#ao3 has spoiled me with it's search functions

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Hello! There was this really lovely Alphyne fic I read on Quotev years ago. It was short and sweet. Ended with them watching a rainbow together. I cannot find it anywhere! A little help?

Howdy, thanks for asking! Are you perhaps thinking of…

Beautiful View by Jess S (Not Rated, Complete)

Alphys wants to show Undyne something really cool.

[matrixbearer2024]

I currently have two AUs that I don't exactly know what to do with or what to properly call them LMFAO- I'll probably write something on Ao3 for it eventually since there's a ton of BillFord and FiddStan in there but yeah-

1st AU: Timelord Stanford (Dr Who what if)

This case was inspired by an RP I had with someone's Bill Cipher on @gftimelord where the triangle starts to be on the mend with Stanford after their ruined past. This to me makes sense because the Doctor is inherently very lonely despite the savior god complex. In that AU where Ford is functionally immortal and Stan and Fidds both at some point die due to his complacency and arrogance— he searches for a companion that can actually keep up with him.

So when Bill visits him during one of those window hours set by the Theraprism, they talk about the triangle's impending demise with their plans to essentially erase him from existence. It's not an outlandish idea given that any inpatient seen as a lost cause would or could be disposed of when it comes to cosmic entities. It's simply the easier option.

The doctor(Ford) is more impulsive, nonchalant, and egoistic compared to his counterparts because he does have the walk to back his talk(this man has been broken by the nightmares and guilt he carries from the deaths he caused; also time war) problem being he doesn't fear death as much as he fears being alone. He's had a fair share of close calls with the grim reaper, but always like some horrible twist he survives. After all, it is a saying that we covet the most what we don't have.

So yeah, he jailbreaks Bill essentially and whatever power limiter is stuck on the triangle get tied to his sonic screwdriver instead and they simply go around the multiverse doing whatever. Most of the reason why Ford isn't caught yet largely has to do with how scared most entities are of him. The doctor is never armed, but it doesn't mean he won't kill.

2nd AU: Modern Era AU (Set in 2024)

This one is more of a shitpost thanks to the young trio I drew a little while back, I'll draw more of them for this at some point while I also try and figure out a decent human Bill design that I like in my artstyle.

But this AU heavily features these four idiots as Undergrad students fucking about college life as they would. This AU is supposed to feature like a more cultivated genius Stanley based around my own dynamic with my brother since I do like me some happy Stan twins.

It just so happens that Ford is also a very much EQ negative idiot and falls for an upperclassman(one year his senior) in BSSE[Software Engineering] who is a close friend to Fidds. He goes by 'Cipher' as an alias since he's a prodigy for his age and very young ethical hacker.

So yes, that's where Bill comes in. Haven't figured out what I want his full name to be yet shoot me some ideas! Ford is very shy when it comes down to talking with Bill whereas Stan is completely chill.

Both Stan and Bill get along very well in this AU because they're similarly chaotic the same way that Fidds and Ford get along because they're the ones holding the other two back from doing something undeniably stupid for shits and giggles.

All of them share some fundamental subjects together(i.e. Math, Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Statistics, Research, History, etc.) or take elective courses just so they could chill together. Stan is typically the one who adjusts to the schedule of the other three since he takes BSBA[Business Administration] and is the odd one out when Ford does BSCMB[Cellular Molecular Biology] and Fidds does BSEE[Electrical Engineering].

The FiddleStan in this AU is gonna be c r a z y mostly due to Fidds in this AU is the heir to his family's computer company, so lowkey spoiled nepo baby but also on a very tight leash with his parents. Stan is the kid where 90% of his childhood was parents either forgot him or straight up did not give a flying fuck. So these two kinda work as complements and it's why I decided to pair them together after chatting with a friend about the group dynamics.

So yeah, simpy and adoring Ford and silently aware but shy Bill + rebellious Fidds and supportive Stan. All the more when I actually plan for this AU to have some typical gravity falls shenanigans anyway thanks to a place on earth called the Oregon Vortex.

[I'll likely make fics and comics of these AUs, reply to this post if you want to be tagged for whenever I post something]

Yeah I need to properly name these AUs.

[therhythmafterthesummer]

do you know of any other werewolf skz fics or blurbs or anything? or how to find them? it's my favorite genre but im so bad at trying to look for fics 😭 i was spoiled by ao3s tagging and search functions <3

(btw obsessed with wereroomies!! 😭 i swear i will never get enough of them, all of the couples!!)

(glad you're enjoying wereroomies!! thanks for telling me, means the world to me 💜)

how to find werewolf fics is by pure luck atp for me 😭 i personally try to tag everything as "werewolf chan" "wererwolf minho" etc, but i'm not sure if everyone does that. i do wish tumblr would be blessed with a search function like AO3's (my beloved), but i feel like the site would explode if they tried to hahah

with that being said, here's some fics i dug out from my recs tag:

Under the Moonlight (Chan · Fluff, Mild Angst) by @ppiri-bahng

Untitled [Ft. Werewolf!Changbin] (Chan · Smut) by @/ppiri-bahng

Our Last Dance (Chan · Angst, Fluff. please check the warnings, i cried. this one's sad sad) by @iridescentxstars

Yours (Chan · Fluff, Smut) by @imhereforbrownies

Instinct (Chan · Fluff, Smut) by @fizzydrink698

Touch 01 & Touch 02 (Chan · Smut) by @fizzydrink698

I Don’t Want to Hurt You (Changbin, but the reader is the wolf · Smut, fluff) by @yoongihan

and @lettersfromaphrodite has an entire series of werewolf!skz in her masterlist.

i know there are some ot8 x reader fics out there, but i haven't read those so i can't link them. if anyone else has any recs, feel free to leave them in the commets/reblogs/etc.

