#and criminally low numbers of fics on ao3

[stabble]

"Did you know Monk has old man yaoi?" I say.

"Who is Old Man Yaoi?" my brother asks. There are many ways I can respond, and they are all funny. Unfortunately, I'm too busy laughing in his face.

[sugarwarachan]

title: better than most to say the least

pairing: dabi x reader (also on ao3)

wc: oops this is almost 3k

CWs: soulmate!au, fem!reader, slight angst if you squint, no condoms used (wrap it up in real life yall), Dabi's a little mean, reader's a little into it, the unbearable burden of being seen, i haven't written fic in years be gentle

Dabi doesn’t care about much. You can’t in the sort of world he inhabits. It’s much easier to scorch the earth behind you than to plan for good things to come. So he’s furious when he hears your voice, a real soft and low number, like a siren out in the fucking fog, say, “That’ll be ¥500.”

His brother laughed when the soul mark activated; even at the age of three, he’d known just how mundane the words were. Part of him had laughed as well; maybe you and he would laugh about it, too, when you met. The laughter died in his throat when he saw his father’s disapproving face.

He looks down at the packaged onigiri in something like disbelief. Your face is starting to express apprehension. He still hasn’t said anything, and it doesn’t even look like he’ll pay. He’s not surprised you’re weirded out, and fuck, something is pressing against his chest, like a buoy rising up, pulling him to the surface so he can finally suck down oxygen.

He feels fucking free, giddy with it. You’re real. He never once imagined you would be.

The grin that cracks his face must look a touch maniacal because your eyes widen, and he watches you press yourself against the counter as he says, “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, princess?”

He’s not all that pleasant to look at.

You know that’s not a nice thing to think, especially about your soul mate, but you can’t help that your first thought upon seeing the guy was holy fucking shit what happened to you?

A moment ago, he was glaring at you, and now he’s radiating a nervous energy that puts you on edge. It’s like he thinks you’ll disappear the moment he takes his eyes off you.

You’re no criminal, but you’re no hero, either. You’ve got a quirk that makes most people wary of you, so your nonsense detector is finely tuned, and fuck, your soul mate is definitely the kind of dude who ends up on the other side of those hero compilations your coworker streams on her lunch break.

“Not done talking to me, are you?” He pouts, pushing out his lips and pulling at the staples in his face. His voice is nice. It relaxes you somehow, even when every nerve in your body is shrieking in alarm.

“Where’s yours?”

This throws him. A part of you doesn’t like forcing his hand like this, but another part of you thinks this could be a really convenient trap.

“Your soul mark?” You tap the side of your wrist. “Mine’s along the radial bone.”

He reaches over the till to grab your arm, pulling you closer. You yelp in protest. His touch is hot, familiar. You’re grateful no one else is in the store right now. Explaining this to yourself is going to be enough of a hassle later on.

There’s a menace in his voice when he addresses you. “You think I’m a liar?”

You don’t, actually. Even without the soul mark you would take this man at his word.

“No. But you’ve been in here a whole lot, and I’m a naturally suspicious person. So, pony up and show me.”

You’ve gotta be smart about this. Heroes and villains alike would do a lot to get a person with your quirk on their side, and you’re not so naïve as to think that soul marks can’t be discovered and used against you.  

He grins, and you feel it like a twist to the gut. This guy might actually kill you; you don’t really know. But something—the little bond between the tug of you that threaded your lives together the moment he opened his mouth—is already tugging at your brain for answers, for knowledge, all to better assemble who your soulmate is.

“We’ve gotta go somewhere safe for me to do that, doll.” He leers at you, and you wonder if he’s trying to intimidate, trying to imprint on your brain that, yes, he is, in fact, dangerous. “You’re just gonna have to take my word for it.”

Fat fucking chance.

You don’t take him at his word. You call him every name he’s ever heard and then some, and then you close your eyes and hum, and a feeling like sugared caramel slides into his head. Fuck is he floating? he thinks before he crumples to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

When he comes to, his head is splitting. He’s sitting in what he assumes is the store’s backroom, judging by the shelves lined with cleaning products. You’re on a crate watching him with an annoyed expression, lips kicked out in a pout. It draws attention to the fullness of your lower lip. He tries not to notice.

“You could have just shown me,” you grouse.

“And miss out on the chance to have you hit me with your quirk? What kind of masochist would I be then?”

He doesn’t know what you’re doing as a cashier, but it’s safe to say you’re hiding. He has no idea what you did to him, but just before he’d knocked out, he remembered the first time he mastered the flames, that sticky-sweet feeling of hope in his chest. He has no idea how you managed to dig that out after all these years.

You shrug, ignoring him.

“Too good to fucking explain?” he snaps.

You saw something vulnerable, so personal that not even the league knows he has those thoughts, those memories. If he could scrub them from your brain, he would.

“I can make you dream,” you snap back. “When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in my own head. It worried my parents. They got me tested because they thought I was quirkless. The doctor said I had a minor empathy quirk. Nothing to worry about. What kid wouldn’t want the advantage of knowing how others feel?”

You clench your hands.

“I didn’t know if I could implant a dream into someone’s head, but I spun that dream the night before, and my parents were never the wiser. Up until the day they died, they never knew I’d planned out that scenario already and made that man lie to them.”

He’s floored. He can’t believe you’re willingly offering up such valuable information to him. What would Shigaraki do with you, he wonders, before a violent pain follows the thought. No, Shigaraki isn’t getting his hands on you. He doesn’t exactly know what happens to the things that kid collects for his master.

“Not at the top of the list for hero candidates?”

Your lips pull back in a sneer before you realize. You’re bad at hiding your feelings, he realizes, something that makes him feel oddly protective. You’ll need to get better at that.

He turns his hands out, palms up. A thin blue flame erupts. You jump, but your eyes don’t leave his.

“We’re gonna need to move, sweets. Neither one of us is exactly hero material.”

He takes you to a sorry excuse for a safe house because it’s just some guy on vacation who was stupid enough to leave a spare key behind, but it works in a pinch. He can’t take you to the league just yet. He already barely knows you, and there he would have to split your time with everyone else.

You’re standing in the doorway like a spooked animal. That you agreed to come is shocking in itself, but then again, he would have followed you into a coffin if you asked it of him. Maybe there was something to those soul mate stories Toga pretended not to read after all. He thought the whole bond thing was exaggerated, but maybe not.

He clenches his jaw and grabs a beer from the fridge.

“I’m not gonna fucking hurt you. You can take the bedroom,” he says, even though he wants you to sit next to him, to look at him, to share something again the way you had in the storeroom. But you’re already shuffling away, and before he knows it, the door shuts with a click, and he’s alone in the dark.

Confirmed villain.

It took you all of two seconds to search the web for League of Villains and/or criminal activity across the country, and bam, there he is, menacing even in blurry camera footage.

You stare up at the ceiling and wonder if you should be horrified at yourself that this confirmation changes nothing. He’s just your soulmate, for better or for worse.

And you’re a coward for sitting in here rather than performing the simple task of sharing a drink with him.

The blue glow of the television lights up the living room. He’s moved to the couch, long legs spread open, arms resting along the back. Desire drops low in your stomach at the sight, an almost innate need flashing in your body to climb into his lap.

He catches your eye and smirks like he can read your thoughts. You blush furiously. “Did you realize hiding doesn’t solve shit?”

“Shut up,” you retort, like a child, which makes him laugh. It’s a nice laugh. A little subdued, you think, but warm, hard-won. You don’t imagine he laughs often.

When you settle down next to him, he seems to barely register, but something in you knows he’s pleased. You curl toward the feeling like a cat seeking a sunbeam.  

“Really, though. What made you come out?”

Looking him in the eye is a mistake. He has beautiful eyes, a cerulean blue that puts the sky to shame.

“I don’t like running from things,” you manage. You were wrong to think he wasn’t pretty. “What’s your name?”

He snorts. “You’ve gotta know it, doll, didn’t you spend ten minutes in there panic-searching for violent crime?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d still like to be introduced.”

“It’s Dabi.”

You raise a brow. “That’s it?”

“For now. I’ll tell you the real one later, okay?”

“Fine.”

He’s watching compilation videos of pro heroes, the footage flickering on the walls around you.

“This is what you do in your spare time?”

He shrugs. “Just what was on.”

You don’t believe that for a second, but it’s fine, because you’re a liar, too. You’d do anything to avoid painful topics, like the possibility that your soulmate already has plans outside of you that you won’t be able to change.

“You know, your words used to get me in a lot of trouble,” you say, to get you back into familiar territory.

He smiles, like that pleases him. You bet it does.

“Oh yeah? What sort of trouble?”

“Just the usual. Your soulmate has a potty mouth, your soul mate’s probably a villain…”

His shoulder tenses against you. You don’t remember scooting closer, but the sheer fucking heat of him is searing into your skin.

You want him. If you’re being honest, you’ve probably wanted him since he first appeared in the store. The part of you that doesn’t exactly abide by societal standards saw a kindred flame in him.

“That sort of thing used to bother me when I was a kid, I guess. But the older I got, the more I realized how much I liked them.”

Your hands ache to touch him. His thigh tenses alongside yours.

“What do you like about them now?” he asks.

You have a whole slew of thoughts in your head about them, the characteristics you assumed based on one little question, but for now all you can say is, “That you finally said them.”

He doesn’t know who moves first.

You tumble into his lap inelegantly, but he doesn’t care; he wants you closer. He’s wanted you closer since he arrived at this shitty studio apartment, has been trying to rein in the overwhelming feeling of possession swarming under his skin, but he wants.

He's a villain, and he’s never been good at waiting for what he wants.

His hands press into the meat of your hips, and he savors the little gasp you make. He’s hard as iron already and all you’ve done is settle your clothed cunt on top of him.

“You’re already fucking scorching, baby, can feel you through your fucking jeans,” he hisses, dragging you along his thigh. You whimper. “I know, fuck, I know, you’re driving me crazy, too.”

Your hands are everywhere, sliding over his scarred skin like you were born to it, fingers exploring the cool metal of his staples. You’re gentle but also not, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt in his entire life. You move to kiss him, your hips moving more and more, a desperate noise bubbling up in your throat.

“Please, Dabi, please.” You sound so fucked out, and he hasn’t even touched you all that much. “I wanna kiss you, don’t you wanna kiss me?”

He smirks. A little brat, begging for kisses.

He does want to kiss you, has been staring at the plushness of your lips for the better part of since he met you, but his mouth aches today.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna kiss me now,” you’re saying, tongue licking and tasting and sucking at his neck. He bucks against you. “We can feel good in other ways.”

The whimper that comes out of him feels ripped from his soul. His arms cage you closer, one palm snaking up to cup your neck, the other under your shirt.

Neither of you talk as you make quick work of each other’s clothes, discarding them to the floor. He tries not to feel insecure as you take in his body. Over the years, his appearance is as much a part of him as his past. He can’t shed either, no matter how much he might want to.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think you were pretty at first.”

You look so devastated that he can’t help but laugh.

“I don’t fucking care,” he says, pulling you to him and kissing you despite how much his lips ache, because fuck, he has someone, finally, and he’s so glad it’s you. “Just want you.”

He punctuates this by cupping your bare pussy with his hand. Just from grinding on him earlier, you’re slippery and warm, and his fingers part your folds easily. You sigh into his mouth as he rubs the pad of his thumb around the sides of your clit, huffing a laugh when your hips buck for more.

“Getting desperate for it, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you grit out. “Just fucking touch me –" you roll your hips forward – “like you fucking mean it.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll have you dumb on my cock before long.”

“Big fucking talk for a man who hasn’t even – “

He cuts you off by stuffing your pussy with two of his fingers, the stretch of it making you whine. You can feel the cool metal in the staples at the heel of his hand as he strokes, in and out, a steady and rough rhythm that feels impossibly good for it to just be fucking fingering.

“No one ever made you feel this way?” You can hear the smirk in his voice without even seeing him. Splayed out on his lap like this, your tits bouncing as you shift your body closer to him, you bet you look like a fucking mess. But you don’t care, because he's right, no one has ever made you feel like this, and it’s important to you that he feels just as fucking good.

His cock curves along his stomach, weeping pre-cum and jerking up whenever your voice hitches. You think it’s so hot, how in tune he already is with you, how much he wants to please you, that you grab him in the palm of your hand and stroke, relishing the groan that rumbles in his throat.

“No one ever made you feel this way?” you taunt. His eyes flash, and before you know it, you’re both on the ground, his hips slotting in between your legs and his cock notching up at your entrance. He looks up at you, pupils blown, chest heaving.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’ll fucking murder you –"

He cuts you off with one quick rock of his hips. You burn at the stretch. He’s big, and it’s been a while, but he’s already moving before you have time to process that little blip of pain before the pleasure is overwhelming you. You squeal when he lifts your hips up, but it’s just to slip a pillow under you before he’s manhandling your hips and fucking into you like a man possessed.

