#As someone who has drunk posted to AO3 before its like my second most popular work help

[queerclarkkent]

There are two kinds of inebriated AO3 posts

Being

The high ones:

Sorry I'm hig, anywayys heres the storry

' Uand they rubbed eaach otber and sucked bongs and allso , alsoo cocks '

and then there's the drunk ones, somehow:

i am deeply sorry, but I am currently rather intoxicated, and so am posting this fanfiction at 3 am, and fuck everyone who has a problem with that:

' and then the kiss dashed across his throat, like sugar in the sweet way it stung as the rose-brushed lips swiped across to his own, and sharp in their somehow subtle pressure. Eroticism dashed gallantly through his very viens as his hands began the gentle but pulling excursion into the man's depths, reverent as if it were the most tropical rainforest as sweet wine and calmer herbs flitted fleetingly across their minds, tongues, a mingled airs '

Like please god tell me I'm not the only one that noticed that please

Somehow the drunk ones are always written perfectly and beautifully and I

DONT KNOW HOW

but as soon as they insinuate they were high its normally like that??

Like i dont get it?? Drunk people have so little coordination and high people as long as its only like a bit of weed seem so calm and put together please help me understand science side of tumblr I am so deeply incredibly confused

[gogglor]

Cap-Ironman RecWeek: What-If Wednesday

Time for another installment of @cap-ironman rec week! Today’s theme: AU’s.

I know AU’s in different settings are half the reason most people read fanfics, but they’re not really my thing on the whole. AU’s where different choices are made, or different events transpire? Absolutely. Coffee shops? Not my cup of... you know.

So, here’s my AU recommendations for mostly “turn left” scenarios. This time with an under-the-cut break so I don’t take over everyone’s timelines (sorry about that last post). Also with some summaries truncated for length.

Alone Like This

Author: GotTheSilver

Word Count: 7,452

Summary: Steve, post waking up, runs away from SHIELD, and Tony's the one who tracks him down.

Why You Should Read It:

First off, GotTheSilver’s been consistently and regularly putting out solid Stony since 2012 and not only are they not stopping, they’re only getting better. This writer doesn’t get nearly the fanfare I’d expect in Stony circles for someone who puts out this much good stuff, and here’s hoping this post can be a part of changing that.

While I am always a sucker for enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, there’s something to be said for stories where Steve and Tony hit it off right away. And watching these two very different people look at each other and see the same sense of being lost, then finding each other again is... excuse me, there’s something in my eye, ignore me.

Second Chance Lives

Author: raeldaza

Word Count: 43,872

Summary: Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Why You Should Read It:

This writer doesn’t write a lot for the MCU but when they do, dang.

“Tony is the one helping Steve acclimate to the new century before Avengers 2012″ is a whole genre of Stony fanfics that scratch an itch I didn’t even know I had before I started reading fanfiction, and this is one of the best ones out there. It’s got it all - Steve poorly coping with his PTSD, Tony poorly coping with his immanent mortality, some breathtakingly poor communication between the two most emotionally stunted men in the MCU, and a cat named Roomba. What’s not to love?

Should You Choose to Accept It

Author: elwenyere (look, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of them this week, sorry-not-sorry)

Word Count: 27,106

Summary: After a terrorist attack and a field operation gone wrong, the Avengers realize that Nick Fury's secrets are just the start of a much bigger mystery. Steve and Tony try to keep some things from each other as well, but that can't possibly affect the mission — right? Mission Fic + Getting Together (or Mission: Getting Together) that mashes up elements from Iron Man 3, CA: Winter Soldier, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season one, and Mission Impossible 3.

Why You Should Read It:

You can see my post yesterday for singing El’s praises, but what I really liked about this fic was how how damn creative it is. The CAWS/IM3/AOS mashup is everything I wished the actual MCU gave us and more, with well-developed characters and an exciting story to put them in. And because it’s El, you know the banter’s gonna be on point, the way the characters care for each other is gonna be emotionally constipated but touching, and the pacing’s gonna be exciting enough to draw you in and keep you there. Also, this fic doesn’t have nearly enough kudos so please go read it and fix that or I’m gonna have to try to hack AO3 and that’ll just be embarrassing for all parties involved.

What Happens In Vegas

Author: sabremc

Word Count: 161,951

Summary: “What the hell, Tony?” Rhodey demanded brusquely.  Tony winced and drew the phone away from his ear.  “You’ve got cops and Feds all over the hotel.  I’m watching you perp walk out of the police station on repeat on CNN.  They’re saying you tried to bribe Stern?  Fox News has you selling weapons on the black market, and God that picture they’re using is the one from Bali in ’09.   You look like shit.  They wheeled Stern out and put him in an ambulance, by the way.  Got some paparazzi swearing you decked the guy.  Now they’ve got ‘copters following it like he’s OJ.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Sourpatch, I’ve got it covered.   Uh, though, I should probably tell you that, purely in the interests of national security and the greater good, I kind of had to fake marry that stripper-gram  you sent.  Thanks for that, by the way,” Tony added quickly.

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re deep enough into Stony to see posts like this on Tumblr, you probably know sabre’s what we in the business call a “big name author.” They’re prolific, they’re popular, and most importantly, they write words good (technical term). Seriously, sabre just keeps cranking out high quality stuff over and over again, raising the bar for the rest of us like a jerk (not really. I’m not bitter they write stuff so good I wish I’d thought of it first. Not at all.)

I never read stripper!Steve or stripper!Tony as a rule, but this came so widely recommended that I broke that rule and boy am I glad that I did. This is also the only fic on this list that’s a true-AU, with Steve being a non-powered vet from Afghanistan who left his army career to help Bucky and is stripping in Vegas to raise money for a prosthetic arm. He’s booked to do a private show for Tony, shenanigans ensue, and now they’re fake-married. This fic’s got some top-of-the-line banter and character development, but I particularly love it for its rich setting. Sabre paints a Vegas not just with strip clubs and blackjack tables, but KISS-themed minigolf, romantic dinners on the Eiffel tower, gaudy hotel lobbies, and making out on giant ferris wheels. It’s such a richly developed playground for the characters to play on, and through it, Steve manages to find a life for himself he’d given up on, and Tony finds multiple ways to show his kindness and depth of feeling for Steve. I know the word count’s long for this one but trust me, you’ve gotta read this fic.

Wait & Sea

Author: Lenalena

Word Count: 53,244

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Why You Should Read It:

This one’s old and popular enough to be considered one of the “classic” Stony fics, and for good reason. Lenalena doesn’t write too often and not as much as they used to, but the fics they have up there are an absolute delight.