[sak-supernatural]

I actually hate fanfiction.net. The search function sucks so bad 😫. Yes I know I’m spoiled by ao3, but come on!!! Why is it so hard to find a fic I know I read there as a teenager. I used to find it with a quick google search, I’m actually getting worried that it’s been purged. It was one of those life changing fics that you remember forever. It was a Glee fic about Sebastian Smythe and it was tied to the song ‘How to Save a Life’ by The Fray, I’ve had that song on my sad playlist since I was 15. Sebastian was being abused by his father and gets kicked out ending up living out of his car and having to leave Dalton, he ends up joining the New Directions and the task set is the everyone has to sing a song that reflects their life and Sebastian chooses ‘How to Save a Life’ and breaks down while singing it to the group, he runs out and Kurt comforts him. It’s quite a long fic and the first one I ever followed to completion. The song was on repeat at work today and I wanted to read that fic again but I can no longer find it, I was naive and stupid and didn’t save it as a teenager. If you know the fic and can help me find it I would be eternally grateful 🙏. Please comment or message me if you know, I would appreciate any help, thanks.

[dwtdog]

I think more sites (yt) should have a AO3 style filter system AO3 has spoiled me I can't search for things normally anymore

-sea

oh my god the search functions of literally every damn website suck so much ass how is it allowed. ao3 is our lord and savior

[icycove]

And don’t get me started on this incredible little function!

I only figured out by poking around what this little box I’ve been skimming over for the past 6 years does. There are symbols you can use to get EVEN MORE specific results! All I did was press the little question mark and learn them

Using AO3’s search features was like discovering GPS after using fanfiction.net’s “map drawn by a 5-year-old” type search function.

My favorite and imo the easiest to use first it’s the *

Basically because people word things differently: fluff, fluffy, fluffing, fluffs…you know how fic authors be in the tags —a fic author

Or swim, swims, swimming

Using fluff* or swim* will bring up all of these variations which can help with filtering them more collectively! It doesn’t seem to work for words that change the base spelling (example: fly* will not include “flies” because of the spelling change) and that’s for the better because then you’d likely accidentally filter out the wrong things/similar words.

The guide above does a fairly good job explaining all these though. Experiment with them!!

You can find exactly what you’re looking for if it exists (and is tagged properly; AO3 also has an extensive article on how to tag but I understand not everyone has the time or will to read all of it; still worth a little skim though, it enlightened me to even more fantastic tag search features).

Speaking of searching, this extends to tag searches!! There’s a separate page where you can just see what people have tagged works by in certain fandoms since every author might not know what they’re “supposed” to use or the generally used tag for a certain thing is. AO3 is very good at condensing tags with similar meanings, but even then the human authors will throw you a wild card that isn’t easy to find in results.

So long story short, you can for example type a character’s name and every tag with their name will pop up. You can filter for fandoms and if the tag is canonical, etc.

It’s fun for exploring too if you don’t know what you wanna read. You might find something interesting that you didn’t know existed!

In conclusion, I’ve been wanting to talk about these ever since I started using them, they are amazing and the archive really spoils us rotten. Thank you, AO3 staff for making this not a nightmare. Even the “basic” search features are awesome with the “exclude” option covering to help narrow down results. That’s underrated in my opinion. Sometimes all you know is what you don’t want. This tool is very extensive and perfect for the sheer quantity of works to sort through.

But it does.

[batcavescolony]

ok for people new to ao3 this is how to tag your shit, im assuming you already know how to get on to where you put your fic? But from a reader this is what I think you should tag

(over view of what ratings are stuff then to tags)

Rating:

The definitions for the ratings are in the little '?' But I'll give put it here

Not Rated (Adult): For searching, screening, and other Archive functions, this may get treated the same way as explicit-rated content. In reality, it could be anything from porn to completely family-friendly stuff. Choose this rating if you prefer not to rate your content (because you don't like ratings, because you're trying to avoid spoilers, etc.).

General Audiences: This content is suitable for anyone.

Teen and up Audiences: The content may be inappropriate for audiences under 13.

Mature (Adult): This is for content with adult themes (sex, violence, etc.) that isn't as graphic as explicit-rated content.

Explicit (Adult): This is for porn, graphic violence, etc.

Archive Warning:

Choose not to use archive warnings: Use this if you don't want to warn for anything; you don't know what you should warn for; if you don't like warning for certain topics or warnings in general;

Graphic depictions of violence: gory, graphic, explicitly described violence.

Major Character Death: Please use your best judgment about who counts as a major character.

Rape/non-con: if you're fic has it tag it

Underage: characters under 18 having $ex

No archive warnings apply: Use this if the Archive warnings don't apply to your content. (None of the above)

Fandom: this is the source material of your fic. Now their are a few things to learn here.

If their are multiple adaptations with the same name, you need to do the correct one for what your fic is about. It's usually something like _____(comic) and _____(cartoon) or _____(tv) and _____ -[author]. This goes for most book to TV or comic to TV adaptations. But if it doesn't matter what version or their are so many versions and your fic can make sense to any of them their usually is a '______- All Media Types' tag. Ex: 'Young Justice (cartoon)' is for the TV show and 'Young Justice (comic)' is for the comics. Or 'Good Omens (TV)' 'Good Omens-Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett' for the show and book but if I made a fic that was Spider-Man but a non specific Spider-man version I'd do 'Spider-Man-All Media Types'

If your doing a crossover fic tag both fandoms ex: Batman-All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe.