His breath is hot against your ear, whispering a litany of confessions while he drags his cock in and out. It’s so purposeful, you feel every stroke of him in your fucking skull. His pubic bone grinds against your clit with every thrust, and before you know it, you’re chanting praises, begging him to let you come.

He knows the neighbors will complain, that the safe house is absolutely busted, but he can’t fucking care, because your perfect little cunt is squeezing him like a vice, and your eyes are so blissful as you come that he feels, finally, at peace.

“That’s it, princess,” he says as your orgasm shatters through you. “Make a fucking mess, just for me, god yes –"

He comes so hard that his vision whites out. All he can feel and hear and see and think is you.

He collapses on top of you, nosing at the baby hairs damp with sweat along your neck. He smiles. Maybe later he’ll take you to a bed and tell you his real name.

[bippot]

Spencer Reid - Criminal Minds Masterlist

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

Taglist: @pnkmn, @adriansboyfriend, @s0ra-s0ra, @sleepysongbirdsings @libraprincessfairy

1) A Real Headscratcher I Tumblr I AO3 I

The two BAU younglings clearly feel something other than friendship towards each other. Despite how much Morgan and the rest of the team tease them, the dynamic duo progresses at their own adorable speed.

2) Angel in a Sweater Vest I Tumblr I AO3 I

Obligatory Professor Reid fic but without the weird age gap. When an artist takes one of Spencer’s courses for research for her comic book, he’s astounded by his lack of self-restraint.

3) Doppel I Tumblr I AO3 I

Working with his wife usually comes easy to Spencer, but when a woman identical to her is found dead, it becomes a little bit harder to deal with. Especially when she’s determined to find the guy by whatever means she has at her disposal.

4) Daffodils I Tumblr I AO3 I

Spencer’s mouth moves faster than his brain whenever he’s around the Film Studies professor. She’s smart. She’s cool. And he’s made a fool of himself in front of her. So, to save him from heartbreak, he’s decided he doesn’t like her. It’s a lie, and not a very good one.

5.1) Magic Hands I Tumblr I AO3 I

After being independent all his life, Spencer needs someone to lean on. He finds out how to when a pipe in his apartment burst and he needs to move in with his old pal. She’s been waiting for the chance to pamper and treat him the way he deserves.

5.2) Biological Warfare I Tumblr I AO3 I

Spencer is a germaphobe. He detests the thought of someone sneezing in his general area. There is an exception, though. He seems to be able to handle his girlfriend’s sick day without batting an eye.

5.3) Kiss And Make Up I Tumblr I AO3 I

On the outside, it seems as if Reid and his girlfriend have the perfect relationship. They never fight. She lavishes him with affection whenever he’s feeling low. And she gets along with his friends. But when their first argument finally comes, will they be able to get through it, or will this one bump be too much to handle?

6) Swiping Right I Tumblr I AO3 I

Penelope Garcia's parties are the number 1 spot for gossip, and Spencer Reid and the newbie seem to be the hot topic during this one thanks to an impulsive dating app swipe.

[olderthannetfic]

So, you mentioned low standards of research in podcasts. I don't listen to podcasts or watch a lot of videos about fandom analysis, but I have seen error corrections happening in the wild for what I have listened to, so I can only imagine how annoying it is when you know your shit.

Do you have any resources that come to mind as things everyone who likes fandom should be comfortable with, or specific essays on uniquely important fandoms (such as Sherlock Holmes or Star Trek) that everyone should read? Obviously the OTW resources are up there; what else?

Aside from resources, do you think there are any skills that are especially vital for getting to the bottom of fandom trends? Interview skills are probably pretty high up there.

Any pitfalls you see a lot of young fans falling into?

(I do a lot of fandom history research. It is the thing that gives me joy in fandom; other people like shipping or AUs, I like my little mini-anthropology sandbox and watching how ideas spread. I'm not necessarily good at it, but it's fun!)

--

Well... it's the usual things.

For example, a lot of fans claim to love fandom stats, but the ones that get passed around come from like three people. The people doing those stats, including me, don't usually have a statistics background, which doesn't automatically make them bad, but it really seems like people are just trusting anything with a pie chart.

We've recently seen people discover that those year-end AO3 ship stats have a seriously weird methodology. They don't show the thing their fans are actually trying to find out. People were pissed. But most of the time, they don't even bother asking what the methodology is or trying to do anything themselves.

There's far too much sitting back and waiting for some BNF to spoon feed one publicly-available information.

--

The big failings aren't usually the math itself but, of course, not knowing what question to ask, so it pertains to history research, not just stats.

You'll see a lot of stuff on shipping that looks at AO3 because AO3 shipping numbers are easy to pull... But AO3 shipping numbers don't just happen to be easy to pull: that is both an effect and a cause that is directly related to AO3's content. Someone interested in meta shouldn't be asking "What do AO3's numbers show?" as their first question. They should be asking "Why is this metadata available or not available and what does that mean on a sociological level?"

--

Thing two is the eternal I Have Apparently Never Heard of Anime problem. A fuckton of people theorizing about fandom trends seem to know fucking nothing about whole massive sectors of fandom or treat them as afterthoughts. This is okay if you're writing a history of Media Fandom. It is criminally stupid if you're trying to talk about what makes a piece of media have fic when another doesn't, what kinds of websites make fandoms take off, etc. Those kinds of broad questions need a broad understanding of what's out there.

It's not anime-specific, and I'm not asking for a high degree of knowledge.

I have routinely had people tell me that best friend ships and mystery/crime as a genre aren't popular, and that's why AO3 has this or that pattern... Meanwhile, buddy cops are the bedrock of oldschool slash fandom and make up basically all of the longest-running Western m/m fandoms that aren't Star Trek. CSI slop tends to have legions of future canon het shippers, and they make plenty of fanworks. It's just that some of this is more visible on FFN or older places, not AO3.

I'm always seeing things like someone speculating about how this and that anime fandom thing or bit of mid-00s FFN community drama led to this other thing on AO3, not realizing that AO3 came out of LJ Western fandom slash culture. To them, FFN is so central that it must be the main reference point, not the bajillion and one archives AO3 founders ran or Usenet or mailing lists or LJ.

I once saw someone asking on twitter about where a prominent Ranma fic might have been posted in the mid-90s. People claiming "My professor is an authority!" came out of the woodwork in droves to blither about K/S zines and then LJ. Not only was this entirely wrong, but the right answer was blindingly obvious if you knew enough to interpret the google results. I can only assume that the person tweeting had never heard of Usenet and didn't recognize the acronym for the big anime fanfic group that literally everything like this was first posted to.

I'm talking people insisting that fandom only goes for white characters when it's very obvious that fandom goes for majority leads who are not othered. All the bawwing in the world about "People assume anime characters are white" won't get rid of The Untamed or Kpop thirsters or whatever.

I'm talking sweeping pronouncements about gender and fanfic writers where the person hasn't even heard of FIMFiction or SpaceBattles or Dark Lord Potter cheesefests.

I've been in fandom for a long time, but I wasn't in all these parts, and I wasn't around for 80s zines. You don't need deep knowledge until you pick a research topic. But it's shocking how little shallow, broad knowledge a lot of people have when they're writing their Theory Of All Of Fandom History.

--

People are stupid as shit about survivorship bias, and fandom history is no exception. They're also dumb in the opposite direction, assuming that the thing they like now has always existed in this exact form.

For example, someone got mad at Fanlore for supposedly not documenting the history of f/f zines. Others have searched and searched for the zines of their old show they got into last year and are bewildered to not find any. The reality is that Fanlore editors are attempting to document every Media Fandom zine and have combed through old adzines looking for any mention of anything. Because of the methods of distribution—because it was expensive—small fandoms often had no zines at all.

Femslash fandom doesn't seem to have gotten enough critical mass to do much until Xena. The internet has really democratized things, but even the early internet was still somewhat in that old mindset where only certain popular things have a fandom. I think Yuletide itself, which started in 2003, really helped spread the idea of rare-but-existing fandoms being a thing. FFN and perhaps some other multifandom archives like Media Miner played a huge role.

Nowadays, we think of fic as just how you respond to media, any media, even if there are only two fics for that one car commercial, but that isn't how people saw things in every era—or at least it's not how fandom infrastructure worked. A lot of the time, the big hosting spots were single-fandom archives, often with restrictive content rules. Finding somewhere to post a m/m/f OT3 fic used to be hard. Never mind early zines when photocopiers didn't even exist yet and you had to sell out your print run of 500 to make a go of it.

All good research starts with a lot of preliminary investigation to figure out what you're even trying to look for.

Actually bothering to look for fans talking about their own history or casually chatting with your interview subjects before the formal interview will put a person miles ahead of many of the cringeworthy fandom ~papers~ I've seen.

The biggest mistake people make is going "Okay, these numbers aren't perfect, but some numbers are better than no numbers".

Bullshit.

As soon as there's a pie chart of the false numbers, everyone's brain turns off and they never look at the chart subtitle, never mind the research notes.

Bad numbers are often worse than no numbers.

Look at the logic behind the methodology first. Look at the social context. Basic understanding of human nature and familiarizing oneself with the shape and hangout locations of a community will get you most of the way there before you sit down for a specific interview or try to collect any specific numbers.

--

None of this is a fandom thing. Research is research. It's just that most people think "research" means watching a tiktok that the algorithm likes and were never taught how to evaluate a source for reliability.

Evaluating sources is a skill. I had explicit lessons on it in school. Lots of people don't, and that sucks.

Honestly, watching the more thoughtful debunking content on non-fandom topics, like Miniminuteman's stuff on pseudo-archaeology or Dan Olson's... everything, is a good window into critical thinking, and that's most of what's missing from bad fandom history.

--

But more than any of that, more is more. Not the crap stats, but the narrower, more personal accounts, the interviews. The more fans who investigate their little corner that isn't the same old AO3 site-wide "Why is there so much m/m?" ship stats or the same canned "Everything comes from K/S" history, the better.

What I object to is not amateur efforts but efforts that pull from the same small pool of data or that just reblog a tiny handful of supposed authorities.

--

If people are going to read just one thing... hmm... go try to look up a history of rec.arts.anime.creative, not because I think it's the most important fandom history out there but because it's at the nexus of things a lot of current fandom history work miss.

[kwamiwayzz]

Why Jeckole (Jecka/Nicole) is the Most Popular Ship of Class of '09 - Part I

Or: Part I should be renamed to why is Aricole or Emicole not as popular as Jeckole?

After being in this community for sometime, and even waffling in-between thinking whether I still like this ship versus thinking they're just a repackaged, white American-version of another ship I love - that's another discussion for later, dear lord, I wanted to put all my thoughts down somewhere to why I think Jecka and Nicole have dominated as the most popular pairing within the Class of '09 fandom.

Disclaimer: I don't want this to be a whole post saying, "Jeckole is the best4eva, Emicole and Aricole sUX XD" but more of an explanation breaking down why this ship in particular is one that most of the fandom has gravitated towards when getting into Class of'09. After all, there has to be some reason to why it's still persisted among fans (old and new). There was even a Jeckole Week 2025 despite the fandom slowly fizzling out after Flip Side's release.

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, time to dig into the popularity of SBN's most hated pairing. I haven't been in an English/Writing class since college, and it's been so long since I've ever written an essay, so let's hope (all my jumbled thoughts) everything I try to explain sounds coherent enough.

To the fans surprise (at least if you didn't know anything about SBN), he never wrote the interactions among all the girls with any queer subtext in mind. He mostly did it for 1) money, and 2) a way to get his fixation on teenage girls/lesbians out somewhere...The guy is a freak (and not in a good way). It's only a miracle that his game got this much traction and popularity.

He ended up playing himself because what else should he expect when his most hated pairing is one that the fandom loves. People can come up with all sorts of arguments as to how this game blowing up on TikTok led to teenage lesbians missing the point of the games or running off everything out of context and yadda, yadda, yadda...And maybe there is some validity in those arguments as well.

But at the end of the day, it doesn't change the fact that Jecka and Nicole became the most popular ship even after SBN was "baiting" fans.

Shipping isn’t an unpredictable beast that grows completely independently of its source material. The ways writers craft interactions between their characters–and the places where they invest the most and infuse the most life–are powerful tools that impact how fans view and come to love seeing characters both separately and in romantic relationships. (Why Do Non-Canon Ships Become So Popular - And Why Should Writers Rethink When They Do? by sarehptar on AO3)

Fanart numbers is a completely different story, so I'm going to put that aside for now.

Starting with AO3 stats, Jeckole overshadows the other ships as one of the "Big 3" (Big 3 being Jeckole, Aricole, Emicole). On the left, it's the general numbers of pairs you could filter from. While on the right, it's after filtering the tags with "otp: true"

But wait...why are Ari and Nicole fics so criminally low compared to the monster of a ship that is Jeckole, when Aricole is considered canon? This same question can be applied to Emily and Nicole. Why does Jecka and Nicole still overshadow the other two pairs even though both Ari and Emily have canonically expressed romantic interest in Nicole in their respective routes?

