment, not a person.

Magic—the magic he uses, the magic around him—has never felt like that. He’s always felt like he belongs to magic, but not in the creepy, possessive way his deal holder talks. To him, magic has always felt like something that knows him. Recognizes him. Loves him.

We’ve…met before. Haven’t we?

Of course. I’ve known you all your life. From the moment you existed.

A hazy wisp of a memory—or was it a dream?—tugs at his brain. For a moment, he thinks he remembers the smell of saltwater on warm air, and a familiar, comforting voice talking to him, but he can’t hang onto it. He blinks and is left with nothing but the seething mass of questions burning through his brain.

Favored. Isa and Nobb called him favored, said it like it was something important, something unusual. What does it mean?

“Hey, you okay?” Eddie asks quietly, exiting the bathroom—where he’s been scrubbing the Fae’s blood out from under his nails while Isa and Nobb quickly clean up the spatters on the floor despite his protests that he could do it.

He looks up, startled out of his thoughts, and his eyes fix on Eddie’s hands.

Eddie had barreled into his apartment fully shifted, had thrown himself between Buck and the Fae with zero hesitation. He’d attacked the Fae for him, had risked himself without a second thought. God, Eddie knows. He knows, what Buck is, knows his biggest secret. He’s regretted not telling Eddie about the curse so bitterly, and now Eddie knows everything.

“Buck?” Eddie presses, his brow furrowing as he takes a few steps closer.

Buck shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “I…I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Everything’s so…it’s a lot to take in.”

“You’re telling me,” Eddie says wryly. The humor doesn’t quite reach his eyes, though.

Instantly, guilt swirls in Buck’s stomach. Of course…of course Eddie’s struggling with all this, probably almost as much as Buck is. He’d thought he was just dropping off a couple of alchemy prescriptions for his friend and had walked into a goddamn war zone after finding out he’s been bespelled for weeks. He must have so many questions—questions Buck isn’t even sure he has the answers to, and—

“Do you need to take those yet?” For the second time in as many minutes, Eddie’s words cut through the spiral his thoughts are trying to plunge into. His partner is pointing to the small collection of bottles—his alchemy potions, miraculously unbroken when Eddie dropped them at the door mid-shift—sitting on the breakfast bar.

“Uh…no. No, not yet. I’m supposed to start the poultice after dinner, and the potion is right before I go to bed. Restoratives always knock me out.”

“Okay. Then go pack a bag…you’ve probably got some sweats and stuff at my house, but grab anything else you need.”

Buck blinks up at his partner, feeling as though he’s missed several parts of this conversation, even though he knows he hasn’t. “Um—what?”

Eddie just shoots him a look. “Like I’m going to leave you alone here. You’re coming back to the house with me and you’re staying there until we figure all this out.”

“Hey! He not be alone!” Isa protests, scrambling back up onto the coffee table to stare Eddie down with her hands on her hips. “Nobb an’ I be here. We’ll not let any harm come to ‘im.”

“Okay, whoa, no—you two are going back to the firehouse,” Buck says immediately. Isa whirls on him with a betrayed look, her eyebrows quivering dramatically.

“Why? Don’t ye trust us to take care o’ the place? Take care o’ ye?”

“Aye!” Nobb adds, climbing up behind his sister. “Ye be our big folk! We want to help ye.”

Despite the chaos of the last thirty minutes, Buck melts a little at the genuine distress in their voices. “Guys, I appreciate it—you have no idea. And of course I trust you. But we don’t have a bargain, and you don’t have your parents’ permission to be making bargains that big anyway. And unless you two moved out of the firehouse, declared yourselves independent, and joined the Lesser Fae and Small Creatures union this week, you’re still part of their household.”

“Pffft, Mama an’ Pa won’t care none!” Isa says, waving a dismissive hand. “They love ye just as much as we do! The technicalities be nothin’!”

Buck rubs his eyes tiredly. “Okay, well, it’s not nothing to California employment law and I’d rather not have to choose between being turned into a toad for seven days and seven nights or paying a ten thousand dollar fine for exploiting house fae. Besides, your parents have to be going out of their minds.”

The two brownies exchange a guilty look. Nobb stubs his toes into the coffee table’s surface, and Isa pouts. “If ye be thinkin’ it best,” she mumbles reluctantly.

“I do,” he replies.

“Ugh, fine” Nobb sighs, sounding every bit like the dramatic teenager he is by brownie standards. “But only if ye go with Mr. Diaz!”

“Aye!” Isa says quickly. “We’ll not sleep a wink thinkin’ o’ ye all alone here! Don’t be thinkin’ we don’t know ye usually skip your alchemy potions!”

He startles guiltily at that…though he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that the house brownies noticed. He’s certainly been injured in the line of duty enough. Eddie snorts lightly, but again, when Buck looks at him the levity doesn’t seem to touch his eyes. He slumps back against the couch. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to be alone right now…but he has to send Isa and Nobb back to their parents, and he doesn’t feel up to going to anyone else right now. Maddie would call off work and come back in a heartbeat if he said he needed her—but there’s no way he'd be able to hide his turmoil from her. He’d have to get Eddie to explain what’s going on to circumvent the Fae’s enchantment, and he doesn’t want to drop a bombshell like that on his sister with no preparation.

“All right. Deal. Do you need to ride down to my car in my gym bag, or…?” He trails off, raising a questioning eyebrow at the brownies. The two lean their heads together and have an intense, whispered conversation. What little he can hear seems to mostly focus on whether they will get in more or less trouble if they “bother” him to escort them back to the firehouse. Eventually, Isa looks at him and shakes her head.

“There be a family contracted by yer building, here. Met ‘em last night when we were lookin’ about. They’ve a transport array we can use.”

Buck narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You sure?”

“Aye, Mr. Buck,” Isa sighs. “We give ye our word, we’ll be on our way once ye leave with Mr. Diaz.” Her little face softens, and she bites her lip. “Um, what be ye wantin’ us to tell Mama an’ Pa? About…you know.” She makes a wide gesture, encompassing the whole of the loft.

Buck lets out a huff of air, the beginnings of a headache building behind his eyes. “It’s all right, Isa,” he says gently. “You can tell them everything. I guess…I guess it’s not a secret, now. I…tell your dad I’d like to talk to him in a day or two? I have some questions.”