F/F: Female/Female Relationship ex: Catra/Adora

M/M: Male/Male Relationship ex: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

F/M: Female/Male relationship ex: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson

Multi: either multiple relationship in the fic or a polyamorous relationship ex: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

Other: other relationships like families or best friends ex: Ned Leeds&Peter Parker

NOW I WANT YOU TO LISTEN TO ME!

LISTEN. TO. ME.

[Character]/[Character] and [Character]&[Character] HAVE TWO DIFFERENT MEANINGS!

[Character]/[Character] is a ship, you think they make out and hold hands and go on a date ect

[Character]&[Character] is they are friends or they are family

'Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester' is a fic where Sam and Dean are NOT in a brotherly relationship 'Dean Winchester&Sam Winchester' is them being siblings. TAG THE CORRECT RELATIONSHIP PLEASE

Now this is where people get messed up

Relationship: this is the / and &'s just remember what is what

Character: this is for characters that appear in YOUR FIC if their not in your fic or at least mentioned don't tag them

Additional tags: and this is for additional tags, you don't have to spoil your entire fic you just need things that you think people might want to avoid or people might what to read.

Examples of things I'd tag: Mpreg. Abuse. Drugs. Smut. Minor violence. Rape. kinks. Blood and injury. Incest. Original Characters. Original Main Character. Reader insert. Fluff Humor. Hurt/Comfort. Hurt/No Comfort. Is your fic based on a song? Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Angst. Fluff and Angst. Cuddling. Character/fandom specific tags? No beta we die like [dead character]. [Character] deserves the world. [Character] needs a hug. [Character] has a bad time. [Character] has issues. Good friend [Character]. [Character] adopts [Character]. is it an Alternate Universe? If so what kind? Is it an Mermaid au? Pirate au? Flower Shop au? Omegaverse? Everyone lives? Fix it? Vampire au? Shifter au? Hogwarts au? No powers? Mermaid [Character]. [Character] has magic. Alpha [Character]. Omega [Character]. Shifter [Character]. Human [Character]. Ect

Now you can go over board but also if you just put like three tag no one is gonna find your fic, ao3 has no algorithm. if you go to a tag the fics that come up are in order by Date updated. Readers can change it to kudos or hits but you as an author can only tag your fics correctly.

Link to my ao3 guide

[thevagueambition]

ao3 has spoiled me when it comes to defining searches, every time i search on job sites i wish they had the exclude functionality ao3 has

[senjuushi]

Can I request for a scenario where F, Ghost, Love2 and Belga are not able to bathe alone due to a broken leg or lacerations so they need their kind master's help.

Just like Michael one on AO3(it was so sweet) , if it's alright with you

Oooooh, fun, fun~ >:3c I don’t whether you mean Love1 or Like2, but since this is a delightful prompt, I’ll break my usual character limit and do both. 

. . . 

F

You’re seeing too much. That’s all that F can think. It’s just a bath. You haven’t touched him in that way yet, and he’s been starting to think that you might not do so at all, but it’s still... 

Too much. 

He’s stripped bare, every scar on full display. Your gentle hand rests against his back, mercifully in a place that isn’t marred. 

“Thank you, Master,” F says once you’ve helped him lower himself into the steaming water. He makes his eyes go lidded and smiles in a way that he knows comes across as inviting. It’s trained into him at this point. Not being what he’s supposed to be isn’t safe. 

But instead of following that invitation, you ask if you can wash his hair. His body shivers in what might be an aborted flinch. 

He agrees. What choice does he have?

And then, your fingers are finding his scalp; combing through his hair so, so tenderly. F has to stop himself from biting down on a pornographic moan. It’s humiliating, but what’s expected of him, but just the same, he hates that it isn’t just another part of the act. 

Nothing hurts like this. With your fingers in his hair, your soft voice reassuring him that he’s safe, and hot water easing the ache from every old wound, pain feels, for once, far away. 

F’s head ducks. He can’t look at you. He should be grateful, not panicking because Master decided to be nice to him. 

What a ruined, fucked-up thing he is. 

Ghost

Ghost’s skin is so sensitive it almost hurts. It’s normally not like this. For some reason, it’s only now that his Master is handling him that everything is much, much too tender to bear. 

He’s helpless. You’re bathing him because he can’t do it for himself, and the attention is destroying him from the inside out. 

Fingers drag through his hair, massaging in shampoo that smells like you. Ghost sits there and bites his lip to keep from making a sound. He doesn’t want to ruin this, not while it feels so good. You’re touching him. It’s a privilege he can’t let himself lose. 

“Does this feel okay?” you ask when you bring a washcloth to the back of his neck and lightly scrub. His whole body shakes. 

Ghost can only nod. 

You hum low and under your breath. Ghost thinks of what you’re seeing; a forgotten, aborted weapon who even now is good for nothing but making you go out of your way to take care of it. He wants this more than anything, but— wanting is bad, and he can’t take too much. 

The washcloth slips under his chin, and Ghost nuzzles into it on reflex because it’s your hand behind the fabric. His face burns, but he’s too far gone for shame. Only terrified need remains. 

When he looks at you through lidded, hazy eyes, your expression is tender. His wet hair drips into his face. The water is so, so warm. Can this last? Could a bath go on forever? Ghost knows he’s pathetic, but this is the most attention he’s had in so, so long. 