[Full Text of Emily's Message Below]

you wont see this cuz they make us turn our phones off but i just want to write this for me. I'm glad we are dying together it just feels right and I can't think of anyone i would rather do it with. I may as well write this too... i am super fucking gay for you sorry i lied in the hallway and didn't tell u before we shared a bed and changed in front of each other. idk if that's rape or whatever but if it is sorry lol. i can die fulfilled cuz dying together with another girl is a bigger commitment than some soft ass bitch getting married to jack the construction worker or some other boring white guy who cant pronounce Beanie Sigel. but ya if you pass out first I'm gonna try to fall over on you so it looks like were cuddling <3

I think one explanation for this is that Ari and Emily's canonical romantic interest in Nicole, along with most of their interactions with her, are primarily isolated into one route. For Ari, this is through the Hate Crime/Abusive Exes Ending. While for Emily, this is through the Suicide Pact Ending. That's not to say that shippers can't fuel themselves off crumbs and scraps until the end of time--look at one of Aricole's most well-known artists, Misan. But when taking a peek into the Class of '09 fandom from an outside perspective, the first ship you'll most likely come across is Jeckole. Even some people who like Aricole, Emicole, or some rarepairs, tend to be multishippers who universally think Jeckole is a good pairing.

As I've mentioned in previous discussions with a few people on Tumblr, Jecka and Nicole's interactions span throughout all three games in multiple routes. Nicole's interactions with Jecka aren't confined to just one or two routes. It's understandable why others would see their interactions as that of your typical best friends trope. And that's completely fine too--I actually initially saw them as just that until I decided to try the game out on a whim one day.

However, after reading an essay from sarehptar (Echodrops on Tumblr), they mention something about "emotional energy" within a story:

When I talk about “emotional energy,” I don’t necessarily mean romantic emotions (and in fact, in the case of most non-canon ships, I don’t mean romantic emotions at all!). Rather, what I mean is the weight, power, and dynamism of the myriad emotions characters express for one another, including friendship/camaraderie, trust, reliance, frustration, anger, hatred, sadness, etc. For the purposes of this discussion, emotional energy is any of the meaningful emotional interactions that two characters share–especially those which drive the main plot of a story.

I figured in the context of Nicole and Jecka in the VNs, it made sense as to why many fans gravitated towards them compared to the side pairings. This isn't to say that Nicole doesn't have emotional energy with Emily or Ari. There's a reason why Aricole and Emicole are one of the main pairings of the fandom. However, among the three main leads that Nicole interacts with, there's only one person who she centers herself around (and vice versa to an extent).

And that's Jecka.

(Screenshot from the Anime Pilot because look how much of a wet cat Nicole is trying to win Jecka's favor back)

In every single route from the original game, Jecka is always introduced to Nicole no matter what choice she makes. Whether this is after talking to Crispin or Jeffery at the beginning of the game, she always ends up running into Jecka either way.

(Screenshots Below - On the left is on Nicole's first day of school. On the right is on Nicole's second day of school if she didn't meet Jecka on the first day.)

In both instances of her first meeting with Jecka, Nicole was readily available to give out her name to this girl she just met despite having the mindset that any bonds she makes will be completely pointless. She even goes on to talk about herself and her issues with her brother to Jecka within the first two days she's met her.

"But Nicole is probably just doing that because Jecka is a more tolerable option!"

That could be true, but the player doesn't get the same kind of introduction between Nicole and Emily, Nicole and Ari, or Nicole and any other student. With Jeffery, she was only messing with him. By the time Nicole interacts with Emily in Re-Up, they're already friends. I think they're already somewhat-acquainted before the Remedial English (Suicide Pact/Get Ms. Ames Fired) Route.

By the time Nicole interacts with Ari in Re-Up, they already know each other (though, Nicole finds her a bit of an annoyance). Ari also falls for Nicole quickly after their session with the counselor while Nicole is primarily in power once they start to date.

I don't want to make it sound like I'm dismissing the other two pairings when I bring up other scenes and interactions between Jecka and Nicole. You can view them as just best friends (or even friends-of-convenience), while seeing Nicole's relationship with Ari or Emily as a more valid romantic option, and that's okay. But the examples I'm going to talk about are to give insight on why this non-canon ship is so popular within the fandom despite never canonically expressing any romantic feelings towards one another.

(Side Note: I've probably re-read sarehptar/Echodrops's essay more times than I can count in the past few days)

To get this out of the way, I'm going to get into why Aricole and Emicole are often overshadowed by Jeckole.

You can argue that Nicole does center herself around Ari or Emily, depending on which route you choose in Re-Up. In the Date Ari Route, Nicole is constantly with her girlfriend (mostly abusing her), but that sense of push-and-pull isn't exactly as apparent. It's more of Nicole pulling, and Ari being pulled.

While I've seen arguments that Ari's more manipulative side can be seen from the Rejection Route, it still has the same vibe as the Date Ari Route except Ari is the one pulling, while Nicole is being pulled. I've seen fans love this aspect of this ship, and it all boils down to preferences. But that lack of push-pull within canon is probably why it's not on the same level of popularity as Jeckole. (That doesn't make Aricole a bad ship. Do not come for me!) Ari and Nicole aren't shown in canon to be equally on par in keeping up with one another.

The tension between them either leans more towards one character or the other, depending on which route the player goes for (Hate Crime or Abusive Exes). This is why some fans do the work themselves and combine aspects of both of these routes to get a more "equal playing-field" Aricole.

Okay, so if Aricole feels like a pull-and-be-pulled dynamic, then wouldn't Emily and Nicole be on more equal ground? They both have similar backgrounds with mental health issues and are both pretty unhinged people. Like others have said, they're the epitome of, "They make each other worse."

During Suicide Pact in Re-Up, Emily mentions how she planned to flush all her Seroquel down the toilet after feeling the adrenaline rush of everything she did when spending time with Nicole. This entire route has them fucking around, skipping remedial, making Jeffery's life worse--and they both get a rush from that. But when Nicole starts to see how unmedicated/unfiltered Emily actually is, she starts to get a little scared of her.

This duo starts out as if they're on equal ground, but the moment Emily turns into her unmedicated BPD-self, Nicole just gets pulled into whatever Emily does so that she doesn't piss her off. And I figure that Nicole's fear (and respect) of Emily is why she didn't try to save her, and only saved herself when they both planned to overdose in Ms. Ames class.

What is it that both Emily and Ari have in common despite having canonical romantic feelings for Nicole? Both of their dynamic with Nicole feel almost one-sided. I don’t just mean with their romantic feelings, I also mean with their dynamic in general.

“The games aren’t meant to be a dating sim!”

Yeah I know. But when Nicole doesn’t interact with Ari all that much, they’re neither focal points to each other’ narratives at all. The same can be said for Emily.

With Jecka, Nicole is almost always with her. They skip class together, they do drugs together, they got into a situation where they pissed off a mall cop, etc, etc. I also want to point out that Jecka is often the first person that Nicole goes to when she’s bored, wants someone to talk to, or wants to hang around, and is willing to (kinda of) change for. However, while the part about Nicole “changing” is a stretch, canonically-speaking, I was going to try and go more in-depth with that in Part II.

When Nicole isn’t around Jecka, Jecka ends up going back to her shallow high school friendships (like with Kelly), but admits to Nicole that she only sat with Kelly so she isn't alone. So…they’re both in the same boat and drive each other’s narratives of trying to survive the bullshit of high school through each other.

Anyway, this wasn’t meant to be a formal analysis at all, but I think I went a bit too far to the point where my brain feels absolutely fried now. I’m just hoping this doesn’t come across as ship-bashing when comparing Nicole’s dynamic with both Ari and Emily.

Who knows how long Part II will take me lol.

[multifandomfanficss]

A Classic Sick Fic

Hughie Campbell x sick!supe!reader

Prompt: You’re sick and Hughie forces you to let him take care of you.

Warnings: vomit, other general cold and flu symptoms, inability to breathe

A/N: I’m sick and I just want Hughie to hold me and for some reason I’m unable to figure out why there is a criminally low number of fics for Hughie. I think he’s really neat. He is so special to me. Being the change I want to see in the world or whatever. Please don’t judge any typos I’m so ill. I envisioned this sometime during season 2. Let’s pretend Annie isn’t there for a sec. (I love her tho she is my girlfriend and he is my boyfriend and we are all happy and in love in my silly little head.) Crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hughie asked again, while you coughed for probably the millionth time.

“Yeah I’m fine.” You weren’t fine. In truth your cough and endless runny nose were driving you insane. You hated being sick. You couldn’t stand your body not feeling the way it usually does.

“You look miserable- well not to say you look bad, well you do look bad, but not in the way that- I’m gonna just stop talking before I dig myself into a bigger whole.” He shifts awkwardly.

“It’s okay, Hughie. I feel like shit.” You sigh, well as much of as sigh as your body can let out while your nose is this stuffy.

“Can I do anything to help?” He asks.

A hug. You really wanted a hug, but you didn’t want to get him sick. You also didn’t know how to ask without making it awkward. You didn’t really know what you and Hughie were. You felt like more than just friends, but you’d never talked about it. It was hard when you were on the run from Vought. If you were being honest you couldn’t really even afford to be sick right now. If you were sick, you couldn’t use your powers and Butcher wouldn’t want to keep around a useless supe. It’s already pretty useless enough that you can even get sick. Other supes are bulletproof.

“No, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.” You fake a smile, coughing again.

“No can do. I never stop worrying about you.” He smiles, but his tone is very serious. A blush creeps up on your face, but it’s easy to mistake your cheeks heating up for a fever.

You start to cough again, but this time it doesn’t stop. You have a coughing fit that leaves you gasping for air. You reflexively reach out for Hughie’s arm. He takes your hand in his, rubbing your back with his other hand.

“It’s okay. Just breathe. Let me help you for once.” He gives your hand a light squeeze. You nod, tears coming to your eyes.

“Trash can!” You yell between coughs. Hughie acts quickly, bringing the trash can to your lap.

“Woah, hey it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He holds your hair back, continuing to rub circles on your back. “Just breathe. Take your time.”

“I’m- so- sorry!” You struggle to get out the words while your hurl into the can.

“Don’t be sorry. You can’t control it. Just let it out. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying to help you through this. I lost count a long time ago of the amount of times you saved my ass. Let me help you. I promise you, I’ve had to deal with much grosser substances for this team than a little vomit.” His calming voice talks you through it, yapping along like this is a totally normal position to be in. Maybe it was. You didn’t know. You weren’t used to anyone caring this much.

“I’ll be right back.” He got up and quickly went to get you some water. You hated being alone, even for a minute, but you gladly took the water. It felt cool on your irritated throat.

“Drink it slowly.” He lets out a soft chuckle, seeing you start to gulp down the water. You slow down at his advice. You know if you drink it too fast you’ll get sick again.

“I’m so fucking tired.” Once you’ve recovered Hughie starts to pull you down into the bed.

“That’s okay. Just rest.” He attempts.

“I can’t. There’s too much going on.” You try to fight your fatigue. Hughie lays down pulling you into his arms. “I don’t wanna get you sick.”

“I’ve got a pretty good immune system. I’m not worried about getting sick. I know our entire world is like kinda imploding, but if you don’t rest you won’t be able to help anyone.” He tries to bargain. You also can’t deny how warm he is, or how your body just melts into his. He’s so comfortable. Laying with him is probably the calmest your brain has felt in weeks. “It’s okay to take a break, (Y/N). Even when the world is falling a part around you, if you don’t stop to take a break you’ll fall a part with it. Trust me. I learned that the hard way. Just relax. Close your eyes. I’m going to stay here and make sure things stay okay as long as we need them to for you to get better.”

You finally stop fighting it and close your eyes. You’re drifting in and out of sleep when you feel Hughie place a kiss on your forehead. Everything will be okay. It has to be.

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Oath (Vampire!Karen Page)

Summary: Vampire!Karen just in time for Halloween!!!! If anyone plays Marvel Strike Force, they just introduced an original character named Oath who is a Vampire version of Karen Page. I was thus inspired. Also features Matt and Frank.

Warnings: Brief mentions of criminal men who have assaulted women, typical vampire stuff like drinking blood.

WC: 1875 

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen crouched low, taking in the scene before him in the cold alleyway.

The man in front of him was dead. Everything flooding Matt’s senses indicated he had died in the last few hours, except for one chilling detail. His body laid there cold as stone, as if he had been dead for days. From the smell of him, he had been totally drained of all his blood with minimal bodily injury. Just like five others Matt had found this week alone.

Finding victims in a state such as this would have led Matt to conclude something like The Hand was back in New York. But a few things about these bodies didn’t add up to The Hand.