This is another fic that I skipped a bunch of times for being outside my comfort zone, but when I finally read it I saw why everyone’s so wild about it. In this story, Steve’s defrosted a bit earlier and not revealed as Captain America. He and Tony are sent undercover to sniff out Hydra shenanigans on a cruise and, because it’s fanfiction, they’ve got to pretend to be a married couple while onboard. There’s tons to love about this fic, but the things that bring me back to reading it over and over is first, Tony’s kindness and the way he’s attuned to Steve’s feelings, which... God, just inject “kind, observant Tony” straight into my veins, please and thank you. This is also another really rich setting for a story, and Lena knows how to fold the the hokeyness of the cruise into the seriousness of the mission and the depth of feelings Steve and Tony are finding for each other in a really beautiful, layered way. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it’s steamy, it’s gripping... why are you still reading this here? Go check it out for yourself!

Ashes to Ashes

Author: dirigibleplumbing

Word Count: 51,582

Summary: After regrouping following some surprise time travel, the world's heroes and sorcerers come up with a plan to protect the Mind and Time Stones by taking them into space in opposite directions. The result involves a lot more time loops than Steve would like, but at least they're getting a second chance to stop Thanos. (As well as a third, and a fourth...) And if Steve takes the opportunity to try to reconcile with Tony, too—well, they have the time, and Steve's going to make the most of it.

Why You Should Read It:

Dirigibleplumbing’s another name in Stony fanfics that does not get nearly as much fanfare as they deserve. They’re consistently a really creative voice in Stony fanfics and I always look forward to their stories showing me something new. Go read all their fics, I need more people to geek out with me over them.

I tend to limit myself on Steve-and-Tony-mend-things-after-Civil-War fics not because they’re not good, but because they’re so heavy, and also the Sokovia Accords have five hundred layers of crap in them that no good fic could possibly hash out well. This one, though? When you add in the Infinity War/End Game fixit? Poetry. Art. Music to my ears. DP wrote a really engaging, twisty story where it’s hard to predict what’s coming next, in spite of it literally being a pseudo-Groundhog day scenario. The characterizations are great, the story is engaging, and the feelings are big and sad and eventually happy. Go read it, you’ll love it.

I have tons of other recs for this category but this seems like a good place to stop for today. Tomorrow’s Alternative Media Thursday, and I’ve got some real gems I’ve been saving for that day (aaaaand possibly a self-rec or two ;)

[bow-woahh]

She-Ra Fics Masterlist

(It’s 100% Catradora but hey)

Started: 12/10/19 Last updated: 28/10/20

Multi-chapters:

Catradora —

What drove her insane... (Canon Divergent)(Completed) (4/4)(13k+)(Ao3 only)

There were a lot of things Adora would do that would get to Catra. A lot of things that would make Catra melt inside or combust. Or both. Things that would make her feel this intense feeling in her stomach, these flips, these... butterflies, is what she thought of them as.

Similarly, Adora didn't think she had many weaknesses, but most things Catra would do drove her up the wall. In a good way. In the best way. In a way that made her heart feel like it was about to hop out of her ribcage, that made her feel she was about to faint, from an unfamiliar, yet familiar, dazed dizziness.

Both of them drove each other insane.

Heal me after hurting (Modern AU)(Completed) (3/3)(29k+)(Ao3 only)

A million feelings she’s been fighting off for months threaten to overwhelm her: feelings of deep and utter care; of complete adoration; feelings of hot and harsh hatred; of absolute disdain; and abandonment, definitely abandonment; to confusion, anxiety, all bubbling as she tries to calm herself down; eyes closed, chanting the mantra:

you are in control, you are stronger now.   ___

Catra gets sick and someone unexpected turns up to help.

bloom (just for you) (High School AU)(Ongoing) (8/?)(68k+)(Ao3 only)

She was probably about to tell her to fuck off, though maybe—hopefully—she'd say it nicely. Catra closed her eyes and hoped when she opened them that this whole situation was just a figment of her imagination. Instead, she saw a one word reply. One single word. 

bet.

*

Adora Grayskull is the popular jock, the golden girl, the one that everyone loves. Catra D’riluth is the opposite. Yet despite this, they form an unlikely bond.

One shots:

Catradora —

What (Who) drives her to this? (Canon Divergent)(2k+)(Ao3 only)

Both Catra and Adora are tired. Both Catra and Adora reach a breaking point. Both Catra and Adora need to stop thinking. And when they do what will it drive them to do?

Catra’s Last Day (Canon Divergent)(2k+)(Ao3 only)

Catra has been anticipating this for months now, and now it's finally come - her last day at the Horde.

As the Sun Sets (Canon Compliant - Post S1)(1k+)(Ao3 only)

Watching the sunset was one way to end your day back at the Horde...

damn you, unrequited love (High school AU)(7k+)(Ao3 only)

Unrequited love sucks. That's what both Adora and Catra think.

Don’t sneak into the kitchen (Unless your girlfriend tells you to) (Canon Divergent)(2k+)(Ao3 only)

Catra has a bad habit of getting into mischief and Adora has a bad habit of agreeing to get into mischief with her.

Or

They sneak into a kitchen and make a mess.

As the Petal Falls (Beauty and the Beast AU)(1.5k+)(Ao3 only)

Shadow Weaver comes to kill the beast and take back Adora, who to her knowledge is a hostage there, when she has actually chosen to stay there - with Catra.

If I was perfect (Modern Family AU)(2.5k+)(Ao3 only)

Call it a coincidence, but just as Adora said the word “baby” (for the second time actually), Catra had choked on her own saliva.

How had children not crossed her mind before?

Two Sides Of The Same Coin (Gang AU)(1k+)(Ao3 only)

"Come on, Catra! You know better than to trust the horde!"

"And you know better than to trust the Rebellion!"

"The Horde is manipulating you!"

"At least they don't hide it and do it behind your back!"  

OR AU where the Rebellion is manipulating Adora and she doesn't realise (but Catra does)

I could get used to the sound of her voice (Royalty AU)(3.5k+)(Ao3 only)

Princess Adora was lucky enough for her parents not to marry her to a man. But, Princess Adora didn’t feel lucky in the slightest when she learned her wife to be was a right pain in the backside – or so she thought.

Or

Who knew that all it would take for Princess Adora to fall was her voice?

Fiction will make you think (what if it was real?) (YouTuber AU)(8k+)(Ao3 only)

All of a sudden, a new thought hits her like a train. Why does it matter so much? Image? Catra doesn’t exactly have a good one anyway, and if anything, it would be worse for Adora. But she is already in most of her videos, so clearly Adora doesn’t care either. So what would actually change?

Wait, Catra’s train of thought stops. Why am I thinking about dating Adora anyway?

OR

A YouTuber AU

Perspective (Prison AU)(25.5k+)(Ao3 only)

"Like you caved in Adora, you took the dive, and was it worth it?"

Adora looked at Catra, biting the inside of her cheek.

"I guess not."

Although, Adora couldn't deny that she felt almost lucky to have met someone like Catra, even if it was in here.