Love1

His body hurts. That’s just a fact of life. 

Even when Love1 is more fucked up and useless than normal, he doesn’t get a break. He’s used to it, so why waste the time? What’s supposed to happen is that he’s left to figure himself out. 

What’s not supposed to happen is this; sitting in a steaming bath that’s sapping away every ache while his Master fusses over him. 

You’re wiping dried blood off of his face. Love1 tried to joke it all away for all of five minutes before the attention got to be too much. Your face is so close to his. The attention is suffocating. How’s a guy meant to keep it together when the reason for his existence is treating him so softly, huh?

So Love1 sits there and tries to stay calm. This is fine. You’re not hurting him, so this is fine. Never mind that he’s starting to feel floaty and strange from all the touching. 

“Can I wash your hair?” you ask. 

“Y-Yeah. Go for it,” he tries to grin. It feels crooked and too weak. 

Things that should hurt don’t. There’s no source of pain to ground him. The hot bath and his Master’s touch are taking it all away. 

Why are you wasting your time? There are better weapons than him. You could have anyone else to spoil, not a gangly, scrawny, broken wreck of a man who can barely function on his own. 

His Master’s tender expression is making it hard to breathe. Love1 isn’t used to this, and that’s what makes it all the easier to drown. 

Like2

He’s always wanted to be spoiled. Now that he actually has it, Like2 doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. 

You had to help him into the bath. His scars and body were on display for you. Normally, this would be a chance to appeal to his Master in that way. This time, it just made him feel much too helpless and small. 

Now, Like2 is in a bathtub full of raspberry-scented bubbles. You’re combing your fingers through his hair, working out tangles, and he can barely fucking breathe. It’s not just the wounds. His Master’s attention is all on him for what might be the first time, and—

This is what spoiling feels like. This is what it’s like to be wanted. 

He’s a whiny brat with a short temper and no self-control. All he’s good for is being a pretty hole to fuck. That’s what he’s used to. 

But instead, you have him in a hot bath, have gentle hands in his hair, taking care of him when he can’t do it for himself, and seem to expect nothing in return. Like2 has a lump in his throat and something hot and desperate in his lungs. 

He’s praying that he doesn’t embarrass himself. As it is, he feels dangerously close to crying. He wants to see your face. 

“M-Master...” It slips out against Like2’s will. 

“Yeah? I’m not pulling, am I?”

“N-No!” His voice is dangerously close to a squeak. “Um, I-I... Thank you...” It’s the only way he can voice it; how grateful he is. 

Belga

Belga hates every part of this. He has to ‘take it easy’, not fight, and not even run around. Instead of making him work through being hurt, you’re insisting on babying him. As if he needs it. 

And... he’s small enough that you’ve taken to carrying him around like a child. It’s to make things easier, you say, but all it does is make Belga feel much too small and weak. And he’ll never admit to the moments where he’s hurt enough to snuggle into your chest in search of comfort. 

This time, you lower him into the weirdly warm bath with so much care it’s uncomfortable to withstand. 

The water isn’t scalding. He’d almost assumed you were going to punish him for his uselessness that way. But no. It’s just warm and nice, and Belga has no fucking clue how to respond. 

It hurts just to try to move. 

“Stay still,” you tell him when he squirms. “I’ll take care of you for now, okay? Just let me.”

Your voice makes Belga have to bite his lip. He feels like he’s holding back tears, which is weird and uncomfortable and stupid. He’s never been like this before. He’s never felt weaker. 

Being taken care of like this doesn’t make any sense. Belga sniffles. He kind of wishes you were holding him again, if only so he could hide his face. The lingering pain in his body barely matters compared to the weird, overwhelmed feeling grabbing at his chest. 

Why?

[clonemando]

If you give a Plo a Trooper 3/?

He might just want some more. Plo Koon decides that he can't just leave Boba to rot in prison after the number of times the child has been failed by the Republic and Jedi order already. Especially after Wolffe comes to him with some new information.

Fox reminisces on his past before going to check on his oldest and littlest batchmate.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // AO3

CC-1010 was part of a six clone batch. They were part of a larger grouping of clones all destined for command positions but his batch in particular was set to be the best of the best. He was the second clone to be decanted. The first was gone by the time he came to blinking as his awake mind processed all the information that had been loaded into it as he had been growing. He knew his name and rank, knew how to understand spoken basic. He had... memories that he knew weren't really his of something called a Buir that was warm and safe and told him "Jate ad'ika! So good." As the not-him pointed out colors and creatures and matched them to pictures in a book on the floor. He wished the memories belonging to not-him actually belonged to him. Instead his first memories were of detached eyes and cold calculating gazes in an even colder room.

"Cee cee one zero one zero, are you functional?" A voice from one of the beings that had woken him asked and he nodded.

"Elek." He answered certain that was the right word but he received a frown as the being input something into a datapad.

"We will have to adjust the language centers for future batches. But it's likely a side effect of having the prime's memories injected into their mind. They will likely have some of the habits he also had that will need to be corrected." One of the long necked beings said and the other nodded.

"If it doesn't effect their performance negatively then we will allow it. It was specifically requested we keep the higher ranking clones as close to the prime sample as possible." The second replied and turned back to him.

"Do you understand us? Answer in yes or no." It demanded.

"Yes." He replied this time though his eyes had wondered to the tank next to him as they started preparing to decant the next child.

"This one is mentally aware and seems calm. Take him to have the medical scans done." The second long neck ordered, clearly higher ranking than the first which grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away just as his batch mate sucked in their first breath and their eyes fluttered open. But the doors closed before Fox could see anymore.