“Aye, we will,” Nobb promises. He looks up towards the section of the loft where Buck’s bed is and narrows his eyes, then snaps loudly. Buck’s gym bag materializes on the coffee table, already neatly packed with what he’s sure will be everything he needs for a few days at Eddie’s.

“Went through my stuff last night, huh?”

Isa blushes furiously. “Don’t have ta’ say it like that! Weren’t like we went pawin’ through your unmentionables! We just cleaned up a bit!” She clambers on top of the gym bag and yanks one of the zippered side compartments open. “Ye great lump! Ye didn’t get his charger!”

“I be no lump! Ye be the lump!” Nobb howls, before snapping again…this one sounding a great deal more petulant.

Isa grumbles to herself as she peeks back into the side pocket. Evidently finding the contents now to her satisfaction, she closes it back up before taking a small hop onto Buck’s knee. Nobb follows, and the two quickly scramble up to sit on either of his shoulders, as they usually do. Isa hugs him around the neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek the way Netty often does.

“We be so glad you’re all right,” she whispers. “Don’t ye be scarin’ us like that again!” Then she fixes Eddie with a surprisingly fierce glare, stabbing one finger towards him.

“Ye be takin’ care o’ him, Mr. Diaz!” she orders. “Ye not be wantin’ to anger a house brownie, aye?”

“Aye!” Nobb adds. “We be trustin’ ye with our big folk!”

“Guys,” Buck groans. “Seriously?”

Eddie does an admirable job of looking properly cowed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Promise,” he says solemnly. “Buck, you ready?” he asks, pointedly gathering the bag of alchemy potions off the breakfast bar.

Buck nods tiredly. He waits for the brownies to climb back down to the couch and then grabs his gym bag off the coffee table, not bothering to check the contents for himself. He trusts Isa and Nobb. They’re silly and flighty and a little immature—but he knows they were serious in their desire to take care of him during his recovery. If anything, they likely overpacked for him.

“Tell your parents to leave a note on Bobby’s desk so he can let me know you got back okay,” he says, shouldering the bag. The brownies’ heads practically bobble off their necks in earnest nods, and Isa blows him another kiss. He tips them a small wave as he joins Eddie by the door, sighing as he realizes he dropped the stylus Maddie charged for him to set the door wards somewhere.

Eddie seems to notice his problem at the same time and pulls his keys out of his pocket. A small, glass orb dangles off the end of one keychain, swirling with the gold light of Buck’s own magic, and he presses it to the center of the door. The ward flares to life and unlocks, the door swinging open silently. He’d keyed Eddie into the wards pretty much the day he’d moved into the loft, gifting his partner the keychain on their next shift together.

“You want this back?” Eddie asks quietly as they step out into the hallway. The door swings shut behind them and Eddie repeats the process with the keychain, resetting the locking ward.

Buck just shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly as the ward shimmers on the door. He’s unprepared for how hard it hits him, the fact that he cannot enter his own home without help, now. He’s going to have to get Maddie to key him into wards he laid with his own hands, going have to get her to make him a charmed keychain like he made for Eddie. The empty space just beneath his ribs seems to throb.

It's a simple choice. What is he supposed to do? Trade years, decades, a lifetime with his sister and his friends for a grisly death the instant he succeeds in rekindling his magic? He’s not a fool. The Fae will never give him those last two years—the moment he regains his magic, he’ll die. It’s not even a choice at all. It should be easy. It…it should be so easy.

“Come on,” Eddie says, reaching over to take the bag from Buck’s hands without asking. Lost in a storm of emotions he doesn’t know how even begin sorting out, Buck lets him, and silently follows his partner to the elevators.

[randomshyperson]

Hey Mary I saw you mentioned in one of your fics (amazing work as always btw) that youre watching Hibike! Euphonium??? I've watch over 4 times so it's probably my favorite anime ever and I would love to hear your thoughts about it, how much you liked it, if you also ship Kumirei or nah?

~🦭

I saw your ask a few days ago and was waiting to respond when I finished the anime, and here I am. I can define my emotional state after finishing both seasons in two words: emotionally devastated.

Btw, this will contain spoilers if anyone bothers.

I watched the anime for the first time almost a decade ago, and I had only seen it because of Kumirei. I decided to give it a chance even though I knew beforehand they weren't canon, and I remember being really in love with the couple and being truly outraged when Kumiko ended up with that boy.

At fifteen, I had no idea about concepts like heteronormativity or comphet, or any of those more complex concepts I learned in college. And rewatching the anime today, I found Kumiko's relationship with Shuichi more comical than anything else. Her frequent and clear lack of interest in that boy throughout the entire anime turns any interaction between them into something comical and even frustrating, especially since everyone around her seems to insist that Kumiko should be with him simply because he has a crush on her. When I was the same age as the characters, it really irritated me, now as an adult I just felt sorry for them all. And I found it really frustrating how he got more development with Hazuki, and if the producers had focused on them, it would have made more sense than putting him with Kumiko who had an interest in basically any topic other than that boy.

But male characters aside, I just realized how much I missed female characters (or girls in this case) and their well-written and developed female friendships when I rewatched this anime. Hollywood could never.

Remember that I defined my state as emotionally devastated? Well, that's all the fault of the arc written for Asuka.

Her friendship with Kumiko is absurdly beautiful. The dialogue where Kumiko, who is the youngest between them, shouting about how Asuka doesn't need to act like she knows everything and that the two of them are just kids has easily become one of my favorites in any media. At fifteen years old, I had no idea the weight of several scenes, especially this one, or when Asuka is slapped by her mother? Insane. I had the pleasure and luck of being reminded of how beautiful and well-written this anime was. And the ending with Asuka graduating was deeply painful. Not because something bad happened (thank god), but that fact that she did it! She played for her father, got the best grades in Japan and will probably have a bright future ahead of her. But that means she's leaving and Kumiko still has two years there and even with that incredible connection, Asuka needs to move on. Living through high school while watching, I didn't understand what that scene really meant. The arrival of adulthood. But upon rewatching it I was in tears, completely in shock. For the good of my heart I simply decide that they met again in college.

Also, I still haven't rewatched the movie about the second year because I simply don't want to say goodbye to any more characters.

How difficult was it for the studio to write a band made up of students from the same year? I wanted everyone to graduate together. I guess it wouldn't hurt the same way if they did.