OR

Twelve months. Adora had earned herself twelve months in Prison — it was virtually hell on earth. Or it least it should have been, if not for a certain someone.

Sink my teeth to save you (Vampire AU)(1.5k+) — Ao3 link —

“How did...what are you?”

The stranger stroked her chin, pondering something, then said, “Well, I’m the tall dark stranger your parents warned you about," flashing her abnormally sharp fang like teeth, almost in a grin, though it felt more like she was just showing off.

I'll be your crutch to cope (College/Modern AU)(1.5k+) —Ao3 link —

A late night (or early morning) text from Catra’s roommate leads to more than she bargains for.

Do you know any spells to get rid of this thing? (Modern with Magic AU)(2.5k+)—Ao3 link—

“You know, like, spells and stuff, right?” Adora asks, hold a little looser on her wrist.

“Uh...yeah?” Catra replies, baffled.

Or

Catra’s a mage in training and Adora comes to her with a ridiculous request.

Christmas wouldn't be so bad (with you) (Modern Christmas AU)(1.9k+)—Ao3 link—

Catra wants to reject her responsibilities and problems for one night. Though, she can't avoid the one right in front of her for much longer.

As our differences divide us (Canon Divergent )(3.2k+)—Ao3 link—

Adora believes in the Horde. Catra doesn’t.

Or

An AU where Adora (with the sword) stays with the Horde and Catra leaves for the Rebellion.

Lost my heart (now you've taken it back) (Valentine's AU)(1k+)—Ao3 link—

Catra decides to make her first Valentine's with Adora a memorable experience.

Demons hiding underneath (Modern Gang AU)(3.3k+)—Ao3 link —

She kept plummeting deeper and deeper into the once beautiful blue abyss. And the further down she got, the more Adora realised it was closer to darkness than blue. It seemed she would continue falling, falling into the darkness until—

“Adora?”

—

They may be running away, escaping from their problems, but that doesn’t mean Adora can avoid her own too.

Distressing (over you) (Modern Superhero AU)(3.1k+)(Ao3 only)

Wearing her signature smug smirk, she stood, hands on her hips with a knowing look. Despite how many times she'd seen her in the familiar getup before, it somehow always managed to get her stomach lurching: those thigh highs which somehow weren't impractical; the crimson red suit which clung to her body in all the right places (arguably there were no wrong ones); the black sleeves which came up to cover her hands; and the red mask with pointed ears obscuring her face. However, the blue-gold glow of her eyes was still inexplicably Catra. It still captured her essence. At least to Adora.

things you said with clenched fists (Modern AU)(1.5k+)—Ao3 link—

Alone, at loss for words, but still – I've won and I've lost but I've fell and I've fucked it up

Or

An argument which stems from lies, deception and the past.

things you said when you were drunk (Modern AU)(1.6k+)(Ao3 only)

As Catra took her hand, with her mismatched eyes gleaming, and flashing her pearly white teeth in a grin, the smells, the noises of all the people around them dissolved into nothing more than white noise. 

The aftershock (of your touch) (Modern Soulmates AU)(28k+)(Ao3 only)

“When one finds their soulmate, they don’t immediately know that is the case. Some believe it is a way for the universe, for the great First Ones to test our ability to listen to its calling, to let us steer the wheel to our own fates. Others believe it is an act of cruelty—to try our patience, to punish us for being unable to love without any inhibitions. No matter what one believes, it doesn’t rid us of the fact that finding one's other half does not allow for instant gratification.”

—

Catra, jaded by her past, moves to Bright Moon to start a new life, and finds herself growing increasingly closer to her neighbour, Adora. Initially, she's apprehensive, but no matter what she does, something draws her to the girl, and a revelation causes it to make a lot of sense—and none at all.

all the time in the world (Post-Canon)(1k+)—Ao3 link—

In space, it feels like they have all the time in the world. All the time to relearn the new parts of each other, all the time to indulge the old parts of each other, all the time to simply just be.

You have their attention (and I want yours) (Modern AU - Actors)(1.9k+)—Ao3 link—

It’s all made worse when Catra does look in her direction, searching for none other than Adora’s eyes. She sees her sitting there, seething, and all she does is raise an eyebrow, then after a moment, grin. She can tell. And that only makes Adora more agitated as Catra turns back to the crowd and that girl is practically hanging off her arm. Now, Adora really is contemplating going up there, kissing the smirk of Catra’s face where everyone can see.

a regular customer of mine (Modern AU - Bakery)(3.9k)(Ao3 only)

Catra works at a bakery and Adora comes by every day trying to build up the courage to ask her out (unbeknownst to her).

Headcanons + Shorter Works: 

Catradora —

Fate Only Plays a Part (Canon divergent)(Ao3 only)

Adora finds a wounded and almost lifeless Catra in the woods and decides to bring her back to the castle.

I want to be with you when I grow up (Canon Divergent)(Ao3 only)

They are supposed to be fighting- they should be killing each other.

But they never can. And they never will.

Bad Dreams (Canon Divergent)

She tastes like coffee (Modern AU)

I like me better when I'm with you (Modern AU)

Adora's birthday (Canon Divergent)

The Start of Something Wonderful (Canon Divergent) 

Catradora Summer AU (Modern AU)(Snippet)

things you said when we forgave each other (Post-Canon)(Written before S5)

Reunion (S5 speculation)

[michaelmalloryfanfic-blog]

fic update: o thou, destroyer named - chapter vii

they are like two wounded animals, circling one another, waiting to see who will strike first

. millory outpost 3 au .

post links: chapter i // chapter ii // chapter iii // chapter iv // chapter v // chapter vi // chapter vii // chapter viii // chapter ix //

ao3 links: chapter i // chapter ii // chapter iii // chapter iv // chapter v // chapter vi // chapter vii // chapter viii // chapter ix //

a/n: sorry. again. it's crap and I don't ever edit before posting. I'm like an overly excited puppy with a new toy. So. Idk guys. I've been feeling real down on myself lately. I just feel like...this whole fic is kinda shit and pales in comparison to other fics that are waaaaay better and more popular. I really wanna finish but I feel like my heart isn't in it. I'll finish the next chapter and see where I fall.

and remember kids: kudos are nice comments are better but nosy anons get me wetter :)

chapter summary: uh. mostly filler. I split up this chapter like I did the last one but I figured I'd try stretching this out since I may be giving up on this fic.WARNING! Dream sequence ahead. Also Langdon gets a little handsy ;)

Michael Langdon is bored. This is as true of the current moment as its true of the last year or so. Oh sure, the whole apocalypse thing had been exhilarating at first. When the first bomb had fallen, Michael had felt such an intense moment of fulfillment. He had been standing at the precipice of the completion of his entire life’s purpose. He realizes all too late, what many a grade school genius may already know, that it’s a terrible thing to peak too early in life. Currently, he finds himself sitting in a car in complete silence besides the occasional hiss from Mead who’s operating system is working overtime on her update and needs to let off heat and a sleepy sigh from Mallory who is fast asleep.