He was given a full medical exam, put through several scans and then dressed and sent to his batch's dorm room. It was separated from the common clone barracks and held only 5 beds. He wondered why there were only five beds when there had been 6 tubes in the room but he had decided that if he needed to know he would be told. The clone that had been decanted after him was soon left in the room as well.

"Is it just you? I saw two empty tanks." He asked and 1010 shrugged.

"Never saw him. Was empty when I woke. Now we're here." He said as more memories and information settled in his mind. It was weird that it was all there for him to latch onto if needed but only slowly settling into his brain otherwise. He supposed it was to keep them from going crazy. Having prime's memories inserted but in a way where you had to search for them to see them.

Their third and fourth batchmate were brought in together and the fifth and final stepped in alone. They were given directions on when to arrive for their first classes and that they would meet their trainer soon before they were left alone.

"We're already missing one?" Asked the last one to enter the room, 2224 he thought their number was.

"I guess they didn't survive. We're all lucky we did. I think." The one who had come after him spoke. They all settled into their beds.

"Actually-" Another voice interrupted them and they all looked towards the door where a man in sliver and blue Mandalorian armor stood without his helmet on so they could all see his face. Prime.

"Your batchmate was chosen for a special purpose. But he is alive. His name is Boba." Prime told them and they all hurried to stand.

"I've decided to train your batch myself. Which means you need names. I'm not listing off a bunch of numbers every time I want to address one of you. You- first word that comes to your mind?" He pointed at 1010 and he jumped a little.

"Cunning." He said automatically hoping that was the correct answer to whatever Prime had wanted.

"Cunning... You'll be Fox then. You now cadet, give me a word." He pointed to the boy next to him.

"Fierce." He said looking proud of himself but he had gotten more time to think of his word.

"Hmmm. You'll be Wolf then." Prime decided and went through the three others the same way. The boy saying steady was named Stone and the boy who said thunder was named Thire. The youngest of the batch was quiet for a moment before meeting Prime's eyes with conviction.

"Kote. I want my name to be Kote." He decided and Prime raised a brow but nodded.

"Fine. Kote. Fox, Wolf, Stone, Thire and Kote. You are Command Squad 01 however that's also a pain to say I'm calling you Ka'ra Squad for now. You will train with me or whoever I assign to train you in my absence. You will be the best warriors in this army and soon you will learn to train others. For tonight, you need to get some rest. You wake with the sun." He told them before leaving.

Fox fought down the disappointment that he didn't tuck them in like the Buir in not-him's memories but the non-memory related information in his brain told him that training needed sleep and he wasn't going to wait around and wait valuable sleep time.

Boba, they would later find out, had been chosen to be prime's son and didn't age at double the speed like they did, so he was still just a baby when Prime got him. He was so much smaller than them it was hard to think they all were from the same original batch. Fox thought he was a spoiled brat who needed to be taught a lesson. Kote had reminded Fox that he was Prime's son and that if they didn't want to be decommissioned, they had to be nice.

That was all what felt like a lifetime ago now, as he sat in front of a monitor staring at his brother, his batchmate, sobbing as another brother shaved off his hair. Boba had always had pretty wavy hair. He looked wrong sporting a buzz. Looked even more wrong with the fact he was chained to his chair and blood was dripping from where his cuffs had cut into his skin in his efforts to avoid the clippers. Fox felt sick watching his vod'ika being treated this way.

"He got Ponds killed." Stone's voice brought him back and Fox turned away from the screen.

"The fact he took down an entire cruiser alone would be impressive if it had belonged to the seppies." Fox said thoughtfully.

"It wasn't so hard to watch when it was Slick." Stone murmured and Fox nodded.

"Slick wanted to hurt others. He wanted to make a statement. Boba just wanted justice and... I don't blame him." Fox said honestly. "Prime raised us too. We weren't Boba but..."

"He was still the closest thing we had to a dad. Yeah. I know. Were you there? Geonosis?" Stone asked. They had all long been split up at that point. Fox nodded.

"Nastiest sithspit I've been part of. How Boba survived that at all is a miracle. I... Does he really deserve this?" Fox asked looking back to the camera where Boba's cell had been cleaned out and he had been lightly sedated before his cuffs were removed and he was left on his cot.

"It's not our choice. He got vode killed and he threatened the lives at least 3 Jedi plus Padawan Ahsoka. The fact they aren't decommissioning him is only because Master Windu stepped in on his behalf. Although... I heard Master Plo might be trying to arrange something." Stone told him and Fox's shoulders fell in relief.

"Well in that case I have a little brother to bother. Can't let Wolffe get all the fun with him." He said and Stone rolled his eyes tossing him a baggy of cookies.

"Don't tell him those are from me. I'll go stop Thire from planning to bust him out." He chuckled and Fox snorted.

"That's probably for the best." He said before making his way down to Boba's cell thoughts on rainy nights on Kamino and a little brother who was older than him sneaking into their rooms to tuck their blankets tighter around their shoulders and press kisses to their foreheads.

Maybe he never had a Buir, but he always had an ori'vod and he couldn't fail him now that Boba needed him. If Wolffe's Jedi didn't come through then Fox was taking him himself and the Chancellor would just have to suck it.