When Matt came upon victim number 3, the police had already arrived at the scene. He overheard Detective Mahoney telling some officers the guy was a known criminal. In addition to the extensive counts of misdemeanors he’d been charged with in his life; when he was 21, he was taken in for the rape of a teenage girl he coached at a summer camp. At 28, tried for beating his girlfriend badly enough she was left with a concussion. And just last week, arrested again for robbing and assaulting a female cashier at a bodega.

The scent of apple and cinnamon lingered on the skin of all five victims. Not exactly like The Hand to leave a trace so… feminine. It was such a familiar smell though. Matt couldn’t quite place where he’d come across it before.

Maybe there was a new vigilante on the scene - hell bent on revenge against men who harmed women. Maybe just a plain old serial killer. But it all didn’t add up.

“Nother one huh, Red? Shit, that’s the third one I’ve found like that this month.” the gruff voice cut through the silence

Matt cocked his head as he rose to face the source of the voice.

“You know Frank, at first glance I’d have thought this was you. But even you aren’t this… brutal.”

“Ain’t wrong. He is my type. But nah… everytime I try to find one of these scums, they end up like this. Someone’s beatin’ me to the punch and I ain’t exactly thrilled about it.”

“Me either. You find any clues?”

“All of ‘em have been covered in wounds. Tiny ones. Ain’t ever seen a knife that could make marks that small and neat. But other than that, no sign of who mighta…”

The sound of sirens screeching down the block interrupted the conversation and the men nodded to each other.

“See ya round, Red.” The Punisher said, retreating down the alleyway.

“You too, Frank. Call me if you find anything.”

Matt leapt to the nearest fire escape and down the block into the night.

Matt tried to will away the pounding in his head as his fingers traced over the same sentence for the third time. He was wearing himself thin; thinner than usual. Between his usual night time activities, figuring out these bodies he’d been finding, and running the law firm, his sanity was wearing away quickly.

“Long night last night?” Karen’s melodic question cut through Matt’s mental fog as he jerked his head towards where she stood in the doorway

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Want some coffee? I’m meeting Foggy at the courthouse to pull some files but we could grab you some on the way back?”

“Yeah, Karen. I’d appreciate that.” he replied and turned his attention back to his work

“You wanna talk about it, or…”

“No. It’s um… other job stuff.”

Even though Foggy and Karen had known Matt’s secret for years now, he didn’t like to share details unless it involved something they could help with legally. He didn’t want to worry them, plus if he ever got found out, the less they knew the more protected they’d be.

“Right.” Karen said with a nod and turned toward the door. She grabbed her jacket and umbrella and called out through the office

“Be back in about an hour.”

Matt grinned as he took in the scent of her cinnamon perfume as she left, laced with a hint of… apple.

Matt cocked his head as he listed, spooked by how familiar the smell was to that of the mystery victims he’d come across.

He listened to her footsteps down the hall and out the door. As she walked down the street, he realized; he couldn’t hear her heartbeat.

Matt waited for hours, crouched on the roof of the warehouse as the rain soaked through his crimson suit and chilled his flesh.

The files he snuck out of Karen’s bag indicated this is where he might find another criminal - and it added up to where he could find her. The man’s record matched all the others, a long history of violence against innocent people, somehow getting out of any punishment, repeating his offenses recently. It was only a matter of time…

Matt could hear the screech of tires as the worn down van slowed to a stop on the wet pavement. The man Matt was waiting for stepped out, shielding himself from the downpour as he rushed towards the warehouse. Just as he reached out his hand to open the door, a figure appeared from the shadow and as fast as the lightning painting the sky, tackled him to the damp ground.

Matt sprung forward, leaping from the roof and landing with a roll in front of the scene. The figure rose and turned towards him, blood dripping from her mouth and mixing with the raindrops running down her face. The man she held to the ground screamed as he struggled in her grasp, but she easily kept him pinned beneath her.

“Matt? What are you? No, you weren’t supposed to…”

“Karen… what? What is going on? What happened?”

He removed the glove from his trembling hand and reached it towards her, but she shunned away.

“You can’t save me anymore, Matt. Please go.”

“No, I won’t. Why didn’t you tell me? Let me and Foggy help?”

“Because you can’t.”

“This isn’t who you are Karen. You’re not a killer.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

She turned back towards her prey and sunk her teeth into his flesh once more, draining the little blood he had left and he stilled beneath her. Matt shuddered as he listened to the man’s heartbeat fade.

Karen rose once more and wiped the remaining blood from her face, finally taking Matt’s outstretched hand.

Matt’s apartment had always been a place of comfort for Karen. Ever since that first night they met when he brought her back here on a rainy night just like this. The sweater he lent her brushed against her pale skin but it did not warm her. Nothing could now.

“So…” Matt finally spoke, cutting through the silence.

The mug of tea he made for her sat untouched on the coffee table as she stared out the window, watching the billboard paint the apartment in pink and orange.

“It happened… about a month ago.” she began her story, soft voice echoing off the high ceilings of the loft

“I was at Mrs. Perez’s apartment, the woman we helped file against her neighbor for the dog bite. I was getting the paperwork from her doctor about her injuries. I know I shouldn’t have been out so late, I should have called you or got a cab. It was stupid of me.”

She let out a deep sigh and continued.

“Anyway, I left her place just before midnight. I felt… eerie. Like I was being followed. I had my hand on my gun in my purse as I walked but just before I got to my block, he attacked me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see his face. I shot him twice, but the bullets just bounced right off. Next thing I knew, his teeth were in my neck and I could feel myself dying. I knew it.”

Matt raised his eyebrows.

“Dying?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what happened?”

“I don’t remember.” she continued “It all faded away, like I was drifting in a black abyss. When I woke up, I was still laying on the street. I didn’t know how I wasn’t dead. The sun was rising but it felt like it was burning my skin. I ran home. I called in sick for a few days and just slept. But I had this hunger… this urge.”

“To do what?”

“Feed. I was just running on instinct. I walked the street all night that night. I didn’t know where I was going, I just knew I needed to clear my head. I stopped outside this bar. Kind of a gross looking place. And there was this man, practically dragging this woman out of there. She was out of it. Like someone had done something to her drink. I don’t know what overcame me but I just… attacked. Drank him until he was dry. Then I felt better. For a few days. Until it came back.”

“You drank his blood?”

“Yeah.”

“Karen… that’s insane. That’s…” Matt reached out his hand to comfort Karen, but all he was met with was ice cold skin.

“I don’t know why he didn’t finish the job, why he changed me… But I know I can’t go back. This is who I am now. Like I said, I don’t have a choice. I’m not human any more, I’m something else.”

Matt sat in stunned silence. He had dealt with weird shit before; all The Hand’s ancient reincarnation rituals, the Avengers fighting aliens down the block, hearing half the city’s heartbeats disappearing then coming back five years later. But this, this was something he couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

“I figured if I need to feed, might as well take out a few people who deserve it along the way.”

“You’re starting to sound like Frank now…”

“Yeah… well.” Karen shrugged “I can’t do the double life thing like you Matt. I’ve been trying, but I can’t I’m too different now.”

Matt nodded, knowing there was no changing her mind. Karen rose from her seat, giving Matt a kiss on his forehead before heading for the foyer.

“Goodbye Matt.” she whispered as she closed the door behind her.

The man’s exhales were labored as he ran, glancing behind him every so often in panic.

He stopped to catch his breath, hands on his knees, when a shadow appeared over him. He lept back in surprise, the white skull staring him directly in the face.

“Look man…” he stuttered in a panic “I don’t want trouble with The Punisher. Please.”

Frank shoved the man into the brick behind him.

“Ain’t me you gotta worry about, asshole.”

The man glanced over Frank’s shoulder at the woman who had appeared, a devilish grin painted on her face as she stared him down.

“Her? What’s she gonna do?”

Karen bared her fangs and leapt forward, Frank stepping out of her way so she could take his place.

“Have at ‘em, sweetheart.” he nodded, watching as Oath sank her teeth into the man's flesh.

[cheese-in-space]

Criminally low number of fics on the lesbian Annie Edison tag on ao3 😒

[ninjaaa-go]

Are there seriously only ten fics for Bubble on ao3?? That’s criminally low and I might need to write something to help out the numbers…

[andromedaskies]

First Line Analysis

Thank you @run-for-chamo-miles for the tag (and thank you for single-handedly getting me into all these tag games ahah, they're so fun 🫶)!!

RULES: post the first lines of your last 10 fics/chapters posted on AO3 (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) and try to draw some conclusions.

I've officially hit twelve fics over on ao3, so let's go!

Lines

1. Throughout his life, Alex has been thrown into a lot of things he wasn't prepared for, so one would think 50 years would have been more than enough to prepare for this moment.

- (a heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved - NR, 1/1, FirstPrince, 0.8k - old Alex & Henry)

2. The news spread across the castle in a matter of minutes.

- [i found love where it wasn't supposed to be (right in front of me) - G, 6/?, FirstPrince, 12k - sleeping beauty au]

3. Alex is just trying to study when a comet crashes into his backyard for the first time.

- [the stars shine down on you - G, 1/1, FirstPrince, 2.3k - mario galaxy-ish au]

4. "...Alex?"

- [we'll grow together (so don't you give up) - NR, 1/1, FirstPrince, 0.9k - cancer fic]

5. Henry is woken abruptly at six on a Saturday morning by the sound of a front door opening, and heavy things dropping to the floor.

- [mama, i'm in love with a criminal - T, 1/1, FirstPrince, 1.9k - non-famous meet-ugly au]

6. Early on a Sunday morning, Alex stirs.

- [i don't want this feeling to go away - T, 1/1, FirstPrince, 1k - book canon feels]

7. Of all the places, Alex is going to die in a Waterstones.

- [let's fall (let's shock them all) - T, 1/1, FirstPrince, 1.5k - non-famous meet-ugly au]

8. When Alex makes it beyond the veil, he has two thoughts.

- [all will be as it was before - T, 1/1, FirstPrince, 1.2k - FirstPrince in the afterlife]

9. "Henry Fox-fucking-Mountchristen,” Alex practically yells into the voicemail, “You goddamn idiot, if you’re already gone from that house when I get there I’m going to hunt you down and murder you.”

- [god, it's just not fair of him (to make me feel this much) - T, 1/1, FirstPrince, 4.2k - childhood friends to lovers au]

10. Henry, of course, is the Prince of Wales.

- [ti a fi am byth (you and me, forever) - G, 2/6, FirstPrince, 1.9k - Welsh Henry fic]

Thoughts

- 3, 7, 8 & 9 have pretty good openings, but the rest are super mundane. I think I'm better at grabbing attention in opening paragraphs rather than just the opening line.

- 4 gives us absolutely nothing. But then, that was my first and only dialogue-exclusive fic so I guess that's a given.

- 3 & 7 are my favs -> 3 has a super low hit count in comparison to most of my fics because it's in super-niche-au territory, and it's not the greatest, but it was one of my favourites to fuck around with.

- I'm in a massive love-hate relationship with 10 as a whole and the fact that I confidently stated Henry was Prince of Wales when technically he's not, Phillip is (yes book canon says he is, but y'all I'm literally Welsh I should know how this works LMFAO)...it's a little funny.

- I fucking hate number 8. Why didn't I just write 'when Alex dies'? Omw to edit that.

- loving the tone shift of the list with number 9; straight to the point murder.

- I need to work on achieving gripping openings, frankly. But that's okay. We live and we learn, huh?

[eolasesayelan]

Relationship: Garias x OFC

Words: 5,602

Summary: Brem and Garias are running a scam during the Masquerade of Liars in Neverwinter, selling masks that are 100% magical, wear one and your luck will surely change! What do you mean the guards are coming, gotta go...

Tags: Crimes & Criminals, Attempted Seduction, But Forgive Him He Is Stupid, Lucky For Him She Is Into That Shit, No Smut, Kissing

Thank you @dustdeepsea ❤️ for your suggestions and pointing out my mistakes [bows] you shall forevermore be my numbers expert, muah. (づ￣ 3￣)づ Also for bringing the Masquerade of Liars to my attention, without you this fic would not exist. They have written many amazing fics, and are currently writing a Rugan/Tav fic called, Gods and Monsters. Check out their AO3 too!

And thank you @my-favourite-zhent for your ideas and helping me with the pacing [smooches you gently on the forehead] (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡ They have also written many incredible Rugan/Tav fics and are currently writing a fic called, New Tricks. Check out their AO3 too!

Thank you @lizziemajestic for helping me with Tavvy, to make sure I did right by her.(p≧w≦q)💗 You really need to check out their fics, they write bastards so incredibly well and are currently writing an Aradin/Adrielle fic called, The Vigilant Heart. Check out their AO3 too!

Wishing Veils

The streets of Neverwinter were alive with vibrant chaos as the Masquerade of Liars swept through the city. Candles flickered from inside carved pumpkins, casting strange shadows, while revelers in elaborate costumes filled every corner with laughter and tricks. It was the perfect night for Brem and Garias to run their latest scheme.