Michael Langdon is bored and so through his subjectivity he has always been bored. The only upside to this is that he’s found that he has a propensity for finding entertainment wherever it can be found. And one of the most entertaining things he’s found is invading the minds of other. However, slipping into another person’s mind is a messy affair, even for the Antichrist. It can be discombobulating; memory and thoughts are rarely ever straightforward. Strangely enough, the human mind, which is supposed to be used to understand, seems to naturally resist being understood. Sight tends to take a back seat and experience becomes more about sensation. One moment he is in the back of the SUV. Mead is about fifteen minutes into her update and Mallory is across the seat. The next moment, he can taste the salt sea. He feels the cacophony of her limbs tangling around one another. The world tumbles over and over on its axis while the white wash pulls her under. He feels the grit of sand in her teeth when she crawls back up onto the shoreline. She’s just nineteen and it's the first time she's been to the ocean. He hears the echoing chambers of her heart. She is struggling to breathe, her chest burning yet she feels alive for what seems like the very first time.

There are other memories, most of them like an impressionist painting of emotion and sensation. Many memories resist comprehension, too intense or too faded into nothing more than a single feeling so vague that it has no name. But other things come easily, vividly. Pain is the clearest of all in her mind. How like a glittering jewel of broken glass, how like the revolving illumination of a lighthouse is pain in her head. He can taste her own saliva, pink with blood from biting her lip too hard, as her father buries his steel toe boot into her side for the third time. The memory is old, worn down to just the most intense bursts of pain and sadness. She’s only seven. Michael can smell her mother’s perfume when she drops down and curls around Mallory. The shock wave of her father’s boots can still be felt even through the shield of her mother’s body.

All this is both illuminating and not. She’s had a rough go of things but nothing that should make her singular. Mallory should be nothing to him, just another sad kid with a hole in her heart and yet he wants to feast upon her, gorge on all these moments of her humanity. In the darkness of the backseat, he looks at her placid features and feels her mind turn over. She’s beginning to dream. He can feel the tumult, fear, and intrigue pulse through her mind. In her dream, she is running. He can feel something behind her moving like a great, shining beast. It’s amazing how her mind can dream of heated pursuit but her face remains as impassive as ever.

He smells blood and feels panic rise in her. Dreams are always such messy, impractical things and he has never had much use for them. He is already disengaging from her mind when he becomes stuck in her mind like a pieces of fabric snagged on a thorn. In the physical world, he feels the communication device in his hand vibrate but he is hypnotized by his own image in her mind like Narcissus and his reflection. It is always strange to see yourself in someone else’s head. People tend to either exaggerate the things they like or the things they hate. Michael has seen himself hewn as a god, as an enemy, as an object of desire in the minds of others. He has seen himself so distorted to the point where he is unrecognizable even to himself but when he sees himself in Mallory’s mind he’s surprised. Not just because she sees him so terribly clearly, he’s like a photograph in her dream, but because of what she feels.

The car jolts, the vibration of the device in his hand has just ceased and a red dot pops up above the little phone icon on the screen. He feels her dream tremble. It buckles under the weight of her conscious mind awakening. Just as she wakes, the phone vibrates in his hand again and he answers. It is disappointing news but he barely cares, instead he focuses on how she tries so hard to steady her breathing. He ends the conversation with a threat and watches as her eyes shift beneath her eyelids. He waits for a moment to fiddle with his device but soon enough he can’t hold his words anymore.

“Sweet dreams?” Langdon asks from across the seat.

Once the two SUVs crunch to a halt and three bio-suited figures immediately hop out of the front seats. They hurry towards the other car, popping open the back doors. They extract from the second car what turns out to be a portable decontamination station. The three figures make quick work of the set up and soon enough one of the men are leading Michael and Mallory into the tent. Mead stays behind. She waves over one of the three suits and they discuss the next steps to decommission Outpost 3.

Their suits are sprayed down with a chemical cocktail and then they are led into another chamber where they are stripped of their suits and then its into the back of the SUV. As soon as they are seated, Langdon pulls out a device that looks suspiciously like a smart phone but like none Mallory's ever encountered. In the darkness of the cabin, his face is set aglow with pale blue light from his screen. His seem almost silver.

Mallory tries to peek over at what he's so fixated on but when he catches her looking he just pulls the device closer and smiles.

“Eyes to yourself, Mallory.”

After being chastised, Mallory turns her attention to the view out her window. Finding it an endless of expanse of gray mist, she presses her head against the cold glass. Despite all that’s happened, she’s a little excited to be taking a drive. Mallory had always loved long drives. The first one she could remember was when she was eight. Mallory remembers that they had started out early in the morning, long before sunrise. Her father, still drunk from the night before, sat snoring in his recliner as they shuffled out into the frigid darkness. When Mallory thinks of this moment, the image of her mother pressing one finger up against her lips, purple and bruising, always returns to her. It’s such a fragmented memory. She remembers thinking how pretty the shiner darkening her mother’s left eye looks in the early morning light. Mallory remembers the ache in her own right side where her father had kicked her five times the night before. It is to this memory that her mind wanders as she sits in the silence of the back cabin of an SUV while they wait for Mead.

She isn’t sure when it happens, but before she notices any difference she’s fast asleep. And as Mallory sleeps, Mallory dreams.

The outpost is a maze. Outpost 3 had always been a confusing network of passages, hallways, and chambers but now it is transfigured into something organic, nonsensical, alive. In the dark, she stumbles blindly and always behind her there is some burning, writhing thing that stalks her every move. It never reaches out, never strikes but she knows that if she stops running, if she is caught she will be consumed. So she runs. And runs. And runs.

Runs towards an orange glow that is always just beyond her reach, around another corner.

Behind her she hears a voice and realizes with dread that it is her own voice speaking.

“Look back,” the thing says as if it has her own tongue in its blazing mouth. “Look back and know me again. Perish and be reborn.”

It’s a trap. She knows this. Knows that if she looks back all will be lost. A pillar of salt, a vicious wound is all she will be. And yet she feels her muscles tense, move beyond her will. She is turning even as she runs. Is she moving in slow-motion or does it only feel that way? She wills her eyes to close but her body is not her own. Every second she inches closer and closer to looking back. The bright thing behind her, the orange glow before her, her life hangs in the balance between.

Just a little further. Please, please just a little more and I will be safe, she pleads. To whom? She doesn’t know.

But they must hear her because before she looks back, before the thing reaches her she is standing in a haze of orange and before her is a door. She remembers it and looks down to see Langdon’s blood seep out from beneath. Above the door the words are written but they are different now.

Igne natura renovatur integra

Behind her the shining thing hisses, I am the fire. I will birth you anew. Let me hold you. Let me devour you.