Now talking about what I didn't like? Well, there's just gone thing that really bothers me about this anime: Reina's feelings for her teacher. When I was fifteen, and I heard these teenagers talking about it, and I had no idea whatsoever about life, I didn't see it as a major problem. I even thought that Reina, so mature and intelligent, would turn 18 and embark on a failed romance before realizing that the only person for her was Kumiko, but now at 23 I absolutely hate everything about that matter. What bothered me most was that at no point was there a straight forward take on how the mere idea of this relationship is wrong. We even have a scene where the temporary Instructor makes jokes about the Professor being popular with the girls. I was very uncomfortable with how this subject was not closed in a concrete and absolute way, I would have liked to have seen at least one scene of Reina's parents guiding her about how she was confusing admiration for a talented adult man she has known since she was a child with love, but the anime insisted on a one-sided romance until the end, and it aged really badly.

I haven't had the chance to see both movies and the new season yet, but I really hope the matter has been closed because it was very uncomfortable.

Also, I've come to have a different view of Kumirei now that I'm no longer a teenager; I used to watch the scenes and be outraged, just hoping that they would kiss soon and realize how in love they are. Today, well, yes please just kiss, but also, I noticed an even greater complexity in their relationship. Slow Burn is very welcome, I even have the impression that their fifteen-year-old versions from the first season simply don't have the emotional maturity necessary to understand their own relationship. I know the studio probably won't make them canon, but I don't think I'll mind it as much as I would have a decade ago: I really like the idea that they took time to understand the depth of their feelings, and that the separation during college was perhaps what was necessary for them to realize how emotionally intertwined they are. I feel like as always, the fanfics will make it worth it.

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

So many interesting titles!!

Can you tell me something about Swapped Powers or Girls Night please?😊

Thank you!!! I'll tell you about both, because why not? XD

Snippets will be under the cut.

Swapped Powers

The premise of this is that Helen and John gained each other's powers from the Source Blood. (My imagination was not large enough to think that maybe all of the Five 'swapped' powers) So, Helen is the one that was effected by the parasite and became the Ripper. It follows John and Helen through the years, John building the Sanctuary Network from Helen's vision and raising Ashley.

Girls' Night

A fluff piece post-canon, in which Helen, Ashley, Abby, Kate, and Erika take a night on the surface just to hang out and bond. Lots of feels from Helen's point of view, because they're all close and she's never had that with so many other women at the same time. (Minor Teslen, but I don't plan on Nikola actually being in the fic).

___

Snippets:

Swapped Powers (Slapping this on as a warning, because this is directly before forceful removal of Ashley's embryo)

-

The house was a Sanctuary, but it was not a safe place tonight. It was a dwelling place of madness. Regret. Sorrow. Grief. Determination.

John struggled to hold on to Helen as she fought tooth and nail against him and Nikola, the two that had been tasked with holding on to her. He was taller and stronger and Nikola was a vampire, but a mad, desperate woman was matching them. They needed to make sure that she did not best them.

"No! Let go of me! Let go of me!" Helen cried, voice rising.

Her arm slipped out of John's grasp and she swung for Nikola. He barely managed to catch her again.

"You need to keep her still." James instructed.

John looked at his best friend, thinking it was rather obvious, but no mood to fight. Nikola grunted and they managed to force Helen to her knees. John was fighting not to look at her and saw James falter.

Gregory took the lead. There was grief in the man's eyes as he approached his daughter, rag in hand. John met his gaze, his emotions mirrored in the other man's gaze.

"Father." Helen begged, looking at Gregory with wide, distressed eyes. "Do not let them do this. Please. It is not theirs to do."

"I am sorry, sweetheart."

The man cradled his daughter's head in one hand and firmly pressed the rag with the specialized mixture over her mouth and nose. Helen fought it even then, but the fight started to go out of her.

Her body sagged and John was able to hold her easily for the first time since they had administered the first drug.

Gregory removed the rag and stared down at his daughter.

"I'll need your help, James."

"I am staying with her." John said stubbornly.

Now that Helen was unconscious, he was able to lift her into his arms. Nikola released her and allowed him to do so.

"No." Gregory said.

John clenched his jaw, staring him down. Helen's head was nestled against his chest, like it had been on so many different occasions. He wanted to hang on to her. Change his mind about what they were going to do. But it was something that they had to do, no matter what. It was too late for them to turn back now.

Helen herself had made certain of that.

"Son." Gregory said, voice softening.

John looked at Gregory then, because the other man had never addressed him in such a tone before and it was jarring compared to the violence of what had just happened. ____

Girls' Night

In all her years, Helen had never had so many women on her personal Sanctuary team. Currently, not counting Helen herself, there were four. She rounded it out at five. With five women and three engagements among them, Kate had declared that they needed to celebrate.

So here they were, sitting in a booth in a rather rowdy London pub, drinking together. Helen had been reluctant to join in. It didn't seem like she belonged in the group. They were all younger than she was, all within a decade of each other. But they had insisted, so she had relented, because, honestly, it was nice to spend time with them.

Helen sat on one end, sipping a glass of red wine. Abby had a glass as well. Kate and Ashley, who had quickly bonded, both had beers. Erica was sipping a glass of cranberry juice.

Helen was glad to see that Erica was doing well, responding to the treatment to slow down the pregnancy to a level where she could handle it. A long pregnancy wasn't what any woman would have wanted in the best of circumstances, but Erica was handling it well. She was healthy and smiling and finally starting to show.

Helen knew that she had a special interest in the pregnancy, because Henry was her son, and the child was her grandchild.

The thought warmed Helen from the inside out, more so than any alcohol she could have chosen to consume this evening.

[sunriseverse]

soooo how DO u write fem aus that don't feel stilted and ooc? :O

hello anon i owe you my LIFE thank you for asking <3 this is a topic i have a lot of feelings on. i'm not like, the One True Fem AU Rules Maker, obviously, but i think that having a multitude of fem au fics and getting praised on my ability to write canon male characters in character in fem aus gives me the right to have some thoughts on the topic.

okay, to start with: my complaints on things that i've spent over a decade running into. historically, i've found that fem aus tend to have a couple persistent problems across fandoms (and i do mean across fandoms—i've seen these in everything from massive fandoms like marvel, middling ones like pacrim, and tiny cnovels). in my experience, usually they boil down into two flavours: "that's not [xyz character], that's a female oc with his name slapped on" and "oh, you just have no idea how most real sapphics live, do you?". oftentimes these two are entwined; it makes for an off-putting, often cringe-inducing experience as a lesbian trying to read something that's supposedly meant to speak to my experiences—and this is a shame, because often the concept of whatever the fic's plot is is pretty interesting!