The brothers had found the ideal spot: a busy intersection where festival-goers were funneling through. They had set up a booth in the heart of the bustling street, under the cover of hanging lanterns and streamers that rustled in the night air. A large, hand-painted sign above their stall proudly declared, "Wishing Veils: Change Your Fate Tonight!" It was eye-catching, painted in deep reds and shimmering golds, with mystical symbols curling along the edges as if the magic itself was seeping from the wood.

Brem was already in character. He wore a flowing dark robe with intricate patterns that sparkled under the candlelight, a hood pulled low over his face to give him an air of mystery. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd as he adjusted the display of masks in front of the booth, each one ornately painted in bold colors—blues, greens, and silvers—and decorated with glittering beads and feathers. The masks looked exquisite, but they were cheaply made, cobbled together from the cheapest materials they could find. No one needed to know that, though. Brem’s practiced hands gave the display one last touch, making sure everything was ready for the act.

"Oi, these masks are worth more than half the coins in this city," Garias remarked as he fiddled with one of the props, his attention drifting as he watched a bird fly overhead, its feathers catching the light. Anything bright and colorful always seemed to steal his focus.

"Keep starin’ up at the sky like that, someone's gonna fly off with your purse, little brother," Brem teased, checking the small hidden compartment beneath the counter. A few simple tricks were stashed there—smoke powder and small spark stones—nothing too fancy, just enough to add a bit of magic to the scam.

"Birds know where the real fortune is," Garias said, his voice dreamy.

"Hold it together, will you? We’ve gotta start pullin’ in the crowd soon. I’ll do the talkin’, you just flash that daft grin and act like you’ve struck gold with one of these masks," Brem reminded him.

The booth had been set up with care. Colorful banners dangled above, swaying in the breeze. A collection of small, odd trinkets lay scattered on the table besides the masks, adding to the illusion that this was more than just a merchant’s stall—it was a place of magic and wonder. In the corner, a carved wooden chest sat slightly ajar, gleaming contents just barely visible. It was all part of Brem’s carefully crafted image.

"You ready?" Brem asked, flicking a sparkstone between his fingers, sending a small flash of light across the booth. Satisfied, he smirked.

Garias turned from his bird-watching, giving a lazy salute. "Aye, ready as I’ll ever be.”

He casually grabbed one of the more elaborate masks from the table—an ivory one adorned with gold feathers—and pulled it over his face. "I can already feel ma luck changin’!"

Brem snorted. “Let’s hope so. Otherwise, tonight’s gonna feel longer than a bloody peacock’s tail.”

Brem adjusted his robes one final time, a glint in his eye as he prepared to deliver the pitch. Garias stood nearby, lazily fiddling with a brightly colored mask as if he’d already forgotten his role. But Brem knew his little brother would come through when the time was right.

With a deep breath, Brem stepped up to the front of their makeshift booth, raising his arms high in a grand gesture that immediately drew the attention of passersby. His voice rang out, smooth and commanding, cutting through the din of the festival.

“Gather 'round, my friends, gather 'round! Tonight is no ordinary night The Masquerade of Liars brings with it secrets, fortune, and magic! And here—right here—you’ve got a chance to turn the night in your favor!” 

"Step right up, ladies and gents! We’re offering you more than just masks. We’re offering a chance to change your fate! These ain’t no ordinary masks—oh no! These are enchanted by the gods themselves!" Brem's words poured out like honey, and the first curious heads began to turn.

A small crowd gathered, their eyes drawn to the mask spread across the table. Each one painted with shimmering colors, feathers, and beads. On a night like this, with magic and mystery in the air, it was easy to believe in such things.

Brem continued his pacing, moving with practiced ease in front of the booth. “You see, tonight, the veil between luck and misfortune is thin. But with one of these masks, you can tip the scales in your favor! Wear a mask, and not only will you join the Masquerade—you’ll draw good fortune to you like a moth to flame! Wealth, love, adventure—they’ll seek you out as surely as the moon pulls the tides.”

Suddenly, Garias stumbled into view, wearing the ivory mask with its gold feathers fluttering in the breeze. He played his part perfectly, a look of exaggerated joy plastered on his face, as if the mask had already worked its magic.

The crowd murmured with interest. Garias grinned from ear to ear, flashing his brother a subtle thumbs-up behind his back. 

More people began to gather, and Brem could feel the anticipation building, the lure of possibility and fortune driving them closer. It was only a matter of time before someone took the bait.

“These masks, my friends, are not for the faint of heart,” Brem declared, his voice dipping to a conspiratorial tone. “But for those bold enough to seize the night, for those who believe in the magic of the Masquerade, they are priceless!” With a flick of his wrist, Brem sent a small cascade of sparks into the air from a hidden sparkstone, eliciting gasps from the onlookers.

A man at the front of the crowd raised his hand, clearly intrigued. “What kind of luck are we talkin’ about here?”

Brem smiled broadly, as if he had been waiting for just that question. “Ah, my good man, the sort of luck that brings riches, charm, and danger—if that’s what you seek. Some say the wearer of these masks has the ear of Leira, the Lady of Deception herself. Others claim Mask, the Lord of Shadows, will smile upon you as you dance through the night. Could be the fortune of love”—he cast a wink toward a few couples in the crowd—“or the thrill of adventure! What you get depends on the mask you choose.”

The man and several others were hooked now, edging closer to the booth, eyeing the masks with newfound interest. Garias wandered over to Brem, pretending to wipe his brow.

“Blimey, would ye look at this crowd! An’ here I was thinkin’ I’d be the only lucky one tonight!” Garias laughed, slinging an arm over Brem’s shoulder. “Don’ ken you ‘bout ye lot, but ever since I slapped this beauty on, been feelin’ like I could win every game o’ dice I play!”

Brem smirked, playing along. “Careful now, don’t go spending all your fortune in one place.”

A woman in a sophisticated robe stepped up, eyes gleaming behind her mask. “How much?” she asked, her hand already reaching for a small purse at her side.

Brem tilted his head slightly, considering her with a knowing smile. “Ah, but it’s not about the coin, dear lady. It’s about the choice. Every mask has its own luck attached to it. I can sense the pull of fate—and yes, I think I’ve got just the one for you.”

He reached down and picked up an elaborate, gold-painted mask adorned with large emerald feathers and handed it to her. “This one’s yours. For but ten gold, doors will open for you tonight that were once firmly shut. Opportunities you’ve only dreamed of.”

The woman hesitated for only a moment before smiling and handing over the coins. Brem handed her the mask with a flourish, bowing slightly as she placed it on her face. “Good fortune to you, m’lady. You’ll see its effects soon enough.”

Others in the crowd, seeing the exchange, began stepping forward, eager to try their luck as well. The promise of magic, even if it was just for one night, was too tempting to resist.

Garias, now beaming with pride, leaned into Brem. “See? Told you the birds know where the real fortune is.”

Brem grinned, already counting their growing earnings in his head. “You just keep flapping those wings, little brother, and we’ll be flying high by the end of the night.”

Coins clinked into the booth’s chest as more and more Wishing Veils were sold, each more ordinary than the last, but each person convinced they were carrying a bit of fortune on their face. 

Brem flicked a glance at Garias. "Keep an eye on the crowd. We’re doin’ well, but we can’t get too comfortable."

Garias, still holding the last mask he had shown off to a nearby customer, tilted his head. "Aye, Brem. I can do that. I mean—what am I lookin' for again?"

"Guards, you twat," Brem muttered, already scanning the street around them.

As he said it, Brem caught the glint of something in the crowd. Something too shiny to belong to any of the costumed revelers. He turned his head, his sharp instincts confirming what he feared: guards. Two of them, their polished armor glinting under the lantern light, cutting through the crowd with purpose.

His stomach clenched, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with tension. They had been getting away with different scams for weeks—months even. The Neverwinter Guard had been distracted with the aftermath of the Siege, the chaos of the city keeping them busy. But not anymore. These guards were on the lookout. Brem could tell by the way their eyes swept the market stalls, the way they moved with determination.

They were looking for someone. For them.

Brem’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. He leaned toward Garias, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. "Heads up. We’ve got company—guards, two of ‘em."

Garias blinked at him, the words taking a moment to settle. "What, they want a mask too? I can gie ‘em the one wi’ the feathers—"

Brem smacked the back of his brother’s head lightly. "No, you fool! They’re here for us. Time to move."

Brem’s mind raced. They couldn’t just pack up—it would look too suspicious. They needed a distraction, fast.

"Here’s what we’re gonna do," Brem said, eyes darting around the crowd. "You start makin’ a scene; loud, flashy, something to draw ‘em off. I’ll handle the booth."

Garias grinned like a child given permission to cause trouble. "A scene, huh? Birds it is, then."

Before Brem could say more, Garias leaped onto the booth, arms spread wide. "LADIES AN’ GENTS!" he bellowed, his voice booming over the crowd. "HAE YE EVER SEEN A YELLOW-HEADED BLACKBIRD?!"

The crowd turned, eyes widening in confusion. Laughter rippled through the crowd as Garias continued, his voice growing more animated with each word.

"Nae?! Well, let me tell ye—there ain’t no bird like it! Feathers a’ golden an’ bright, like a wee piece o’ sunshine itself!"

Brem, despite the urgency, smirked. Good ol' Garias, he thought. He might be slow, but when it came to causing chaos, he had a gift.

Some festival-goers pointed and cheered at Garias’s antics. The guards, now nearly at the booth, hesitated, momentarily thrown off by the sudden spectacle.

It was enough.

Brem moved swiftly. He slipped behind the counter, tucking the bags of coins into hidden pockets in his cloak. As the crowd pressed in closer, he casually started handing out masks—free gifts to keep up appearances. Anything to clear the booth. He kept his head low, always watching the guards out of the corner of his eye. 

"Last chance for a Wishing Veil!" Brem shouted, glancing at the guards, who were pushing their way through the throng now. "Get yours before they’re gone!"

One of the guards finally shook off his confusion and began pushing through the crowd again, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto Brem. But by then, Brem was already stashing the last of their haul. 

"Right, time to go, Garias!" Brem called.

Garias, still caught up in his bird-themed performance, barely registered the command. "What, now?" he shouted back, flapping his arms wildly. "But I was just gettin’ to the best part—the feathers—"

"Yes, now!" Brem snapped, eyes flicking toward the guards.

Garias cackled, jumping down from the booth with all the grace of a drunken pigeon. He landed with a thud, stumbling slightly before regaining his balance. "Fine, fine. Birds can wait!"

Brem tossed a handful of masks into the air, creating a minor frenzy as the crowd scrambled to catch them. It was just enough chaos to cover their escape.

With the guards momentarily distracted by the crowd, Brem grabbed Garias by the arm, pulling him through the throng of festival-goers. The sound of laughter and music filled the air as they darted between the stalls, weaving through the masses like shadows.

Garias, still laughing as if the whole thing was a grand joke, glanced at Brem. "Did ye see their faces, Brem? Like they’ve never heard o’ birds before!"

Brem rolled his eyes, barely suppressing his own grin. "They’ll be hearin’ about us soon enough if ye don’t pick up the pace!"

As they skidded around a corner, they barreled straight into a costume stall, knocking over a rack of flamboyant hats and cloaks. "Here, put this on!" Garias said, grabbing a ridiculously feathered mask and throwing it at Brem.

Brem caught the mask, but not without muttering, "What am I, a bloody peacock?" He shoved it onto his face anyway. Garias was already donning a flowing, garish cape that was way too long for him, and for a brief moment, the two blended in perfectly with the other costumed festival-goers as they pranced alongside a parade.

The guards slowed down, squinting into the crowd, trying to pick out their targets among the swirl of colorful masks and feathers. "Keep dancin', Brem!" Garias whispered, half-laughing as they awkwardly sashayed past the guards.

Brem threw him a glare but reluctantly joined in, moving to the rhythm of a nearby band, his stiff movements making them look even more conspicuous. "If we get caught, it's because you’ve got the grace o' a cow," he muttered.

Garias stifled a laugh, doing his best to mimic the extravagant dance moves of the festival-goers around them. He twirled, waving his arms dramatically, his cape billowing behind him. For a brief moment, it looked like they might actually blend in.

Just when they thought they had slipped away unnoticed, Brem's mask slipped sideways, revealing his fiery orange hair.

One of the guards, scanning the crowd, caught sight of the familiar flame-colored locks. "There they are!" he shouted, pointing straight at them.

"Aw, hells," Brem cursed under his breath.

Without missing a beat, Garias grabbed Brem by the arm. "Time tae go!" he shouted, throwing off the cape and darting toward the food stalls. Brem barely had time to react before they crashed through the nearest one—a vendor selling pastries. Trays clattered, and flour filled the air as they barreled past.