She slips into the room but instead of the antechamber, the candlelit room circling around, she finds her own room. It is both as tiny as she remembers but as vast as anything she knows. Her bed has become an alter and on it are her things, the crystals, the sprig, the charcoal and the matches. Kneeling at the altar are three cloaked figures. Blood pours from the altar like water bubbling up from a spring. Suddenly, Mallory realizes she shouldn’t be here. She tries to back away. The cloaked figures rise to their full height. Someone grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around. It is Michael and he is exactly like he was in that moment when she was no one, a nameless creature who had just spit up her own death like a ball of tar black phlegm. He is smiling when he wraps his hands around her little throat. He squeezes and she gasps but not from pain. No it isn’t as simple as that. It is pain but also comfort. Even as her vision bleeds to black, her windpipe buckling beneath his thumb, she is grateful, relieved even.

He leans down to whisper in her ear. His cheek his so warm against her own and his breath is scorching in the shell of her ear.

“This is what happens when you ask for it, Mallory darling.”

The last thing she sees is the curtain of Langdon’s hair falling over her like a golden curtain of light.

The world shakes and the sound of great metal gears echoes through the dreamscape. All color begins to drain. Red from the blood that still pools at her feet. The gold from his hair that smells of smoke and secret things. The blue from his eyes that shine like the summer sky. They all fade until all that's left is -

Darkness. She is thrown into the amniotic blackness behind her eyelids by the sudden shifting of the car around her, the crunch and howl of machinery sounds around her. It is a cacophonous reintroduction to consciousness and it takes a great amount of effort to keep quiet. For a moment she is lost, adrift. She tries to keep her breathing even, her eyes closed and then she hears from somewhere besides her Langdon’s voice.

“I ordered that the update include the restoration of all her old memories in full.” There is a series of no's punctuated by brief silences before he sighs deeply, “I don't respond kindly to failure as I’m sure you’re aware. Fix it or I will handle both you and the situation myself.”

She peeks over at him. He seems to still be completely preoccupied with his device. His eyes are almost silver in the blue light of his screen.

“Sweet dreams?” he asks suddenly and Mallory jumps.

“I - uh - sorry,” she settles on the last word with an embarrassment.

When she glances up at him she sees the tiniest smirk on his features.

“Answer the question. What did you dream about?” he asks sounding less than interested.

He is still fiddling with his device. He taps the screen with his thumbs, texting someone or writing something down.

“I was back at the outpost,” Mallory mumbles as she turns to look back out the window.

Instead of gray mists, she finds that its just darkness now, smooth like oil. Occasionally, a soft orange light would pass overhead barely detectable through the heavily tinted windows. There was an oily smudge where head had been pressed up against the window. She moves to wipe at it with her sleeve but winces when she feels a tightness in her left shoulder from sleeping in an awkward position for too long.  Mallory reaches up with her right arm to try and massage her crick in her neck.

“Is that all?” he says this time the tiniest bit of interest seeping into his voice.

She shakes her head, no. Rotating her shoulder a few times, Mallory presses harder into the tight bundle of muscles tucked under her shoulder blade. A spasm of pain shoots through her and she hisses. Mallory stretches, hoping to hear that satisfying crack but to no avail. She begins to work at the muscle again before she hears him call to her.

“Come here,” he says quietly.

He is still in the same position as before, so completely still that she thinks she may have imagined hearing him. Mallory glances at Mead who sits stone-faced, staring straight ahead. She too is completely silent and when Mallory waves a hand in front of Mead’s face she doesn’t react.

“Leave Ms. Mead alone,” Langdon sighs then he tucks his device away and reaches out a long arm to wrap it around her. “I said come here.”

Mallory’s first instinct is to jump back. She’s never been big on physical intimacy, more than one of her former partners have bemoaned her unwillingness to cuddle or hold hands, calling her a cold fish. But Langdon is persistent. His fingers find the tight muscles in her shoulder and begin to knead them. The sudden relief that his touch brings is enough to throw Mallory off her guard. For a moment, she forgets to resist and that’s all Michael needs to pull her in.

“You capricious thing,” he murmurs only mildly irritated.

Mallory can only hum in response. His hands are so warm on her skin and seem to know exactly where the tightness is. There is one particular spot, the root of the problem, that he seems to always just miss. He is so maddeningly specific in his ignorance that she’s certain he’s doing this on purpose. Instead of giving her release, he works at the areas around that longing spot and after a few minutes of this she’s practically keening for relief.

“Tell me more about the dream,” he says and he’s so close now that she that she can feel the warm air carried by his words as they run over her head.

“I was running from something,” she breathes and then hisses as he ghost over that spot she so desperately wants him to press down on.

He knows, he knows. Though he touches her where she needs him to his fingers suddenly lose all strength. They are like air. Mallory shifts hoping to catch the pressure of his fingers on the bundle of muscles that she longs for him to attend to but he knows what she’s playing at.

“I couldn’t see it but I knew it was behind me,” her voice is almost nothing more than a whine now. “I could feel it.”

She’s embarrassed at herself pressing up against him like a cat in heat. But the undulating shift between pleasure and pain is heady. Mallory is still half asleep and in a haze.

“What was it? What was chasing you?”

She’s fully pressed against his side now. This is the first time she’s been close enough to smell him when he isn’t covered in blood. He smells warm like amber and sweat.

“I don’t remember,” she breathes her head is spinning and she’s needy for that one spot to be attended to. “There were women there too. The women who live in my head. They were kneeling at an alter. And then - then you were there.”

“Dreaming about me, Mallory darling?” he hums into to her ear.

She begins to nod but then yelps when he suddenly presses down right at the center of her tightness. White flashes behind her eyes but the pain passes as quickly as it comes. She is practically melting as he slowly begins the knead the tightness away.

“Keep going,” he whispers hotly in her ear.

“You told me, you - you said something ,” she slurs as the tension flees her body. “I can’t remember.”

Mallory’s eyes begin to droop and her breathing slows. Michael can feel her fighting against the darkness, against the comfort and warmth.

“Sleep, Mallory,” he insists, his voice is a purring in her ear. “We still have a ways to go.”

Zoe Benson is no stranger to death. Not even the current reigning Supreme can boast familiarity with the darkest art the way Zoe can. Only Madison rivals Zoe in this way. Despite its pristine look, Outpost 3 reeks of death. The witches can smell it. Its energy is rotten to the core. All three of the witches know this but Zoe feels the narrative of its evil of how it reaches back not just to the bombs but years and year, decades and decades of evil. It opens to her like a book.

Despite what Cordelia orders, the witches find none of their sisters in the abandoned outpost. The place is for all intents and purposes, barren. The shelves had been stripped of their books. The rooms have no mattresses. Metal and wooden bed frames sit like skeletons in their rooms. Much to their dismay, the provisions have also been cleared out. When they had taken down the first few outposts, there had been a plethora of supplies but now, the kitchens and med-bays are cavernous in their emptiness.