(i should specify that i have no experience with het shipping for fem aus—when i say “fem au” i mean all parties romantically and/or sexually involved are women* and that the dynamic is a sapphic and/or lesbian one. also i haven’t seen (much) het shipping with r63 since i started to aggressively curate my online experience—though i remember when i was younger it was often a way for fanfic authors to get around the squeamishness of shipping two men.)

the "that's an oc with a canon name" problem: this is the one i see the most often. for reasons i cannot fathom (i can. it's misogyny), a lot of people writing fem aus come off as, rather than writing "what if these men were women", instead writing the idea of male characters as Women, since, as we all know, Those Soft Pink Women are an entirely different class than Big Strong Men. it's gender essentialism, to be blunt—sure, not an insidious manifestation of it, but one which reinforces misogynistic, sexist stereotypes nonetheless. instead of considering ways a character's traits would remain as a woman, they're reduced to Idea Of Woman. i should specify—i'm not saying that men and women don't often have different lived experiences, especially when it comes to gendered social expectations and what's permitted/not permitted by society. but what often gets missed is that a lot of things can remain the same. you've met a gnc woman, haven't you? i'm not going to get into specific things like "should you change a character's name in a fem au?" because i think that in a lot of cases you can make arguments either way; my point is that, if a character is stubborn and argumentative as a man, why can't they be as a woman? if they're toxic as a man, or passive-aggressive, or intensely emotional, what stops a female version of them being like that?

(and to go on a tangent, of course, if you keep these "unfeminine" traits, you instantly have the opportunity to do some really fun exploration—if this character is one who actively tries to conform to their gender as a man, how do they handle this? how do the people around them treat them differently (or not!) for being "unfeminine" in personality? assuming, of course, that those traits are even considered unfeminine; it's very cultural.)

a note i'd like to add here is that, if you want to keep a character from being ooc as a woman, it's a good idea to keep their dynamic(s) with key characters in canon as canon-typical as possible. of course, this isn't always going to be possible; sometimes, dynamics are a certain way because of gendered presuppositions/assumptions, but that, too, can be something that makes it feel more real! however, i should say that, generally, if you're making a slash ship femslash, unless there's a very compelling reason (and i've almost never run into one), keeping their canon dynamic as best as possible will make not only their relationship, but the characters themselves feel more in character.

the "have you ever met an actual sapphic" problem: this one, i'll emphasise, isn't restricted to any type of person—i hate to break this stunning news, but even if someone isn't straight, this doesn't exclude them from writing something worthy of showing up on what i've personally dubbed "r/straightpeoplewritingsapphics" (and, i should be upfront, some of my early femslash aus suffer from this as well, because i hadn't really ever met any other sapphics, so all i had to go off of was stereotypes around sapphics and sapphic relationships). but i think this stems largely from the fact that fem aus almost never get much traction—so they aren't discussed in wider fanon, so there aren't examinations of dynamics happening the way they do for slash, so writers aren't prompted to critically analyse their depictions, so the depictions tend to be one dimensional or skewed or just badly ooc and feeling unrealistic, et cetera, and into infinity.

however, i think another problem is that, similar to the problem i raised earlier with writing what feels like ocs, is that instead of writing about sapphics, people are writing about the Idea Of Sapphics. i see people go into long internet research rabbitholes to make slash ships make sense for the time period, or culture, read and watch and investigate personal accounts by lgbt men about their lives and relationships, etc—and yet, i don't see people doing the same for female characters as often, let alone sapphics and sapphic relationships for fem aus. and i don't mean that you have to read critical feminist theory and writings about lesbian eroticism if you want to write a 3k oneshot fem au; i just mean that the experiences of sapphics, especially lesbians, are not given importance, even when it comes to portraying us. if you were writing about firefighters, wouldn't you consider how their lives might be different from, say, a doctor? and yet, often, fem aus feel like two (or more) straight women who kiss each other and maybe have sex—hyperfeminine, highly gender conforming, without any connection to other sapphics, sapphic culture, sapphic history, sapphic experiences. you've seen the complaints about two actresses giving the most pursed-lip kiss when they're supposed to be romantically and sexually involved—this is, in my opinion, the fanfic version of that. if you want to portray sapphics and sapphic relationships better—don't make assumptions! read posts or watch videos or read novels or watch films or read manhwa etc etc by and about sapphics and sapphic experiences. if you're not sapphic, it'll help give you a better idea of portraying sapphics; if you are sapphic, you'll probably learn new things and find a greater sense of community! (this is what happened to me—being a lesbian who loves and is friends with and spends time in lesbian spaces is so much better than being an isolated lesbian as a young teen!)

however, i'll leave on a bright note! i've found that, historically, for danmei novels, fem aus tend to be more in character and realistic feeling—hualesbians, for one, and shl fem au fics, for another. i think this has a bit to do with the fact that danmei novel fans tend to be more likely to be sapphic, or at least spend time around sapphics, and fem aus are just more common to start with.

anyway, thank you for the ask!

[goldeneyedgirl]

Loving all the ATBT snippets so far (I think I'm all caught up) 😥 Would you be willing to share more headcanons about Jasper's side of things? Especially Jasper/Tanya vs Jasper/Alice--how/when did both hookups start and why house vs woods?

Hi! Of course! Thank you so much for reading it, I know it's depressing!

Jasper in ATBT is a bit of a lost soul, who covers up a lot of his problems and issues by constantly reminding himself that he should be grateful for what he has. That living with crippling depression is his penance for everything that he did in the south. Any suffering is his own fault, and he needs to man up and live with it.

At one point, there was going to be two separate fics - one for Alice (ATBT) and one for Jasper (I think it was called All the Lies I Never Told? I honestly can't remember) to better explain that he had his own problems and he wasn't just being a jerk as a plot device. I'll probably just combine them into ATBT as Part 1 and Part 2.

It took decades for Jasper to consider the Cullens friends, let alone agree to stay with them 'temporarily' because he truly believed that he deserved to be alone. It took longer still for him to become part of the family - he definitely cared and liked the Cullens, but he didn't feel deserving of any kindness or affection they offered him.