Without thinking, Garias grabbed an armful of pies. "Sorry 'bout this!" he called to the vendor, who looked on in disbelief, as Garias launched one of the pies at the nearest guard.

SPLAT The guard took the pie straight to the face, stumbling backward into a stack of bread loaves. The loaves flew through the air in a flurry of baked chaos, knocking over a display of tarts.

Brem, not one to miss an opportunity, grabbed a few more pies. With surprising accuracy, he lobbed them one after the other, each finding its mark on a guard’s face or chest.

The scene quickly devolved into chaos. Guards tripped over each other, slipping on spilled cream and scattered pastries. One of them, in his haste to avoid another flying pie, ran headlong into a wooden shop sign hanging low across the street. CLANG! The sign wobbled dangerously as the guard clutched his head and staggered back, dazed.

Garias couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight. "Ye alright, mate?" he called, barely containing his amusement. 

"Run, ye fool!" Brem yelled, shoving Garias ahead as they dashed through the next row of stalls, knocking over baskets of fruit and leaving a trail of chaos in their wake.

The market erupted into pandemonium as Garias and Brem sprinted through the narrow lanes, dodging carts and leaping over overturned baskets. The guards were in complete disarray behind them, slipping on mashed fruit and stumbling into bewildered vendors.

"Stick close!" Brem’s voice cut through the noise, urgency in his tone as they darted through the crowd of masked revelers. The guards hot on their tail. 

"I’m tryin’!" Garias panted, stumbling as the crowd shifted around them like a living thing, festival-goers jostling and dancing. His heart raced, feet tangling as he tried to keep up with his older brother. Brem was quick, sharp-eyed, and always had an escape plan. Garias, on the other hand, was not so nimble—or smart.

The crowd surged, and suddenly Garias was cut off, shoved aside by a group of revelers who were too caught up in their own drunken merriment to notice him. He tripped over his own feet, careening into a vendor’s cart.

“Oi, watch it!” the vendor shouted as fruit spilled onto the cobblestones. Garias scrambled to his feet, head whipping around to find Brem, but his brother had already disappeared into the sea of masks and costumes.

Panic seized him. The guards were closing in, and he was alone. Garias’ eyes darted wildly, looking for an escape. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted it: a wrought iron gate leading into a grand estate’s garden, just slightly ajar.

“That’ll dae,” he muttered, heart pounding. He sprinted toward the gate, slipping through and pulling it shut behind him, hoping the guards wouldn’t notice. The estate’s garden was a quiet, peaceful oasis compared to the chaos of the festival outside. Manicured hedges, blooming flowers, and softly glowing lanterns created an almost magical atmosphere. He crouched low behind a bush, trying to catch his breath.

The muffled shouts of the guards passed by the gate, growing fainter. Garias exhaled in relief, his heart still racing. But just as he thought he was safe, a voice broke the silence.

“Well, what do we have here?”

Garias froze, peeking out from behind the bush. Standing a few feet away was the noblewoman from the festival, unmistakable in her elaborate attire. She wore the same Wishing Veils mask Brem had sold her. One side of the mask was shaped like a peacock, painted in gleaming gold, adorned with vibrant emerald feathers that fanned out majestically. The other side was a traditional masquerade mask, delicate filigree etched in silver curling along the edges.

Her robes were deep, rich green, the fabric shimmering in the soft glow of the lanterns. The gown flowed around her like liquid silk, accentuating her tall, elegant frame. Her pointed ears poked through the curls, adding an ethereal quality to her appearance. She gazed at him with a knowing smile, as if she were already a step ahead in whatever game fate had drawn him into.

She stared at Garias, her brows furrowing slightly. “Do I know ye?” she asked, stepping closer. “Ye look familiar.”

He swallowed hard, standing up slowly, leaves sticking to his clothes. He tried to muster his best innocent smile. “Uh, me? I don’ think so, m’lady.”

She tilted her head, looking at him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “Passing through? In ma garden?” There was a hint of amusement in her voice now, as if this were all some kind of game.

“Ye know how it is,” Garias stammered. “Festivals, eh? Ye go one way, end up… somewhere ye didnae mean to.”

Her eyes lingered on him, then widened slightly as if something clicked in her mind. “Wait…” She placed a hand over her heart, her expression softening. “Could it be?”

Garias blinked, confused. “Could what be?”

“The mask!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with excitement. She touched the Wishing Veil on her head. “It promised me luck, that an ‘open door’ would bring me fortune. And then ye appeared, just like that. Could ye be ma good fortune?”

“Me? Good fortune?” he muttered, trying to grasp the situation.

She gasped softly, clearly thrilled by the idea. “I didnae think the magic would work so quick. Ye must be a sign!”

He glanced at the iron gate he’d slipped through, then back at her. It hadn’t exactly been the ‘open door’ he’d imagined, but if this lady thought he was her lucky charm, who was he to argue?

“Maybe I am,” he said, offering a nervous grin. He straightened up, dusting the leaves off his clothes as best he could.

She clasped her hands together, her smile lighting up the night. “I knew it! Ye must stay!” She gestured towards the grand doors of her estate. "Come inside, join me for dinner.”

Garias hesitated for a moment, thinking of Brem and the guards still out there. But then again, a cozy, noblewoman’s home sounded far better than getting dragged off in chains.

“Aye, m’lady,” He said with a wink, slipping easily into the role she was expecting. “I’d be honored.”

With a dramatic bow, he followed her towards the grand doors, the chaos of the festival fading behind them as he found himself wrapped in the warmth of her luxurious home.

The dining room was nothing like Garias had ever seen. A grand space, with tall windows draped in heavy velvet curtains, and a long, polished table that seemed to stretch on forever, covered in gleaming silverware and ornate china. Candles flickered softly in intricate candelabras, casting a warm, golden light across the room. The soft clink of porcelain echoed in the quiet air as a servant quietly moved about, setting plates of food before them.

Garias, still rattled from his mad dash through the city streets, sat stiffly at the table, looking wildly out of place among the finery. His eyes darted between the noblewoman and the lavish spread of food before him. He couldn't help but marvel at the roasted meats, delicate pastries, and fruits arranged like artwork.

The servant had just left after serving yet another course of decadent food, a savory roast draped in a rich sauce. He tried to pace himself, having already eaten more than he was used to. 

Her fingers trailed along the stem of her wine glass. “Tell me, do ye often burst into a noblewoman’s garden in the dead of night, uninvited?” she asked, her eyes never leaving his face.

Garias swallowed quickly, trying to hide his unease. “That was, uh, a wee bit o' bad timin’. Didn’t mean to frighten ye.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by his awkwardness. “I suppose it’s not every day a masked man bursts through my gates like a gust o’ wind. But ye’re here now. Perhaps it’s fate?”

He blinked at her, completely missing the implication. “Fate? Reckon it’s just a bit o' bad luck on my part, really. Guards, ye ken. Trouble follows me like a stray dog.”

Her eyes glinted as she leaned forward slightly, the candlelight catching the delicate shimmer of her robe. “Trouble follows ye, does it?” She smiled, the corner of her mouth curling in a way that made him shift in his chair.

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Trouble has a way of findin’ me, ye could say. Reckon I’ve got a knack for slippin’ out of it too.” He chuckled, trying to avoid her gaze by looking at his plate.

"Slippin’ out?" she repeated with a knowing smirk. "Ye slipped right intae ma garden, though, did ye not? And not by accident, I’m thinkin’.”

He shrugged sheepishly. "I was only tryin’ to avoid a situation."

The noblewoman took another sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving him. “Seems ye’ve found yerself in a new one, haven’t ye? Could it be that ye’ve come to sweep me off ma feet?” She winked, her gaze lingering on his lips. 

Garias blinked rapidly, trying to process her words, still utterly oblivious to her intent. “Sweep ye off yer feet? I’m not much of a sweeper. More of a runner.”

She laughed, a musical sound that made the candles seem to flicker brighter. “Ye’re a charming fool, aren’t ye?” 

He stared, the full weight of her words slowly dawning on him. His ears burned as her laughter danced through the air, and he suddenly became acutely aware of how close she was sitting.

“A fool, ye say?” he stammered, scratching the back of his neck again, feeling completely out of his depth. “Well, I’ve been called worse.”

She leaned in even closer, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Aye, but a charming one.”

He gulped, feeling his mouth go dry. Her hand, pale and slender, reached across the table, fingertips brushing his hand.

“Perhaps ye’re ma fortune,” she said softly, her voice laced with suggestion. “Seems to me ye’re exactly what I’ve been waitin’ for.”

His heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, unsure if it was from her words or the warmth of the room.

“M-maybe,” he stammered, trying to smile, though it came out more as a grimace. “But luck’s a funny thing. Comes and goes. Not sure I’m the stayin’ kind o’ fortune.”

The noblewoman chuckled, her gaze fixed on him in a way that made Garias feel as though he were under a spell. “Maybe not. But perhaps ye’ll stay long enough for me to find out.” 

He tried to process her words, his mind yet catching up to the reality that she wasn’t just being polite—she was flirting with him. This stunning, poised woman was flirting with him. The realization hit him like a cart and made him sit up straighter.

He fumbled with his fork, dropping it onto his plate with a loud clatter. “I-, ye see, I’m not the kind to...” He cleared his throat. “I mean, if ye’re lookin’ for charm, I ain’t yer man.”

She tilted her head, her wide, dark red lips curling into a playful smile. “I think ye might be. Fate has brought ye to me, and now…” She stood, gracefully making her way around the table, her robes flowing behind her as she came to stand beside him. “I find it hard to let such a handsome bit o’ luck slip away.”

His heart jumped into his throat as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “Perhaps yer fortune’s not in slippin’ away this time,” she murmured, her voice sending a thrill down his spine. “Perhaps it’s stayin’.”

Garias’ eyes widened as she placed a hand on his shoulder, her fingers warm and soft through his tunic. “M’lady,” he breathed, feeling his heart race faster.

“Call me Moira,” she whispered into his ear. “Now, shall we let fate decide how lucky ye really are?”

Garias felt his breath catch, utterly flustered yet thrilled by her boldness. “Moira,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “Don’ know much about fate, but I think I’m the luckiest man in Neverwinter.”

She chuckled softly, her breath warm against his skin. “And ye said ye had no charm.”

Before he could think, her lips were on his, soft and inviting. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if she were testing the waters. But Garias, despite his flustered nerves, quickly found himself kissing her back. His hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the soft tendrils of hair.

The world around him seemed to blur. The soft flicker of candles, the rich scent of wine, the warmth of her lips against his—everything else faded away. For a moment, Garias forgot about the guards, forgot about Brem, forgot about everything but the woman in front of him.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Moira's eyes sparkled with delight. She touched her lips gently with her fingertips, as if savoring the lingering sensation of their kiss.

The morning sun filtered through the misty streets of Neverwinter, the remnants of the Masquerade of Liars slowly being swept away. Stalls were being packed up and the faint smell of stale ale still clung to the air. Garias strolled through the quieter streets, whistling a cheerful tune to himself, his hands tucked into his pockets.

He’d spent the night in a soft bed—one far fancier than anything he’d ever imagined—and left Moira's estate just before dawn, slipping out with a satisfied grin and a spring in his step. Last night was something else. He couldn’t stop replaying it in his mind—the flirting, the kiss, the soft whispers in the candlelight.

Spotting Brem by their usual meeting spot near a crumbling statue of a dragon, Garias ambled over. His older brother was pacing, eyes narrowing as soon as he saw Garias approach.

“Where in the Hells have ye been?” Brem snapped, slipping into his natural accent. “Ah spent half the night dodgin’ guards, wonderin’ if ye got yerself caught!”

Garias gave him a lopsided grin, leaning casually against the statue. “Ye worry too much.”

Brem frowned, crossing his arms tighter. “Worry too much? We almost got nabbed last night! Ye vanished in the crowd, and Ah thought ye’d been hauled off tae the dungeons!”

Garias shrugged, a smug look on his face. “Ah was fine. Got a bit lucky.” 

Brem’s eyes narrowed further, suspicion creeping into his features. “Lucky?” he repeated, his voice laced with doubt. “An’ what exactly does that mean?”

Garias just grinned wider, trying to look nonchalant, though he could feel his cheeks warming slightly as memories of Moira flooded back. “Just lucky,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual. “Got meself a nice spot for the night. Some good company, too.”

Brem stared at him, unblinking. Then he snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Right,” he said, clearly unimpressed. “Good company. Sure, Garias. An’ was this ‘good company’ wearin’ armor an’ haulin’ ye in for questioning?”

Garias laughed, pushing himself off the statue. “I told ye, I’m fine.”

Brem raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced. “Ye mean to tell me ye slipped past the guards, had a grand ol’ time, an’ I’m just supposed to believe ye?”

Garias shrugged again, still grinning. “Believe what ye want.”

Brem rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated. “I swear, ye’ve got more gall than sense. Lucky, my arse. Probably spent the night hidin’ in a barrel somewhere.”