Scorched earth. The Cooperative may be on to them and this makes Cordelia cautious.

“Split up and search the rest of the facility, but stay close,” Cordelia says her face grim as she takes Zoe’s hand in her’s. She squeezes lightly. “I can’t afford to lose you.”

“Any of you,” she adds with a pointed look at Madison who only rolls her eyes at the sentiment.

Almost immediately after this interaction, Madison finds a bathroom to hole up in and lights up the other half of the blunt she had rolled that morning. The place is empty and everyone that used to live there is either dead or long gone. No amount of searching is going to change that. Madison hated outpost runs and she had previously had no reason to be involved. As far as she was concerned, she’s given more than enough for the sake of her coven. She’s died a few times already for this little girl scout troop and then some. She didn’t really feel like dying again. So make no mistake, when her name had come up in conversation about the next and possibly last outpost run, Madison had every intention of telling Cordelia and the council to fuck right off. Except, Zoe had come to her first with her dark eyes and mournful mouth. Zoe had come to Madison with a worried plea.

“Please, M,” Zoe had said. “I have a feeling about this one. I think something big is gonna happen and I can’t tell if it's gonna be good or bad. I need you with me.”

She had reached out a small pale hand and laced her fingers through Madison’s. The next she knew she was cloaked up and hiking cross country through radioactive mists. Madison had always been a sucker for a pretty face.

“Madison!” a voice rings out and Madison nearly drops her joint in surprise.

“Speak of the devil,” Madison mumbles to herself.

Madison takes one last drag before leaving her little hovel to seek her sister witch out. It takes a little while and a few more shouts before she finds the tiny room that Zoe inspecting a little square impression in the wall that forms a sort of shelf.

“Mah-” Zoe begins to shout again but halts with a small ‘oh’ when she turns to find Madison leaning against the door frame.

“What’s up buttercup?” Madison says casually.

Zoe only rolls her eyes but Madison catches that small secret smile that she thinks Zoe keeps only for her.

“So you girls always split up like the scooby gang on these runs?” she quips. “Seems a little risky doncha think? You know the whole split up thing was just so Fred could screw Daphne’s brains out behind a dumpster.”

“Or smoke a joint?” Zoe replies with a knowing look but doesn’t press any further. “Come here. What does this look like to you?”

Madison finally enters the room although it’s so small there’s barely enough space to actually be in the room. She saddles up next to Zoe who stands at the head of an empty metal bed frame. She’s staring intently at what seems to be a bunch of trash.

“Uh. Four Swarovskis and some crap,” she replies and looks around again at the meager room. “Listen, can we get out of this place already. I’m getting seasonal depression just from here.”

Zoe sighs but honestly isn’t surprised. Casting had never been Madison’s strong suit.  

“Crystal for clarity, four of them for each cardinal sign. Charcoal to absorb evil intent and a sprig of rosemary for remembering. Fire for purity,” she explains but the look on Madison’s face says that doesn’t follow. “It's a memory spell.”

“Who would be doing a memory spell?” Madison says and as soon as she does she seems to answer her own question.

“Someone who was made to forget,” Zoe unnecessarily replies. “We need to get Cordelia in here. Now.”

Zoe makes to leave but before she can go Madison takes her hand.

“You think it’s her don’t you.”

Zoe only squeezes Madison’s hand tighter. Both witches leave the memory spell behind and seek out their superior, their hands still entwined.

Next Time: Welcome to the Sanctuary! We have tasteful sweaters, chinos, and nefarious plots galore!

[samtheflamingomain]

remember when tik tok was a song?

A lot has changed in my short time on this planet. I grew up to the sound of the ole dial-up and now I can watch someone talk about why the Earth is flat for an hour from anywhere on the disc!

The way we create, consume and criticize media is one of the things whose recent evolution is probably what piques my interest the most. Not necessarily the content of the media, which is always changing, but trends in the structure behind it.

Tech has obviously improved exponentially. Health, science, education - all significantly changed in the past few decades. But same goes for the past few centuries.

Media has, necessarily, been slower to evolve. Can't have TV shows without a TV. It basically went from book to newspaper to radio to TV to Internet. There's at least a few decades between all those things, if not longer. However, from TV to today is what I'm most interested in.

For decades, for generations, TV was channel-surfing via an antenna or a satellite dish served by your cable provider. A lot of those words mean nothing to a teenager now.

I'm 26. I started with cable (10 channels), then we got satellite (500 channels), then by the time I was 16 or 17, Netflix the streaming service came out. So I'm in a very small window of people who were young enough for all of these things to happen in my childhood. 5 years older than me and you didn't get Netflix as a teen. 5 years younger and you didn't have cable as a teen. Maybe 10 years. You see the point.

Then realize that the 16 year-old of today hasn't grown up without Netflix being a household word. If the 16 year-old of today wanted to watch Peter Pan, he would boot up Disney+. I would've gone to Blockbuster and rented it for $3. If he wanted to see a kitten falling down stairs and then doing a backflip, that's probably somewhere on Youtube. If I wanted to see that as a kid, well, I'd better start looking for a very gymnastic cat with all its lives.

So to sum up so far, a lot has changed very quickly - about how we consume media. What about how it's formatted?

And how we consume it always necessarily comes before what it is we're consuming changes. Remember when "Netflix Originals" didn't exist? The platform was built, the people came, and then new media came from it.

We've seen TV shows go from the binary of "22 minutes or 44 minutes" to "however long we fucking want". The disintegration of the binary of "comedy or drama". When I was a kid, sitcoms had seasons of 22 episodes, once a week, in the fall. Drama shows usually had 16 episodes. Now Netflix puts out "Mike Tyson Mysteries", with any number of episodes in a season, with each only 11-13 minutes long, pretty much at random. Letterkenny puts out 6-episode seasons once a year on Christmas. Back in my day, we never knew if this season would be the last. Even if the last episode was a cliffhanger, there was no promise of a resolution. Sitcoms kissed the rings of the networks every year hoping to be renewed. The other day South Park announced it was making 6 more seasons and a bunch of movies.

There are a few TV formats that I consider "evolution proof" - game shows (not reality, game), soap operas, late night and standup. All of these date back to radio times and have rarely if ever changed format. I'm personally hoping that, within my lifetime, I'm able to see a change in the way standup is done. We've seen very few attempts to break the mold, and the only example I can think of right now is Mulaney's Sack Lunch Bunch, and to be honest I think it left a lot to be desired. But that's to be expected if media itself is going to change formats - it'll take a lot of trial-and-error.