[darriness]

Klaine Fic - Care Part 5

Author: darriness

Word Count: 2954

Summary: The first time Kurt feeds from Blaine

Author’s Note: Happy Halloween! This part is longer, and darker, than the four parts before it so potentially read with some caution! There is nothing super graphic but if you are interested in more specific warnings before you read please message me (I don’t want to put them here because I don’t want to ‘spoil’ anything). Just keep in mind that Kurt and Blaine are a vampire and werewolf respectively in this verse so if anything that comes with that is not your thing or bothers you, then maybe this story isn’t for you <3 

As of now, I have no immediate plans to continue this story beyond this BUT I won't say I'll never come back to it. It was fun to explore this trope myself (I've always been fascinated with vampires and werewolves) and who knows what the future will bring. Enjoy and be safe in whatever you plan to do this Halloween :)

Link to Part 1

Link to Part 2

Link to Part 3

Link to Part 4

AO3 Link

The first time Kurt kills someone, he and Blaine break up for a month.

“You don’t understand! I can’t trust myself!” Kurt had yelled the night it happened, “We’re done!” He’d screamed at a bewildered (and blindsided) Blaine.

Blaine had blinked and picked his jaw up from where it hung like a broken glove compartment, “What...what are you talking about?” He’d stuttered, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re over!” Kurt had screamed. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it that night but Blaine still hadn’t really understood.

“But why?” Blaine had asked, desperation creeping into his voice, “Because you accidentally killed someone?” Kurt had flinched at the words. Blaine had moved closer, reaching out to grab Kurt’s hand, but Kurt had pulled away.

“You have to go. I could hurt you next...or worse.” Kurt had pulled his arms around his body and Blaine ached to wrap him in his own arms instead.

“You won’t hurt me.” Blaine had whispered.

Kurt had shook his head, “You don’t know that. We have to end this. I can’t stay with you if it means I’ll hurt you.”

Nothing Blaine said had changed Kurt’s mind. He’d been through an entire catalog of emotions since Kurt had called him over in a frenzy and he had finally settled on...nothingness. An empty void was opening up inside and Blaine didn’t know what to do about it.

“Please don’t do this.” Blaine had whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

Kurt had put his head in his hands, “Go.” He’d whispered. When Blaine didn’t move, Kurt looked up with a face Blaine had never seen. His pupils had completely taken over his irises and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot - the red veins around his pupils seemed to pulse - and he bared pointed canine teeth as he growled, “Go!”

Blaine had stumbled backwards, not out of fear of what Kurt might do to him but out of astonishment that Kurt so clearly didn’t want him there...or at all. Nothing he could say was going to change Kurt’s mind and their relationship was over.

Blaine spends most of the month after as a wolf. He thinks less as a wolf. Well, maybe not less, but differently. As a wolf he doesn’t have to remember the feeling of emptiness that had settled in after he’d left Kurt’s house that night. He doesn’t have to deal with people’s reactions and inevitable pity about their breakup. He doesn’t have to think about the fact that their two year relationship, admittedly a tiny blip in the supernatural world, will stay with him for as long as he lives.

Which promises to be a very, very long time.

Sometimes, he hates being supernatural. He’s been a werewolf since his eighteenth birthday three years ago (a ‘fun’ genetic surprise none of his family felt he needed to know about earlier) and while he celebrated his twenty-first birthday a few months ago, he hasn’t actually physically aged much beyond eighteen. He’s not entirely sure why, reliable information on werewolves is hard to come by, but he knows that while he won’t live for eternity like a vampire, his life span is significantly longer than a humans. The prevailing theory is werewolves age physically one year for every ten human years. Blaine will be twenty-eight before his body makes it to nineteen. And he’ll be much, much older than that before his heart gets over Kurt.

But as a wolf, he doesn’t have to think about any of that. He can think about hunting, and finding warm sun to sleep in, and how to get his tail in his mouth (human Blaine would be horrified by that specific behavior, wolf Blaine is simply determined to make it happen).

There’s a general melancholy to his time in the woods but his wolf brain isn’t able to figure out why, so it continually tries to shake it off. It’s got no time for melancholy when there is a whole world (or at least a whole forest) to explore. 

Blaine trots back to his clothes one night, intent on curling up by them to sleep, when a strange buzzing sound fills the forest around him. Blaine’s head tilts and he quiets his pants (a product of his bunny hunt a few minutes ago) to listen. It’s not a usual forest sound and his wolf brain tries to place it.

He narrows his search down to his pile of clothes and uses his snout to curiously push the fabric aside. On the ground under his jeans is his phone, buzzing and lighting up the immediate area as it glows. Blaine’s head tilts once again as he watches it buzz. His wolf brain doesn’t know what it is or what to do about it but is curious enough to watch it happen.

Eventually, his phone goes dark and silent and Blaine snorts at the strange contraption. He’s about to turn to lie down when his phone lights up again. This time Blaine’s snort is of irritation. What is this thing and why is it disrupting his peaceful evening?

When his phone goes silent again and then begins to light up again immediately afterwards, Blaine barks at it before figuring, in order to make it stop, he’ll have to transform back to human. He doesn’t want to, but he also doesn’t particularly want to deal with this thing buzzing all night.

The process of transformation leaves him panting on the ground for a while as it always does. He takes deep breaths as his body settles and he tries to remember why he did this in the first place. The connection between his wolf and human self is always a little jumbled immediately after transformation.

The buzzing, his brain supplies after a few minutes. Blaine shakes his head. Not buzzing, his phone.

He pulls himself up and makes his way slowly toward his phone on the ground. His body hurts but it’s nothing compared to the ache in his chest. Now that he’s human all the feelings he’s been hiding from are rearing their ugly head.

The ache only intensifies when he sees who has been calling.