Edward and Carlisle tag-teamed for many years to try and get Jasper into a healthier mindset, and one less prone to picking fights or starving himself in penance (basically the one time Edward is allowed to speak about someone's private thoughts is when they turn to violent or harmful intentions. This rule was introduced after Rosalie dealt with Royce, even though Edward has clearly stated he didn't stop her then and he wouldn't stop her now.)

And before Bella and James and Alice, Jasper was doing pretty well within the family; he got on with them all, he had enough control over his bloodlust to attend school, and he wasn't spending his spare time contemplating various forms of self-harm. Esme and Carlisle did watch over him from a distance to make sure that he was traveling okay, checking in with each other that he was socializing and hunting enough, that he wasn't isolating himself from the family, and that his mood seemed neutral-positive. Basically the same rough set of guidelines they used for Rosalie at the end of her newborn year.

And then Bella arrives, and she's Edward's singer. That causes some drama, especially since Jasper has to be convinced not to eliminated Bella because of the risk to the family and it takes a lot more effort in this universe.

Then James arrives with Alice in tow and shit hits the fan even more.

Jasper is suddenly faced with this terrified, vulnerable girl who constantly emits all the emotions he's spent years overcoming. She never feels safe, she's constantly afraid or worried, and she's almost always hungry. And to make it even worse for him, she seems to focus on him and he's terrified that this girl has decided since all the other men in the family are taken, he's being cast as her savior and the one who can offer her the Cullen dream. He can't do that, in his mind he's barely a Cullen, and absolutely incapable and unfit to be a husband.

And he's so goddamn lonely; something that has become extremely obvious to him since Edward met Bella. Suddenly, he's the one left out; the spare. He doesn't deserve a wife, he won't ever have a wife, but that doesn't mean he doesn't secretly want someone.

And he figures that he and Alice can be lonely together. She seems interested and it's all consensual, and maybe he's a little less lonely. It starts around the beginning of summer after Twilight.

At no time in the canon-arc does Alice share her visions of the family with them, or her visions of Jasper. So Jasper has no context for why she likes him.

Then he starts to catch feelings. At first, it's a lot sympathy and horror as more of her story comes out, and a feeling of over-protectiveness - she's so small and breakable, and she's here to stay so she's one of them. She's always so happy when he spends any kind of time with her, and she's never said anything about his scars or acted repulsed by them. Alice might shy away from Carlisle and Emmett, but she's never acted like that to him.

And if the birthday party had gone differently, it might have been more simple for them to fall in love. But he was blindsided by everything, and can only focus on the fact that Alice knew something was going to happen. She left him vulnerable, she let him slip. And he was furious because Cullens don't do that. The Cullens have always had each other's back. So he lashes out at her and breaks whatever tentative thing they have between them, and really never acknowledges how damaging that night was to both of them.

Post Volterra, Jasper's in a place where Alice is less clingy to him, and where a lot of the family focus is on Victoria, the wolves, and keeping Bella safe. Bella is extremely vulnerable in this situation, and takes up focus that Esme and Carlisle would normally direct towards Alice or towards Jasper. With Victoria back in the picture, Alice becomes more out of sorts and reaches out to Jasper who decides that she's crossed his invisible boundary and needs to be reminded of the role he's mentally assigned her. Enter Tanya.

To start off, I hate Tanya being cast as a villain because she had the audacity to have romantic or sexual inclinations towards Edward in canon. I think it's cheap and lazy, especially when Tanya et al are considered so close to Carlisle and the Cullens in general. In ATBT, Tanya had no idea that Jasper and Alice had some ambiguous 'thing' going on and she's genuinely embarrassed - and pissed - that Jasper orchestrated that moment of getting caught, especially since it was clearly about making Alice feel bad. There will be a confrontation about that at some point.

Tanya is very old and has seen and done things - especially in the years before Kate and Irina were changed - that were fairly horrific. Add in Sasha's death, and she knows what survivor's guilt feels like. She and Jasper hit it off as friends decades ago; she appealed to him because she was so friendly and intelligent, she had a certain amount of empathy towards his ugly past, and didn't seem to be all that cautious of him. Their 'friends with benefits' is something that just kind of happened in the late 70s, continued off and on, and other than a couple of jokes from Emmett, is very much considered something between Jasper and Tanya, and doesn't need to be acknowledged by either family.

Edward's mostly grateful, because he feels like he's got a solid defense against Tanya's pursuit. It's not something that Jasper and Tanya talk about it or have particular guidelines for; it's just one of the things they can do when they're together. (Esme was very disappointed that it wasn't a romantic connection because she thought it would be a beautiful love story.)

The house vs the forest is pretty straightforward - Jasper wanted privacy, didn't want to risk anyone interrupting him and Alice; and he noticed Alice was always more relaxed in the woods. They could also conceal their activities with the claims that they were going hunting - which worked up to a point, then Esme and Carlisle were kind of "we're both pretending not to believe them, right?"

By the time Tanya arrives to help with the wedding, there's no more 'Alice needs to hunt excessively' excuse; the family already know what he and Tanya get up to; and Jasper is actively trying to draw boundaries between him and Alice. In his mind, Jasper doesn't believe that the house is more respectable than the forest - his study was private, and he knew Alice would come looking for him there. He would be mortified that Alice assumed that he took her to the woods because she was embarrassing to be with.

So yeah, it's a very emotionally messy fic, and relies a lot upon both Alice and Jasper's willingness to reflect, heal, and communicate.

Okay, I think I rambled enough about this. Asking me about any of my fics is always going to inspire a long essay of information because I love to ramble.