Quick tangent: I'm not talking about comedy itself. Comedy is constantly changing formats. Vine made absolute stars out of SIX SECOND-LONG content creators. I mean standup. I'd like to see its definition change from "70 minutes of uncut, unedited, scripted jokes told in story form on a stage in front of an audience with a microphone and maybe a few props done by one person, with pauses for laughter and applause, sometimes with audience interaction" to "long-format comedic content delivered by one person to an audience", taking away the mic, the stage, the very structured format. With the exception of maybe Bo Burnham, even if you've never seen a specific comedian, you know what to expect and when to expect it. You can Just Tell when the last joke is about to begin. You're not going to be surprised when the guy picks someone out of the crowd to make a few jokes with. You probably even know the definition of a call-back by name because they're so common. I don't know how it would necessarily change, but I don't think it's impossible.

Back to the main post for one more point: fandom. We've talked about the evolution of the consumption of media and what format we're watching it in. We know the content has evolved. But I think one of the most interesting changes in this category is the way we interact with shows now.

I'm currently sitting in my Simpsons-character-covered tracksuit I bought for $15 on Wish, next to my closet which contains about 15-20 t-shirts. At least 8 of them are Simpsons-themed. When I started building this collection, it started about 5 years ago when I saw my very first Simpsons shirt in a Bluenotes, and it was the only one I had for a few years. I would buy any Simpsons shirt I saw for a while. Today I went to the mall, and if I still had that policy I'd have blown through my savings in one trip.

I actually consider myself lucky; The Simpsons isn't as popular on merch you'd find at the mall as say Rick and Morty, Adventure Time, or Spongebob. I've seen giant stuffed Pickle Ricks, but never an oversized Homer.

My point being, I'm a superfan, but of a slightly older show that isn't nearly as popular as it used to be. If you walk into a Hot Topic, you can probably find any pop culture property on a t-shirt, mug, keychain and temporary face tattoo. This was not the case 10 years ago.

And that's just fandom with regard to the physical world. Did you know that John Mulaney, who did 3 Netflix specials 4 years ago, has THREE subreddits? Every time I get into something new it used to cross my mind, "Hey, I wonder if there's a subreddit for this yet". Now it's "I wonder which of the several subreddits that surely exist for this show/movie/vague concept is best".

A lot of the time when I see the concept of fandom discussed in mainstream media, it's still a severely outdated depiction. Even documentaries tend to stop at "and then Comic-con was invented. The End". I hate to praise it for anything, but if it did anything good, The Big Bang Theory did properly define "fandom" for the world.

I remember when 99% of people polled would not have heard of "fan fiction". I started writing it at 12 when the category for Harry Potter fan fiction on fanfiction.net had but a few thousand entries. My show of choice, Death Note, had a few hundred. I got in on the ground floor and built my way to the top. I abandoned that account 6 years ago and I still get 10-20 story comments or favorites per week.

Now try finding someone who hasn't heard of fan fiction. Find someone who's too old to have written on AO3.

Finally, and I know it's been a long ramble but bear with me, I want to address the homicidal, drunk-driving, pregnant-wife-killing elephant in the room: stans.

If you don't get the reference I just made, please google "origin of the term stan". Caught up? Good, so now answer me this: how did we take a term that refers so very, very obviously to a very, very negative situation and turn it into something someone says casually or even proudly of themselves?

Obviously when I say I stan Green Day that doesn't mean I'm going to write Billie Joe threatening letters and kill my girlfriend, it means I consider myself one of their biggest fans. I think in all of English vocabulary, there's only one other word that's taken such a 180 in definition and it's one I can't say.

Anyway, that's me done. Now that there's more streaming platforms than people who've fucked your mom, I'm interested to see where we go from here.

Stay Greater, Flamingos.

[jewishangus]

that’s 3/7(?) post stolen-century fics done!! or, aka, episode 66 still hurts a week later and its nice to get it out of my system, again.

(as usual, the text is copy-pasted under a readmore in case you dont want to hop on ao3, but ao3 has bonus content, so i recommend checking that out!!)

“Oh, Jules - After you’re done, can you go check on Magnus?” “Your new apprentice? Why would he still be there that late at night?” “It’s a long story - do you want me to explain?” “No Dad, you know I’m rushing, I’ll go check, bye, love you!” “Bye, honey, love you too, stay safe!” “I will!”

“Magnus?” It was past midnight when Julia creaked the door open of the Hammer and Tongs per her father’s request. She hadn’t understood why he’d ask it - how long could the guy work? - but as she peeked in and found most of the room still lit, she knew he was right after all. “Magnus? You there?” It was only when she fully opened the door when she found him; he slept over the bench he was working on with a light snore, yet by his murmuring and fidgeting in his sleep she could tell his rest wasn’t very peaceful. “Magnus… Wake up….” “I’m busy…” “You’re not busy, you’re sleeping.” She laughed, and put her hand on his shoulder, this time shaking him as she said “Magnus, wake up!” His eyes flickered open in a daze, and he blinked a few times, gauging his surroundings before looking at her. “What… Did I fall asleep?” “On your first day on the job, no less.” “Oh… Shit.” He wiped his eyes, then stood up and stretched before looking at Julia again. “Have we met?” “I don’t think so.” She extended her hand. “I’m Julia." “Magnus.” He shook her hand. “Though I think you already knew that.” "I figured it out." She smiled. "You're lucky Dad told me to come check on you, otherwise you'd be here all night and still have to work tomorrow." "Dad?" "Steven Waxman? My dad? The one who runs this place?" "Oh, you're Julia, Steven's daughter..." He laughed. "Didn't put two and two together." She laughed too; and it was then, in that sleepy daze, that Magnus first fell in love with that laugh. It had a gentility fitting the time of night yet still retained Julia’s heartiness and spirit, somehow managing to capture her intelligence, energy, kindness, and unbelievable heart all at once - and, of course, it didn’t fail to express how ridiculous she found Magnus to be at that moment, to his slight embarrassment. (Embarrassment, the kind that flared at a stereotypical childhood crush, was a new feeling to Magnus - he knew even with the memory loss that he wasn’t at all the type to care about what people thought of him - but there was something different about Julia.) Magnus scratched the back of his head. “We should go.” “Yeah.” Julia turned around and started heading towards the door. “After this, I don’t think Dad will expect you to come that early, but time is still precious.” He nodded, and began to follow her out. “Do you have keys?” She held them up in her hand, letting them jingle around, before closing the door behind him as he walked out. “You do know the way home, right? We’re going the same way, so if not you can follow me, but I can’t help you find your own house.” “…” “Magnus?” She turned to him. He stood by the entrance, just staring in front of him. His eyes were wide, and expression blank; as opposed to his earlier sleepy daze, Julia then saw Magnus in a state of shock. “Magnus, you ok?” “It’s dark.” She laughed - less of an endearing, lovable one and more of a nervous one. “Yeah, it’s 1 AM. You scared of the dark or something?” “No… It just hasn’t been this dark since….” “Since what?” He looked at her for a brief moment, and she never forgot the look she saw on his face. It was pained, almost. Confused. There was fear in there, but it wasn’t fear of the dark - it was that the dark should have reminded him of something greater, but he had no idea what it was. And just as quickly as she saw it, it was gone, and was replaced with a Magnus lost in his own thoughts before answering her question. “I don’t know.” She froze, for a second - it was hard to find something to say after that - and then felt her hand slip into his, almost instinctively. “It’s okay, Magnus. I’ll walk you home.”