Burt Hummel - Missed Call x3

Blaine’s brow furrows. Why would Kurt’s dad be calling him?

He doesn’t have time to think about it too hard when his phone starts to buzz in his hand. Caller ID says it’s Burt calling again. Blaine, cautiously, answers the call, “Hello?” He asks.

“Christ Blaine - took ya long enough!” Burt hollers over the phone. Blaine’s not sure if he’s yelling because he’s mad at Blaine for missing his calls or because he has to yell over the noise on his end of the line. It sounds like Burt is at a demolition site - crashing, banging, shattering. Those are the words Blaine would use to describe it anyway.

“Burt?” Blaine asks, “What’s going…”

He doesn’t get to finish his question when a scream echoes from Burt’s end of the line. There’s a pause in the demolition noise for it to happen and Blaine’s heart immediately leaps into his throat.

Kurt.

“Blaine, you’ve gotta come.” Burt says over the line. He sounds out of breath.

“What’s going on?” Blaine asks.

“It’s Kurt.” Burt offers, needlessly, “Just...come. Please.”

Blaine doesn’t even have to think about it, “I’ll be right there.”

-- -- --

He makes it to Kurt’s in record time. Over their two years together he had made the trek from the forest to Kurt’s many times after he transformed. This feels different from all those times.

Burt opens the door before Blaine can even knock. The house behind him is quiet but Blaine isn’t sure that’s a good thing considering the sounds he’d heard over the phone.

“Come in.” Burt says, gesturing the younger man inside.

When they’re in the front hallway, Burt puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. Blaine holds back the wince the action tries to pull from him. Not only has it been a while since he’s felt human contact, his body is still aching after his transformation.

“Thank you for coming.” Burt says.

Blaine looks up at him in confusion, “What’s going on?” He feels like he’s asked that a lot tonight, “Is Kurt hurt?”

Burt sighs again and looks off toward the stairs to the second floor, briefly, before looking back at Blaine, “He’s not doing well.” Is all Burt says.

Blaine’s about to say something along the lines of ‘No shit’ or ‘That makes two of us’ but Kurt screams from the second floor. Both Burt and Blaine turn, sharply, toward the sound and Blaine goes toward it without thinking. It’s only Burt’s hand on his shoulder that keeps him in place.

Blaine turns to Burt with an incredulous look and Burt grimaces, “He’s...hungry.” Burt says. Blaine’s brows furrow, “He hasn’t fed since the night you two broke up.” Burt explains.

Blaine’s eyes widen. Apart from actually BEING a vampire, Blaine knows more than most about how vampires work. He knows that Kurt stopped aging permanently when he was bitten just after his eighteenth birthday. He knows that as long as Kurt keeps a healthy diet of blood, his body functions very similarly to that of a human’s.

He knows that without a healthy diet of blood Kurt’s body will start to shut down.

“How could you let this happen?” Blaine asks Burt, dumbfounded.

Burt’s eyes narrow, briefly, at the accusation. If Blaine hadn’t been fresh from a transformation and a floor away from a hurting Kurt, he would NEVER have spoken to Burt in such a manner. But Blaine is both of those things and he feels like Burt is to blame for at least the latter.

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” Burt asks, “I have tried everything. I’ve even offered my own blood. Nothing has worked.”

Blaine knows that, apart from right after becoming a vampire and that night a month ago when he took the man’s life, Kurt subsists exclusively on animal blood. The vegetarian diet, as Kurt had coined it, is enough to get the job done but the draw of human blood is always there. It tempts him like some sort of juicy steak. Refusing Burt’s blood must have been a Herculean effort.

“I was hoping you could help.” Burt says.

Blaine’s not sure what help he could possibly be but he nods. He goes to head up the stairs again but Burt’s hand on his shoulder stops him once more.

“Just,” Burt starts, “remember, he’s not himself right now.”

Blaine’s sure Burt would like to continue explaining, but Blaine just nods and a beat later Burt’s hand drops from his shoulder, allowing Blaine to finally make his way up the stairs.

When he gets to the second floor he can hear sounds he didn’t notice downstairs. He hears scrambling from behind Kurt’s closed bedroom door and a high pitched whine. He makes his way to the door and knocks.

“Go away, Dad!”

Kurt doesn’t even sound like himself - his voice scratchy and weak even as he yells. It sounds like he hasn’t spoken in months.

“Kurt.” Blaine says and all movement behind the closed door stops. Blaine sighs and leans his forehead and palms against the door, “Can I come in?”

He’s greeted with more silence and he actually wonders if Kurt passed out before he hears, “Blaine.” 

His name sounds like it’s being strangled from Kurt’s throat and Blaine’s fingers flex on the wood door.

“Kurt, open the door, baby.” The endearment slips out before Blaine can realize he probably shouldn’t use it.

There’s silence again before the door slowly creeps open. When Kurt comes into view, Blaine sucks in a breath. He’s never seen Kurt look like this. He’s never seen anyone look like this.

Kurt’s skin is grey. His lips are the same colour as his face and are dry and cracking. The veins and arteries on his necks are purple and a stark contrast to the ashen skin around them. And his eyes. Blaine thinks Kurt’s eyes right now will be burned into his brain for the rest of his life. His irises are completely black, like they were the night he and Kurt broke up, but unlike that night the whites of his eyes are laced with purple and black veins. The purple bruises under his eyes are the only other colour on Kurt’s face. He looks positively terrifying.

Blaine blinks and shakes his head. This is still Kurt, his Kurt (even if Kurt doesn’t want him), and he’s here to help.