[lyricalporcupine]

BeauYasha Week Day 7

CW for Character Death Sorry for the long delay, you can read the fic under the cut or HERE! As of right now, there isn’t any art to go with this. Sorry about that. Burnout sucks. But I do hope y’all enjoy day 7, and thanks for being patient!

~~~~ Yasha drew open the curtains, the warm, early summer breeze blowing across her face. The sun was setting, and the various colors of orange, yellow, and red helped soothe her frayed nerves. She could see the stars beginning to make their nightly debut, and she smiled despite herself. After a few moments Yasha turned away from the window, and she walked over to the bed and the figure resting in it. Yasha gently sat down on the edge, and reached her hand out to gently brush her wife’s hair from her face. Cloudy blue eyes slowly opened and turned towards her. It broke Yasha’s heart when it took Beau several moments to recognize her, but when she did, a huge smile split her face. “Hey, Yash,” was her half-asleep greeting. Despite the emotion tightening in her throat, Yasha managed a smile anyway. “Hi, baby,” she replied, voice soft. “How are you feeling?” Beau stretched beneath the blankets, her eyes closing, and Yasha caught sight of her toes pointing. Then Beau relaxed against the pillows, and her eyes opened and focused on her again. “Warm. Content.” She turned towards the open window for a moment before looking back to Yasha. “Is it time?” Yasha was surprised that Beau remembered their plans. Since her maiden flight, Yasha had taken Beau on many, many more over the decades they had spent together. Beau loved it, being wrapped up in a woman’s strong arms and the wind through her hair. She had admitted that night time flights were her favorite; the stars were just more beautiful than the sun, Yasha remembered Beau telling her. It was on such a night time flight that Yasha had proposed, asking Beau to share the rest of her life with her. Yasha smiled and brushed Beau’s hair back from her face. “It’s time,” Yasha said softly. “Excellent,” Beau beamed up at her. “My bo staff, please!” Beau playfully demanded. Yasha smiled and stood. Beau hadn’t wielded a staff for years; now she had an ornate walking stick, carved by Caduceus. Yasha had helped decorate it, picking out glass and metal beads and stringing them together. She had even threaded a few of her own feathers throughout the beads. Beau had always been fascinated by Yasha’s wings and had been ecstatic when Yasha thought to incorporate them. Yasha plucked the stick from the corner and turned, finding Beau already out of the bed and on wobbly legs. Yasha quickly reached for her and Beau gave her another wide grin. “I’m okay, Yash,” she said softly. “Really.” Yasha’s hand gently tightened on Beau’s hip, helping to steady her. “I know, baby. Here’s your staff.” “Thanks,” Beau said as she took the staff. She looked around, blinking quickly as her brow knitted together. Yasha knew Beau was merely trying to focus her eyes. “All the kiddos in bed, then?” Yasha’s smile faltered a bit but she managed to slip something like a grin in its place when Beau looked back to her. Their children were long since grown, and had families of their own to boot. Some of Beau and Yasha’s grandchildren were near adult age. “They’re all tucked in,” Yasha said softly. “It’s just you and me.” Beau smiled and leaned close to Yasha, who bent down and met her for a soft kiss. When they pulled apart, Yasha rested her head against Beau’s. “Ready?” “Ready,” Beau whispered back. She tossed her walking stick onto the bed, like Yasha knew she would, and stepped closer to Yasha. Yasha bent and cradled Beau in her arms. Beau had always been tiny, to Yasha anyway, but Yasha couldn’t help but notice that Beau seemed even smaller. Yasha wasn’t the juggernaut she once was, charging into battle with rage flaming in her eyes, and a 6 ft long sword in her hands. But even she knew Beau shouldn’t have been this little. Yasha walked to the open window with her wife in her arms. The sun had finally set and the stars twinkled in the dark sky. She placed one foot on the ledge of the specially made window then lunged from it, and her wings burst from her back in warm, golden light. They were well over the village in just moments. The cottage lights twinkled beneath them like the stars above, and when Beau snuggled closer to her, Yasha’s arms tightened around her. “I’ve missed this,” Beau said, her voice soft despite having to raise it for the wind rushing past. “It’s been far too long since we took this trip.” Yasha agreed, but said nothing. Instead her dual colored eyes fell to Beau, who slowly turned to look back at her. “You’re beautiful,” Beau said softly again. She brushed her fingers through Yasha’s short hair, always wild despite its length. Beau leaned forward, her forehead resting against Yasha’s jaw. “I’ll miss you.” Yasha’s eyes closed, burning. She pressed against Beau, feeling hot trails running down her cheeks. She wasn’t ready. Sixty years wasn’t enough. A millennia wouldn’t be enough time. It wasn’t fair and a bit cruel that Yasha would outlive another wife, another partner. Yasha felt Beau’s arms wrap tightly about her head, cradling her. Then she heard it, a soft song in Beau’s distinct gruff voice. It was a Celestial song Yasha sang to their children at bedtime or when they were afraid. To hear Beau sing it now, caused Yasha to begin sobbing, her shoulders shaking with the mournful tremors. She buried her face lower on Beau’s shoulder, and Beau held her as best she could. “It’ll be okay, Angel,” Beau said quietly. She was more lucid than Yasha had seen her in months, sounding almost like her old self. “You will be okay.” Yasha shook her head. How could Beau possibly know she’d be okay? Who would Yasha cook for now? Who would she clean for? Their children were grown and had moved to far away cities and towns. Who would she take care of? Who would take care of her? “You will,” Beau said softly. Almost too softly. Yasha nearly missed it with the wind. “You’ll be fine.” Beau cupped Yasha’s face and applied gentle pressure so Yasha would look up at her. “And I’ll be waiting for you.” Before Yasha could respond, Beau pressed her lips to Yasha’s. It was soft, gentle. A simple meeting of lips. When they broke apart, Beau rested her head on Yasha’s shoulder with a soft sigh. After a moment, Yasha felt Beau’s tight embrace slacken. With a shuddery sigh, Yasha looked beneath them and found a small outcrop. Yasha gently landed, tucking her wings against her back. Still cradling Beau, Yasha knelt on one knee, and propped her wife  on her thigh. Yasha held her breath, and listened. But there was nothing to be heard from the small body in her arms. There was no puff of exhaled air on her skin. And just like that, the world was suddenly a lesser place. “I love you,” Yasha whispered softly before  pressing her lips against Beau’s temple. “I promise I won’t be too long.” *** And between now and then Until I see you again I’ll be loving you. Love, Me ***

[kylermalloy]

Filled up the entire challenge card! I feel accomplished! The rules this time were that I had to comment on and link each of the fics I read here. So here they all are!

Old fic: Slow Life by stereobone. First-time Eruri. Luckily, the aot fandom is vast and the fanfic libraries are deep—there are plenty of “old” fics for me to find!

​<1000 hits: A Real Lasting Legacy by dibs_on_erwin. Reincarnation/teashop AU, not as fluffy as it first appears. I actually had the pleasure of beta-ing this fic before its debut on ao3, so seeing its final form was an extra treat!