“Suit yerself,” Garias replied, as he stretched his arms overhead, feeling more relaxed than ever. “Maybe I’m the lucky one in the family.”

Brem shook his head, muttering under his breath as they began walking. “Lucky’s one word for it.”

As they made their way down the cobblestone streets, Garias shot a sidelong glance at Brem, who was still grumbling under his breath. A mischievous smile crept across his face as he suddenly piped up. "So, ye plannin' to pay a visit to Tavvy today?"

Brem nearly tripped over his own feet. “What?” he snapped, though Garias didn’t miss the hint of red creeping up the back of his neck.

Garias chuckled, raising his eyebrows in mock innocence. “The bonnie lass with the pretty blue eyes. Ye ain’t been talkin’ about anythin’ else since she showed up a few weeks back.”

Brem snorted, rolling his eyes as if the very idea was absurd. “Ain’t anythin’ lady-like about her,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were holding back a grin.

Garias smirked. “Bet ye’re thinkin’ about droppin’ by after we’re done here, eh?”

Brem shot his brother a look. “I’m thinkin’ about findin’ a better partner, one that doesn’t disappear in the middle of a job.”

Garias raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Thought ye two had a good wee thing back on. Ain’t that why ye always go visitin’ her?”

Brem shot him a side-eye.“Good thing? Ye havin’ a laugh? She’s more likely to deck me than give me a kiss.”

Garias chuckled. “Aye, but ye dinnae mind, do ye? Still get to see her all the same.”

Brem gave a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Shut it. Besides, you know her. More trouble than she’s worth.”

Despite the words, there was a glint in Brem’s eyes—a warmth that betrayed him.

“I think ye like a bit o’ trouble,” Garias teased, elbowing Brem lightly in the ribs.

Brem snorted, waving a dismissive hand. “Ye’ve got yer head in the clouds. Now quit yer yappin’ and let’s get movin’. We got better things to do.”

But as they walked on, Garias noticed a faint smile lingering on Brem’s face, and though he kept up the act, Garias knew—Brem wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself.

[blouisparadise]

Today’s rec list is filled with bottom Louis fics where Louis and/or Harry are agents, police officers, or spies. There are a ton of amazing fics on this list that you’ll want to check out. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Fuck The Police | Mature | 2349 words

"It's been a while, Louis. I bet you haven't changed at all. I bet you still think about all the things we've done. I bet you still get off to that thing I used to do to you in bed...you remember that?" Louis blanched, face turning white as a ghost.

"You can't talk to me like that anymore, Harry. It's not okay." Louis spoke up, although his voice wavered as Harry guided his body so that his back was flush against the wall, facing the younger lad.

"Talk to you like what? Like the dirty whore you are? You know you still want me, Lou. Admit it." Harry murmured lowly, eyes taunting.

2) Bleeding Love. | Mature | 2414 words

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry is a cop, Louis is his boyfriend. Harry wants to marry his boy.

3) If We Catch A Criminal | Not Rated | 2759 words

The one where Harry is a policeman and Louis will do just about anything to avoid going to jail.

4) I’ve Been A Bad Girl, Officer | Mature | 3425 words

Louis has done something mildly bad, and Harry is a cop.

5) Are You Fucking Kidding Me? | Explicit | 4760 words

Louis barks up the wrong tree, so Harry punishes him for it.

6) Moles Before Hoes (Which In This Case Does Not Apply) | Explicit | 5201 words

A Criminal Minds AU where Louis is a technical analysis for the FBI, and Harry is the agent who cant control himself, not even while looking at a murder scene.

7) I’d Make Wine From Your Tears | Explicit | 6731 words

He's the one Forbes writes about, who has bank accounts all over the world, a gold ring on each finger, and a tiger of his own in his huge mansion in the heart of California. Harry Styles, a devilishly rich stockbroker, is accused of a number of financial crimes. And Louis Tomlinson, the FBI agent leading the investigation, finally gets hold of evidence against Styles and shows up at his party to arrest the broker.

“Your body is the only form of currency in this world.”

8) Brown Hair And A Golden Boot | Mature | 12995 words

Harry is mistaken for a secret agent, he wears one golden boot, and Louis is in charge of getting information out of him.

9) The Blood Is Rare (And Sweet As Cherry Wine) | Explicit | 14270 words | Sequel

"Officer, I see you're giving away my secrets already," Harry said as he entered the room.

"It's hardly a secret," Louis accepted the delicate glass, cutting a glance at the man when the underlying scent hit him, "A little early to indulge in such things, isn't it?"

"You've had a long morning, I'm sure. Merely looking after your health, Officer," Harry smiled.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that."

"Someone has to."

10) Don’t Call Me Angel | Mature | 16648 words

Manhattan is a dangerous playground for the rich and entitled Alphas of New York. Those same wealthy Alphas are robbed after spending one night in the presence of a blue-eyed Omega and Officer Styles is assigned to the case.

11) Angel Of Small Death And The Murder Scene | Explicit | 20634 words

Ever since Louis read about the new up and coming Detective in town, he had immediately disliked the man, despite never having met him. So, naturally, it can only be the worst thing that could have happened to Louis when he gets stuck with Detective Styles trying to solve a murder during his supposed to be relaxing vacation over the seas.

12) You're The Smell Before Rain, You're The Blood In My Veins | Explicit | 21945 words

“It was him you talked about, when you used to call me late at night, saying you were missing your ex? Was it him, your important five-year long story? Was it him the person you had thought about proposing, one day?” Nick asks with a low voice, almost inaudible, almost like he’s talking to himself “He’s my boyfriend…” he whispers again, without looking up.

“I know! And you shouldn’t worry, because you don’t have a single reason to do so. He’s yours now, he’s with you. I really don’t understand why you came here, honestly” Harry says defending himself out of instinct, even if he has no reason to react like that. He just- just wishes for Nick to leave his room and go back home to Louis. Because at this point Nick has Louis and fuck, why can’t he just go fuck off for once? Doesn’t he have enough shit do deal with already? Does he really need to get into this as well? Right now?

13) Sunflowers, Sunshine, And You | Explicit | 28778 words

Sunshine county is small but mighty and Harry takes pride in knowing nearly each and every person that lives inside of it. For nearly eleven years now he’s been sheriff, and not one of them he’s ever regretted settling down here.

He knows the road names like the back of his hand, knows the people and the animals and the way the world works here. In all of the time he’s been here, not a thing has changed.

So, all things considered, when he starts seeing a beat up pickup truck roaming through town with plates he’s never seen before, Harry, to be frank, jumps on that like a fly on fresh dog shit.

14) You Fill My Lungs With Sweetness (Can I Be Close to You?) | Explicit | 29884 words

Busy picturing Harry’s stupid face on the stupid dummy, Louis goes through a series of kicks before returning to a low guard and cycling through punches. Harry’s still talking, gesturing with his hands as he rounds Louis, standing to his back. “You do a few butt-shaping exercises, tighten this up a little bit,” he smacks Louis’ arse and the omega freezes while Harry cheerfully continues, “you could pull this off.”

“You know what?” Louis snaps, lifting on his tiptoes to get the leverage so he can wrap his arm around the alpha’s neck, forcing him to bend in half while Louis locks him in a chokehold. “Pull this off,” he snarls. They stagger over a few steps, Louis gritting his teeth as Harry tries to break free. “Is it because Payne hates me?” he complains, voice edging on an annoyed whine, “Or is it, like, an omega thing?”

Too late, Louis realizes that Harry has got a grip on his leg and this time as he pulls against Louis’ hold, it loosens, the alpha lifting him in the air before slamming his back into the mat, breaking Louis’ grip completely. Harry kneels on the mat, hovering over him with a sneer, “Don’t kid yourself. Nobody thinks of you that way.”

15) Once Upon A Dream | Explicit | 33319 words | Sequel

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

16) A Matter Of Uniforms | Not Rated | 36606 words

In Birmingham, just after the Great War, veteran Harry Shelby leads his gang, the Peaky Blinders, making money from illegal betting and the black market. Inspector Campbell, charged by Winston Churchill to arrest the man, plants Louis Burgess to spy on Harry's activities.

Soon enough, it becomes hard for the gangster to pretend he's heartless, and even harder for the spy to pretend he loathes it all.

17) Falling Without Caution | Explicit | 50350 words

Louis Tomlinson, a wanted criminal, was captured by the FBI after years of chasing. Instead of being locked up in a high-security prison, he was offered a deal. What was supposed to be the end of a decade long chase turned into a morally grey circumstance for Agent Styles.

18) Rookie | Not Rated | 54352 words

Louis is the youngest candidate to be selected for the police academy in ten years. At nineteen he has a hard time fitting in, especially with how Agent Styles and the other training sergeants treat him. He’s been nicknamed Rookie and has to put up with it for the rest of his training.

What happens when Louis graduates and things become personal, he’s lost everything before...will it happen again.

19) Never Let Me Go | Explicit | 55949 words

Harry and Louis have been friends forever, but they couldn't be more different. One night, with a little too much alcohol, they make a pact to marry in ten years if they're both still single.

Now, one month before the deadline, Louis is willing to do whatever it takes to avoid ending up with his best friend. But is he, really?

20) Somethin’ Bout You | Explicit | 59855 words

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

21) Derail The Mind Of Me | Explicit | 77323 words

The Behavioral Analysis Unit gets called in to help a small town police department find the killer leaving behind a string of victims with a particularly jarring signature. FBI profiler Harry Styles must work with his team to uncover the unsub responsible for a slew of gruesome murders and just might discover his own hidden feelings for BAU Technical Analyst Louis Tomlinson along the way.

22) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76584 words

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

23) Morality | Explicit | 82857 words

An AU where the boys all work for the FBI in Washington, D.C., working together to catch an unsub who's closer than they ever thought. In the process, Louis uncovers Harry's deepest secret, forcing the two enemies to live a life together to ensure their safety.

24) The Rose Of Whitechapel | Mature | 100182 words

Jack the Ripper AU - Detective Constable Harry Styles and his partner, DC Liam Payne, lead the case on the Whitechapel murders. Louis Tomlinson, the Rose of Whitechapel, is harbouring secrets of his own, along with a dark and sordid past. When their paths cross, truths are revealed, and perhaps hearts are mended...

A darkness is brewing, and it's finally come to collect on the promise it was made.

25) Shadow Dances | Mature | 101591 words

Louis Tomlinson has a begrudging gift, he’s able to communicate with the spirits of the dead. Often against his will, and almost always at the most inconvenient of times.

He and his partner, Zayn Malik, work for a covert division of the New Haven Federal Bureau of Investigations. They aid in all kinds of cases, though their talents lie in the obscure and unsolvable.

It’s when a strange new case falls onto their desks that they’re left questioning the extent of their abilities, and whether they were ever truly alone.

Harry Styles was brought into the FBI for not only his skills, but his ability to mitigate the influx of spirits surrounding the elusive and obnoxiously infuriating sharp-tongued medium he’d been assigned to. Louis gets under his skin, he’s impulsive and a risk to the team according to Harry.

They do however have to find a way to set aside their sordid history, and their reluctant attraction, to track down the murderer plaguing their coastal city.

26) Halfway Home | Mature | 103158 words

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson were improbable childhood friends, much to Harry's dismay. They were thrown together each summer when Harry was forced to visit Louis' grandfathers' ranch in Black Hills, South Dakota. With each passing year their friendship blossomed into something more. When trail rides turned to stolen kisses, and tragedies turned to confessions, until they could no longer deny the inevitable draw they felt for one another.

Though life and their future plans soon set them on different paths.

Ten years later, Louis is the proud owner of Halfway Home Wildlife Refuge. Harry returns to the ranch to escape the perils of his past in London, and though their memories still haunt Louis, he won't let that deter him from his goals. However, someone has been keeping a close eye on the refuge, and possibly Louis specifically, and Harry's return may have unleashed more that just old passions. There's a hunter lurking in the Hills, someone who's decided they've bided their time long enough.

27) Beautiful War | Mature | 103379 words

Five years ago, Louis was nearly the next victim in a string of murders plaguing Portland, Oregon. He managed to escape and the Angel Killer was apprehended and sent to prison. Now, Louis' a best-selling author that assists state police with minor cases. He still suffers from the events of the days he'd been held hostage, but he's found ways to cope.

That is, until the killings start up again. A body was found in the woods. A body that bared the same signature the media had dubbed: The Angel of Death.

Special Agent Harry Styles leads the case, and he doesn't buy into the clairvoyant bullshit that Louis spewed to save face five years ago. He's certain that Louis Tomlinson was involved.

Until they meet, and they're both left questioning everything they'd thought to be true.

28) ROUGE | Not Rated | 117624 words

Submissive Louis Tomlinson is a misjudged criminal who is accused of beating his own Dominant until unconciousness. But the truth is not like that. In fact, Louis has been a victim of severe abuse by his Dom, he only fought back to defend his own life. One could imagine how many times the Dom has raped the Sub, how many scars from canes and whips are there to litter across his body, how many times his flesh has been split open, how many nightmares he has endured that leaves him lose all hope in life.