~

Since that day, Julia had seen Magnus around a lot, both in and out of her father's shop - Raven's Roost was small, and that was how it was with everyone - but any sign of trauma Magnus had shown that night seemed gone during the day. Her dad noted that he slept in a lot more than usual, and that he was never a morning person even when he was late - his work seemed sloppier, as if he was too tired to be precise - but besides that, he seemed fine. But she didn't forget that night - how he was still in that daze as she walked him back to the residential district, how as soon as they entered his neighborhood he led her to his house with his eyes closed, having memorized his address and the streets around his house as if they could disappear at any moment - and it came back to her every time she went out with her friends late at night. It was one of those nights that she saw him again: they had gone to the tavern as they sometimes did, just to hang out and drink a little; her friend Quincy knew the band that was playing in the background that evening, and had convinced them to come listen. Julia had gone to get them refills when she noticed Magnus sitting at the bar, an empty mug in hand; he seemed out of focus, again, but she couldn't tell how much of that was due to alcohol and how much wasn't. "Magnus?" "Oh.... Hey Jules." His words didn't seem slurred as much as his voice seemed heavy, as if he was more tired than drunk. "It's Julia." "Sorry, Julia." He put his mug down. "What brings you here?" "Just hanging out." She nodded towards her friends. "And you?" "You know..." He held up his mug. "You're here for the drinks." "Yeah." It was quiet, for a moment; but then the silence was broken by the voices of her friends approaching the bar. "Yo Julia, who's that?" Quincy peeked out from behind her chair to look at Magnus. "That's Magnus, my dad's new apprentice." She lifted the halfling up and placed him on her lap. "Magnus, the small one is Quincy, and the taller ones are Casey, Tess, and Jack." Magnus straightened up and put his mug down. "It's nice to meet you all." After their chorus of "Nice to meet you too"'s, Quincy hopped off of Julia's lap and stood next to Magnus. "Alone at the bar, huh? I know what that's like." Tess gave him a look of disapproval. "Quincy, you're being rude. And besides, you're not alone anymore!" "It's alright." Magnus's expression softened. "I know what I signed up for when I came here." "Which is why I can't trust you to stay here." Julia laughed; her nervous laugh, again. "Why?" Jack asked, his voice quieter than its usual hush. "He looks like he can hold his alcohol." "Yeah, but no one can hold deep-seeded emotional trauma." Casey blurted out, getting confused looks from his friends. "What? It was kind of obvious." Magnus laughed. "I never was any good at hiding my emotions. But you're right, Julia, I should go. I'll see you around?" He began to stand up. "Yeah, I'll see you- Magnus, don't fall!!" She held her arms out as he stumbled backward, clearly dizzy, yet he caught himself last minute before falling onto her. "Okay, you know what? We're walking you home."

~~

After that night, Julia never really saw Magnus in the same light. She was always more concerned about him when she saw him, that was true, but as they were walking home and Magnus opened up a bit she began to understand him more. He was vulnerable despite his size and physical strength, but also kind, funny, strong-willed, and smarter than she thought; he was a fighter through and through, but he seemed, at that time, to be at war with his own thoughts. So she kept an eye out for him, but it was the casual interactions later - whether it was starting conversations in her dad’s shop or inviting him to go out with her friends - that really made her fall in love with him. She loved Magnus for his smiles and his carpentry skill and the way he gave piggyback rides; she loved how he took every opportunity he had, how he read books aloud to the animals in the park and was confident they could understand him, and how he always had a box of (store-bought, but still good) cookies at home in case someone came to visit. She never saw him at the bar again, but he never told her if he stopped going until the day she caught him heading over there. She was going back home as she saw him walk past her - still sober, but in that same daze, the same desperate look on his face that she saw when he told her and her friends, through the alcohol, just how much he wished to know what he had forgot. Yet she approached him casually - her voice shaking, a bit - and asked him where he was going, as if she hadn't already known. "Yo Magnus! What brings you here?" "Oh hey, Julia." Magnus shook his head as if trying to clear it. "I just needed a drink." She nodded in understanding. "Do you have to get one? Or will something else distract you just as well?" "It sounds like you have a plan." "Magnus Burnsides, you have known me for almost a full year; do I ever not have a plan?" They both laughed after that; it was a true statement, but so typical of Julia Magnus couldn't help but laugh. "True. How are you distracting me, then?" Julia thought about it a bit. "Have you ever been at the edge of town, where the cliffs are?" "Not yet." He admitted, knowing it was a popular spot but realizing going that far from home wasn't something he had done since he moved in. "So we'll go there! You can see the stars and the waterfalls, and we can talk or something." "Talking does sound less boring than drinking alone," he admitted. "Take it away then, tour guide."

They walked for a while, past downtown and the craftsmen's quarter and the edge of town and off into the distance, where the roads were gone and the only sound was the faint rush of waterfalls far below them, and it was a lot darker than the faint glow of the town, and they sat down on the ground by one of the cliffs and just stared, for a moment. And then they talked. They talked about not knowing constellations and about the upcoming election for governor; they talked about childhood and how Magnus wanted to get a dog; Julia told him the long story about how she met her friends and Magnus told her about his hope to one day find the friends he lost, about how the first thing he remembers from the past year is waking up with a letter from a friend he didn't remember telling him about his new home. He told her how at one point, he felt like everyone knew him better than he knew himself. But the subject changed pretty quickly; from there, they bet on who could win at arm wrestling and Magnus lost, they talked about what Julia wanted to do with her life and whether it was carpentry, they taught each other their favorite childhood games, laughed every time Magnus's stomach rumbled, and debated whether Magnus could have possibly gotten into college; but sometimes, they could spend minutes just lying on the ground, staring at the sky. They didn't go home until about 3 am that night. They were tired, and Magnus was the happiest he had been in a long, long time; yet he still felt a twinge of nervousness when he asked Julia if that was a date. "Yeah, I think." She seemed relieved, yet Magnus was a bit too distracted to tell. "So can I call you Jules now?" "Only if I get to call you Maggie." "Deal." He laughed, and gave her one of his signature bear hugs, and as she hugged him back, he felt the same twinge of familiarity whenever he was grasping on a memory, and almost faltered. Yet when he heard Julia's laugh, felt her breath on his face, he felt calmer again, slightly more grounded, and said: "Jules, can you walk me home?"