Fandom classic: The Echo There of Me and You by Shoi. An Eruri ghost story. I’m told it’s a classic, and being relatively new to the fandom I simply have to trust what I’m told. Very enjoyable!

Underdog trope: The Human Touch by Cherry. I am usually not a fan of sci-fi or android AUs. However, this one grabbed me just right—and presented me with enough clues that I have a pretty good idea of where the story’s going to go. It’s been…seven years since it was updated, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed!

Rare character/pairing: A Third Person Watches Them by Flight. Erwin/Eren with some voyeurism thrown in. It’s funny that a pairing with over 400 works on ao3 is considered a rarepair in this fandom. But I explored, I enjoyed, and now I’m going to devour more of these 400 fics!

Free square: I don’t have to put anything for this one, but it’s fun to! I persuaded a friend to post a snippet of their depraved fic idea, which I then proceeded to scream over.

AO3 archive warning: Purity by Anonymous. Dark Eruri. I’m always down for some noncon! I screamed aloud on several occasions with this one.

New fic: Cartographical Prowess by Tierfal. This one was actually part of the Fandom Trumps Hate auction earlier this year—I got to request some fluffy Elricest, and oh man did I get what I asked for! I had a blast with this one.

<1000 words: Schizophrenia by Indebt. Eruri. A bite-sized look at grief and mental illness.

New (to you) author: Sinful Thoughts by cozyreinsfw. Elricest. I met this author on discord a few days ago, and already they’ve posted multiple works for my otp! I am an instant fan.

>10000 words: Kraków by calacreda. Mafia AU. This one I’ve been chewing on for months. The tags say, “This is the gritty depressing horny evil!eruri fic you've been dreading,” and the tags do not lie. I cannot wait to see where this fic goes next!

Underdog pairing: Offering by orphan_account. I’m not a fan of Ereri. Generally at all. But since I like to push my limits, I’ve tried a few out. And this one? A lovely, dark premise that I can get behind.

Outside your fandom: Hot Weather Groove by Beehive Citizen. I jumped over to read some Cowboy Bebop! Ed is adorable in this fic.

1st person POV: For if I am not yours, what am I? by LuvAtFirstRead. Eruri. I am Not a 1st person enjoyer generally, but this piece had such lovely, evocative imagery—and the EMOTIONS! I love when a fic makes me horny and depressed at the same time.

Underrated fave: on wanting by underfallingflowerpetals. Some of the best Elricest I’ve read! I’ve actually already commented on this work, so I left a second comment saying how much I enjoy rereading this fic. Now, granted, it’s not on any reclists because it’s a relatively new fic, and the Elricest fandom hasn’t made any reclists in…almost a decade now. (I should change that. This fic’s going on it.)

>100000 words: baby I’ll come back to you by elizaham8957. Jonerys—a…Jonas Brothers AU?Another epic that is years in the making! I met this author via another fandom we shared, and at this point I’ll read anything she writes.

I had a blast with this challenge over my holidays. Thanks as always to @thehighfiveproject for the card—it’s fun to step outside my normal fanfic boundaries a bit!

[fatalism-and-villainy]

ooh, this is very interesting, thanks!

First of all - the "between iron and silver" line is indeed from the books, specifically from the novel Hannibal - it's something Hannibal says to Clarice in a letter.

Overall I completely agree that Chiyoh strongly values and seeks to maintain stability, and that that's why she's more distrustful of Will than Hannibal. My impression of her is that she's very controlled, and very afraid of losing control. Your line about her motivation remaining the same over decades also makes me feel somewhat validated in my fic planning, haha, because I've been formulating a scene in which Will pinpoints the main force that motivates her being purpose, and that she'll latch on very strongly to one and not let go.

The fact that it's Mischa, or Mischa's memory, that she's so devoted to, is something I think about a lot as well. Like, the fact that she's so invested in justice for a dead girl who she never met reflects her most compassionate and moral impulses, imo. And yet, whatever reservations she might have about Hannibal through 3A, it's him confirming that he didn't kill Mischa that seems to assuage those reservations - she doesn't seem concerned about what else he might have done. Which is perhaps indicative of just how narrow her locus of moral concern can be.

(This reminds me that I have this half-formed post-canon concept in my mind of Will and Hannibal acquiring some sort of Abigail-expy, whose expy-ness is very meta-level central given how much her resemblance to and considerable divergence from Abigail informs how they relate to her and the consternation it causes. And I've been rotating in my mind the idea of Chiyoh also latching onto this girl, as a reminder of the other girl whose memory she guarded after death, and this causing problems on top of the problems that Hannibal and Will projecting onto this girl cause.)

Regarding Will - Chiyoh definitely has plenty of legitimate reasons to be wary and resentful of Will. He is a force of chaos, and one that has been considerably destructive to her. And while I do believe that his intervention was, ultimately, a kindness to both Chiyoh and the prisoner (I don't think there is any way that situation could have been resolved without outside intervention), it is a cruel and unasked for mercy that she is understandably not inclined to feel gratitude for.

That said, I do disagree that Will didn't want to help - I think he is telling the truth when he says "it was you I wanted to set free". He had other motivations for setting her up, but I do think pity was one of them. And he's not totally callous about it, either - handing the wine bottle and repeating her "all sorrows can be borne if you put them in a story" line feels to me like it's meant as comfort.

I think the cool confidence he exudes during that series of events is very much a coping mechanism, similar to how he operates in season 2. Especially since he's evidently Going Through It during 3A, and since there are indications that due to his hyperempathy, his impulse during highly emotional situations is to withdraw emotionally. Of course it all looks very different from Chiyoh's perspective, but I think that, despite the genuinely astute observations she makes about him, she doesn't have the full picture on him. For all that people jokingly claim that he dumps his feelings about Hannibal on her, I'd say he is actually mostly avoiding being vulnerable around her, just as she is avoiding being vulnerable around him.

She did withstand his influence over the course of 3A (and he was conveniently incapacitated by the end), but I think there are enough parallels drawn between Will's relationship with Hannibal and Will's dynamic with her (and more explicitly so in the script, where she responds to "Hannibal and I afforded each other an experience we may not otherwise have had" with "you've afforded me an experience I would not otherwise have had") that her wariness and resentment of him simply has more flavour if there is a genuine danger of him undermining her sense of herself.

I will say also - given, again, the line about her and the prisoner being each others' prisoner, as well as her dialogue about how she was "standing still, right where [Hannibal] left me, like taxidermy" - I never got the sense that she entirely comfortably inhabited that stalemate. The firmness of conviction held her there, but it is something that held her back from flourishing, to a degree that even she seems to be aware of.

you got me i think chiyoh's interesting now