Sent to the BDSM prison for "behavioural correction", Louis meets the warden there, Dominant Harry Styles. Dominant above all Dominants, Harry is cold and harsh on the outside, but secretly a lonely man in the inside.

Louis supposes he could find his solace here in prison, a time for his scars to heal, both physical and mental ones. But what if Harry starts befriending the Sub, seeing through all the false accusations? What if Harry wants to seek justice? Does Louis even want his name cleared anyways? But the most important question is,

Will Harry be able to give Louis the love he deserves?

If only Louis could tell him the truth.

29) Drops Of Jupiter | Mature | 121821 words

In a small, sleepy town ruled by prejudice, Louis Tomlinson runs his grandmothers shop for the occult. He finds comfort in his tarot cards, his friends, and a dog that he doesn't have room for. He thought the worst he'd have to deal with would be bigotry, until a new sheriff arrives with a headstrong little girl that's impossible not to fall in love with.

But what happens when a string of break-ins leads to a brutal attack, and the towns' darling is murdered right under their Sunday hats? A murder that just so happens to bear the same modus operandi as similar homicides in neighbouring states. Has the killer been circling Virginia, or is he a local of Lavender Hills?

And what will Louis do when the charming Sheriff Styles starts to suspect him of such a heinous crime?

30) Life And Love Finds A Way | Explicit | 165244 words

Post-apocalyptic world after a plague had taken out more than half of the world’s population. In the midst of the pandemonium caused by so many people passing away, the population that was left had turned greedy and started attacking each other for food and resources now that there weren’t enough people to farm or work essential jobs. After being shot by a looter while he was on patrol, Harry had decided to leave the police department and move away to find somewhere remote to live. What he didn’t expect was for an omega to weasel his way into Harry’s heart.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[spiceberrie]

7, 8, 11, 16, EIGHTEEN, 19, 23. yes we have discussed many of these before. yes i listed like 20% of the questions

so dark-sided that i'm shielding both of us like WE KNOW WHAT WE THINK.... whatever!

7 - what character hockey player did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

technically they ARE characters in ficdom i just hate them outside of it too. i think ... maybe ... i soured on matthew tkachuk for a bit there because i can't stand when men are infantilized to that point. unsufferable. also zegras. just coddling and cognitive dissonance so in a way i have whoregate/zegras whole... season closing week to thank for some things.

8 - common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

i don't think i have controversial opinions like . mars and sasha themselves always (75% ish) agree with me so it's like if anything i'm with the common folk. maybe. there isn't much difference between sc87 and cm97 i think when you put in context very very different narratives + cmd coming later means everything he does can't stand in isolation. but still. sc87 is only as interesting as what you make of him.

11 - number of fandom-related words you've filtered

i can't even remember. jack hughes x r/eader nhl im/agines hockey player im/agines hockey player x re/ader. i don't really know LOL ted lasso ateez mattdrai 2919 drarry bts imagine bts s/cenarios bts ships destiel exo sc/enarios johnlock reddie richie sf9 stony taevin the rookie tkasaitil tokyo revengers twd imag/ine twd fanf/iction... honestly i don't even hate most of these anymore i just got sick and tired of it clogging up the searches LOL

16 - you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

well 🙂. for all my hating i do understand the mattdrai hype i just don't understand common characterizations or i do understand them and i hate them anyway. i like mattdrai kinda so let's think about something else. i don't understand people who are still widowing over ty smith let it gooooooooooo. or ty jost. or tyson barrie. sensing a pattern

tropes that i hate are too many i can't even think of one. at one point i tried to mute "gay panic" and "confident gay" @ ao3 my tolerance is too low

18 - it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

my underrated flop poor meow meow underdog understated fave connor mcdavid.... LOL but really and truly: mattias ekholm has such good interviews and i enjoy the way he speaks. there's a new story to be written ruled

19 - you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

also connor mcdavid. AND our problematic prosecuted fave brady tkachuk. i actually have enjoyed some mattdrai fics that are the magnum ops of the entire fandom fandom it's just that when it's bad it's bad lmao. i actually like sc87 and 8771/8728. i've been starting to enjoy mceichel too. honestly trevor zegras can be fun when he doesn't mean to be fun. the leafs minch cinematic universe are enjoyable when it's MINCHHHHHHHHH hours. and mars sold me on 1997 <3

23 - ship you've unwillingly come around to

this is where the previously mentioned 1997 comes around. i just don't get dylan strome on a personality level. pisces men astound me. i came around to 2919 at first and then i went back to my hater stance. mceichel because it's connor. 1634 because of minch and eversincewefellapart fic. 8771 after i read... i don't even remember what it was... and 8728 after mars also sold it to me and i love CLAUDE GIROUX now.

this was so fun thank yew

[myrrhmaidwrites]

I’ve been CRAVING Mason/Trevor for the last few days. Can you believe there’s only 13 fics of them on ao3, one of which is my threesome fic? Criminally low numbers for such a good ship!!

If you want to send a prompt or an idea for them, I’ll talk about it or write it up in 400-1000 words :) f/f, m/f, m/m, or any other gender setup you want to give them

[jacensolodjo]

Cait/Vi fic, 1498 words, no smut | also read on Ao3

------

Vi and Caitlyn had managed to snag a guy in the Markets (located almost smack dab in the middle between Piltover and the Undercity) who was selling stolen HexTech (not weapons). They had been working together for quite a number of months and had their interrogation technique down to a science: Vi was the bad Enforcer and Caitlyn the good, as it were. Even though they weren't actually Enforcers, more like vigilantes. But Caitlyn had pull as a Kiramman and friend to Councilor Jayce Talis.

Vi paced back and forth on one side of the table while every once in a while casting a glance at the handcuffed man seated on the other side of the table. Caitlyn had ducked out of the room under a false pretense of checking the records on their current criminal. 

“C’mon, do you really want me to get rough? Make you lie to the nice lady who just left about how you’re suddenly sporting a black eye?” Vi asked. 

“You’re not getting anything from me,” the man insisted, glaring up at the one who had captured him after a long foot chase. 

Vi slammed their hands down on the tabletop with a bang, making the man jump badly then cower away as far as he could. 

“C’mon Maddoc, I want to wrap this up. Don’t you? I bet your gal is going to miss you if you don’t come home from work soon, huh?” Vi asked, leaning in until her nose was almost touching his. 

“Piss off! I’m not telling you or your Piltie girlfriend a damn thing!” Maddoc sneered. 

Rage flooded Vi’s visage and they let off a snarl before grabbing Maddoc by the front of his shirt then slammed him up against the wall nearest the table. 

“You fucking waste of space! You don’t get to talk about her, do you hear me?!” Vi shouted in his face. “You’re lucky I don’t have my gauntlets on for this!” 

She shoved her forearm up against his throat, making him gag and scrabble at her arm, trying to loosen her grip. But she held fast and in fact pressed her arm against his throat that much harder. 

“Vi! What are you doing?!” Caitlyn’s voice filtered through the audio system in the interrogation room. 

“What does it fucking look like? Just having a chat with our friend here!” Vi explained, needlessly. Cait knew exactly what her partner was up to. They had done this song and dance at least a dozen times before, always with good results. 

“Ma’am, ya gotta help me. Your partner’s a rabid dog!” Maddoc called out, panic in his face which was also sweating madly now. A couple seconds later the door to the room slammed open and Cait rushed in. 

“Let him go, Vi,” Cait said, indeed sounding for all the world like she was speaking to a misbehaving dog. 

“His boss has had us chasing geese for months, Cait!” Vi growled out, glaring into Maddoc’s wide eyes.

Cait settled a hand on Vi’s shoulder, breaking Vi’s concentration. She released the man, and he landed on one knee with a heavy thump. 

“Thank you! Thank you, Miss Kiramman,” Maddoc mumbled as he climbed back up to his feet. 

Rolling her eyes, she shoved him to sit back down at the table. “Shut up. I didn’t do it for you!”  

Vi glowered, fists clenching then unclenching as she stared at Maddoc. Cait gently cupped Vi’s cheek and forced her head to turn so their eyes could meet. 

“We’re not on a time limit. Go easy. Actually, you know what, let me give it a go,” Cait said, voice low enough that Maddoc couldn’t hear. 

“Aw, c’mon, Cupcake. You know I can do this!” Vi whined, voice just as low. 

“So can I. The brute force option won’t work here. He’s scared of you, just not scared enough.”

“Exactly, just give me a little more time to make him actually afraid.” 

Cait made a face that screamed doubt. She knew that Vi was used to being considered scary and people who weren’t afraid annoyed them. 

“Let me try at least once to get the intel my way,” Cait insisted. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats then Vi gave a defeated sigh. 

“You better behave like a gentleman, Maddoc,” Vi called out before heading out the door, leaving their lover and prisoner in the same room together. They hung a sharp left to enter the observation room for the interrogation cell. Their arms folded after turning on the comms. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing with that brute as a coworker?” Maddoc asked. Vi rolled their eyes. 

“That brute is my partner and very good at her job,” Cait said matter-of-factly before taking a seat opposite the man and spreading out the paperwork that his file consisted of.

“Psh. My boss pays me three times what you make. I could treat you right,” Maddoc said, offering a crooked smile. 

“I don’t associate with criminals.” 

“Yeah? Your partner was in deep back in the day.” 

“Present day criminals.”

Vi growled to herself. She wanted to defenestrate the man right here and now. 

“And speaking of your boss, where exactly is he?” 

“Nice try, Kiramman. Like I’d fall for that!”

“As soon as you tell us that and where you’re getting your HexTech to sell, you can go. And if you’re a good boy you’ll never have to see me or my partner again.” 

“My boss’d do worse to me than you two could.” 

“I don’t know, Vi has ever twisted someone into a pretzel before. You ever been a pretzel, Maddoc?” 

“Being one is a far sight better than having nubs for fingers. Cause my boss would take all 10 of mine if I talked.”

“You have to give me something, Maddoc, otherwise Vi is coming right back in to see if they can beat it out of you.”

Maddoc gave a big, ugly grin and slightly stood up from the table. Cait stood as well, glaring. 

“Maybe if you sucked my dick I’d be a little more... amenable,” Maddoc said, barely more than a whisper. 

“Shit,” Cait muttered, making Maddoc stare at her in confusion. 

“Wh--” he began but wasn’t given a chance to finish as Vi barged into the interrogation room and grabbed him by the neck to slam him down into the floor. He cried out in pain. 

“I’ll have your job for this!” he said, partially mumbled thanks to his face sporting a couple nice bruises from Vi’s rush attack.  

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t get to talk about her like that, I warned you!”

Behind Vi, Cait was rubbing her temples. Vi was especially cranky that day, if only because Maddoc's boss had started taunting them like some serial killer with letters sent to Cait's apartment (that she had moved into because living at home had become untenable given how often Vi dropped by and refused to use the front door). 

"I'll give up one clue. But only to Kiramman," Maddoc said after a couple minutes of his face being ground into the concrete.

"No."

"Okay." The pair said at the same time. They shared a glance, Vi shaking her head vehemently while Cait was nodding. She could handle it.

“If this is just another ploy to be disgusting--” Vi warned.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll throw me through a wall,” Maddoc mumbled.

Sighing, Vi yanked him up to his feet then forced him to sit back down at the table. She left the room again but stayed by the door this time. Eyes closed and arms folded while she leaned up against the wall. 

“Seriously, rich girl, your partner is deranged,” Maddoc said. 

“Please shut up unless the next words out of your mouth are how to find your boss or where you got the HexTech,” Caitlyn said, sounding extremely exasperated. 

“The only thing I can tell you is where I was supposed to drop the HexTech off. It’s on the Northeast outskirts of Piltover.”

“When?”

“What time is it?”

“Quarter until 9.”

“Supposed to be there at 9:51, on the button.”

“Fine. Keys?”

“What? No!”

Caitlyn rummaged in the pocket of the man’s jacket for a moment then yanked out a set of keys.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” she said, wiggling the keys in front of the man’s face. He gave a groan and a roll of his eyes. 

“My boss is gonna kill you and your partner. You both reek like Enforcers.”

“Hm. Well, I used to be but Vi definitely never was. I’m sure she’ll bluff us into the meeting point.” 

“Yeah. Good luck with that.”

Vi opened her eyes when the door opened and Cait stepped through the doorway. She handed the keys off to her partner, who nodded and started off to the motor pool. She was dressed for an illicit rendezvous, but Cait wasn’t. Cait would have to change clothes while Vi prepped Maddoc’s cart. 

[cameronsactivities]

there is a criminally low number of great gatsby fics on ao3. it’s around 800 last i checked and it is my life’s goal to make that number not even remotely close to the number of fics for avatar