yessss

[GJH voice] see? see??

I think a lot about Chiyoh’s arc, and how it aligns with the broader topics season 3 is touching on wrt justice, prisons, and moral responsibility.

Because what’s so striking to me is how unapologetically ruthless she is in her handling of the prisoner, in a way that even Will calls her on:

Chiyoh: He wants you to look at him, speak to him. But you’re not going to. Will: You’ve cast aside the social graces normally afforded to human beings. Chiyoh: He’s cast them aside. All he’s allowed is the sound of water. It’s what the unborn hear. It’s their last memory of peace. Will: You’re keeping him like an animal. Chiyoh: I wouldn’t do this to an animal.

The kind of solitary confinement she subjects him to is, effectively, torture. And yet she feels so strongly about murder! Her self-defense murder of the prisoner and its immediate aftermath marks the only time when she’s truly emotionally rattled, and everything about the situation suggests that not killing is a very stringent moral standard she’s held herself to. And no matter how wearying the prolonged imprisonment is to her, it’s not one that she has a moral objection to - she believes it’s justified by the severity of the prisoner’s crimes. (It’s questionable whether she considers her treatment of the prisoner to be violence, but if she did, she’d certainly term it “necessary violence”.)

(There is something similar to consider about the random mooks she shoots to ensure Hannibal and Will’s escape in Digestivo - is this “necessary” violence to her? Apparently, but if so, she considers protecting the man she considers to be family something for which it is worth taking lives. And the fact that those murders are far-off sniper shots suggests that perhaps she is averse to violence when it’s up-close, personal, and bloody, but is still willing to enact it when she can distance herself somewhat from its effects.)

All of that is to say - I am convinced that Chiyoh’s insistence that she only commits violence when it’s necessary, and her repeated disavowal that she is anything like Will, despite having actively undertaken vigilante justice, is pretty hypocritical on her part! I don’t say that to demonize her - the jumble of contradictory ethical principles is one of the aspects of her that I find fascinating to crack open despite her limited screen time, and Will himself by season 3 (and almost certainly post-canon) is also pretty capable of hypocrisy. And of course she’s not entirely like Will. She doesn’t seem to take much righteous satisfaction or sadistic pleasure in her handling of the prisoner - her line that “we have been each others’ prisoner” suggests that the situation wears on her just as much as him. But it is pretty clear to me that there are truths about herself, and her capacity for violence, that she is pointedly refusing to acknowledge, and that she’s clinging to some pretty narrowly defined moral principles so as to preserve her self-concept.

And I think the question that that arc involving Chiyoh invites us to ask - whether the bare life conditions she subjected her prisoner to really were all that morally superior to murder - constitutes one potential thread between 3A and 3B. Because what it brings to mind for me is Hannibal’s line to Alana in WOTL: “Any rational society would either kill me, or give me my books.”

And like many of Hannibal’s statements… it makes a twisted kind of sense.

To be clear, I absolutely do not think NBC Hannibal is trying to articulate a thematic statement against carceral justice - it’s too apolitical a show to bear that kind of weight. (And it’s certainly not interested in rehabilitation, either). But it is a show that is very interested in how our moral beliefs as well as our darker urges and fascinations define our selfhood, and the kind of moral doublethink we all engage in. And that kind of thematic backdrop does appropriately pair with the show’s general slant towards murder as not even necessarily more ethical than imprisonment, but more honest. As something that constitutes truly owning our moral judgments, feeling for ourselves the full weight and impact of delivering them.

Alana being the recipient of that line from Hannibal - and her overall role as his jailor - also has a certain kind of irony, given that she herself has to learn this lesson in 3A. She and Margot, as per their dialogue in Dolce, intend to have Mason arrested. But when that plan goes awry and they can’t rely on FBI intervention, Alana ends up having to pay the price of getting involved with Mason by getting her hands dirty. Notably, in the cases of both Alana and Chiyoh, Will has a hand in pushing them both towards murder (and in the case of Alana, Hannibal also plays a role in that - an interesting example of the aligned-but-divergent ways Will and Hannibal might exert influence on others post-canon). The situations are somewhat different in that Chiyoh has shouldered more personal responsibility in taking on the role as jailor, rather than ceding that authority to institutional higher powers. But her situation does still overlap significantly with Alana helping Margot murder Mason, in that the result Will engineers from her feels geared to force her to face what she’s taken on, to get up close and personal and really see.

(And of course, both murders bring some sort of freedom or moral catharsis, along with an intense self-recognition that can’t be found through the complacency of more socially acceptable forms of justice.)

Furthermore, in 3B, Will himself is engaged in a similar kind of thought process. In his conversation with Walter, he’s pretty firm on not killing Dolarhyde, and sending him to a mental hospital instead. And given Will’s arc at this point in the show, it’s pretty intuitive that this intention is a product of Will not wanting to be the kind of person who kills - an intention that is arguably also present for both Alana and Chiyoh. All three do have genuine ethical objections to murder as well, of course - I can pretty easily formulate all of them feeling that fewer people dying is an optimal outcome. But their personal conceptions of themselves are certainly also a factor in their disavowal of murder.

But the culmination of the Red Dragon arc, in which Will and Hannibal jointly kill Dolarhyde, is clearly much more preferable end for Dolarhyde. The way it’s cinematically rendered, with the blood fanning out in the shape of wings, suggests that murder constituted his ultimate transformation, in which his true sense of himself was fully realized. Although defeated, undergoing change to fuel our main characters’ radiance is a much more poetically resonant and satisfying ending, and it’s hard to imagine any other way he’d rather lose. Aesthetics > ethics.

Of course, in real life, I don’t believe that killing people - even genuinely bad people who’ve caused serious harm - is a remotely acceptable ethical solution. But within the world of Hannibal, a world in which the killers conceive of themselves in terms of artistic vision, for whom psychiatric language and its corrective purpose is nowhere near sufficient - by the internal moral logic of that universe, murder is often more merciful, and displays much more genuine understanding and empathy.

All of this is to say, I think Chiyoh’s arc can be figured within these broader themes in season 3. And the lesson she learned from Hannibal - and by extension, Will - from her intervention with justice is much the same as the lesson that Bedelia learned from Hannibal: that observing and participating are the same. Taking on the responsibility of enacting justice, in the world of Hannibal, requires becoming the executioner.