“Kurt.” He says again in a pained exhalation.

“What are you doing he…” Kurt cuts himself off before he can finish with a groan as he clenches a hand to his stomach.

Blaine’s muscles twitch as he shifts forward, trying to keep himself from going to Kurt. He’s fairly certain Kurt wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.

“Kurt, you need to feed.” Blaine says, needlessly.

Kurt groans again and turns away from the door, “Go away.” He moans.

“You’re killing yourself.” Blaine tries, “You need to feed.”

Kurt shakes his head as he grips his head in his hands, “Can’t.” 

“Why not?” Blaine asks.

“Can’t.” Kurt says, again.

Blaine bites his lip as he watches Kurt pace his room. He notices for the first time that Kurt’s room is destroyed. The ‘demolition’ he heard over the phone was, in fact, Kurt tearing his room apart.

Blaine feels useless. He’s not sure why Burt thought he could help or why he agreed. Kurt doesn’t want him for anything. He’s of no help here.

Unless…

“Feed off me.” He blurts and suddenly Kurt’s terrifying eyes whip in his direction.

“Go. Away.” Kurt snarls.

Blaine shakes his head. He won’t leave this time. This time it’s Kurt’s life on the line, “No. You need to feed and I’m not leaving until you do. Either go hunting or feed from me.”

Blaine’s fairly certain Kurt couldn’t go hunting in his current state even if he wanted to. He’s too far gone, too weak, too hungry. There’s really only one way this is going to end.

Kurt growls in Blaine’s direction, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, “Leave me alone. I’m a monster. I shouldn’t be alive. Just let me die.”

Blaine feels a grip on his heart at Kurt’s broken words. He knows Kurt can’t actually die the way he currently seems to be trying to (his body will shut down but he won’t actually ‘die’), but knowing he wants to is enough to make Blaine want to cry.

Suddenly, Kurt lets out another scream as he doubles over in pain. Blaine is shaken from the emotional pain of hearing Kurt’s desires and into action.

He bangs a hand against Kurt doorframe, hearing it groan under the strain, “God damnit, Kurt!” He shouts, suddenly angry with desperation, “Stop it! Feed. From. Me!”

“No!” Kurt shouts.

Blaine’s frantic eyes flit around the room around Kurt as the other man lets out another scream that turns into a pained moan. Blaine’s eyes land on the twisted remains of the lamp that used to sit in the corner of the room. It’s bent and broken now but the light in the room almost seems to blink off the sharp point of metal Blaine’s eyes fixate on.

He moves toward it at lightning speed and, without thinking, drags his forearm along the metal. He groans at the sting of pain but as he looks down at his arm he can see the blood start to bubble up from the cut. When he looks back at Kurt, the other man’s eyes are locked on Blaine’s arm.

“Do it.” Blaine says.

Kurt’s lip twitches but he holds his ground. Blaine can see all of his muscles tense and he actually sways forward slightly, but he doesn’t advance. 

“I want you to. I’m begging you to.” Blaine implores, holding out his arm, “You won’t hurt me.” He says even though he’s not entirely sure if that’s true. He’s never had a vampire feed from him. He’s not sure if it will physically hurt or even if he might actually die from it, but in this moment his only thought is saving Kurt. His own life seems almost insignificant in comparison.

“Please.” He begs again, his voice cracking.

Kurt’s lips shift around his teeth as he continues to stare at Blaine’s bloody arm before he slowly makes his way across the room. Blaine finds it amazing, considering how desperate and hungry Kurt must be, that he’s able to show such restraint but when he’s finally within reach of Blaine he takes Blaine’s arm almost reverently into his hands.

He hesitates then, looking up at Blaine’s face for the first time since Blaine cut himself. Blaine nods, “Do it. You won’t hurt me.”

It doesn’t hurt. Maybe that’s because Blaine had already been cut but instead of pain there is simply a tugging feeling. He alternates between watching his arm and watching Kurt’s face. It only takes a moment before Kurt’s skin starts to return to a more normal colour and Blaine feels the fist around his heart loosen at the sight.

He’s not sure how long Kurt feeds but eventually the tugging sensation disappears and he’s got an armful of Kurt. Kurt collapses against him, sobbing into his neck and clutching at his back.

Blaine brings his arms up and wraps them around Kurt’s neck. He’s forearm is still bleeding slightly but he doesn’t even notice as he holds on to Kurt for all he’s worth.

He’s not sure what tomorrow will bring but he’s here with Kurt right now and that’s what he’s going to focus on.

[snowdice]

Gaps in His Files (Part 11) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Remy, Virgil (but only in the epilogue)

Summary:

Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.

When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.

Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts, medical procedures mentioned, very brief unhealthy views of sex

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Logan had not lied to Patton this morning. He was not going to go to the university today, but… he didn’t think he was going to find any answers in this apartment. And he did want answers now. He had always wanted to get his memories back of course, but something a little more urgent had been niggling in the back of his mind since yesterday to the point of a headache.

He’d spent the first hour after Patton left searching around the apartment. The two of them had fallen asleep either on the office floor or in the living room the last few nights while going through Logan’s files in the hopes that those would return his memories. They hadn’t; Logan was beginning to think they wouldn’t. There was something missing from the files that Logan could not determine. The files they were reading were extensive, but heartless: noncontextualized receipts, detached notes, and aloof reports. Logan was all for facts most of the time, but his notes gave little insight into meaning. Perhaps if he got his memories back, he should reevaluate his filing system’s configuration. He knew by now he wasn’t going to find anything within those pages.

So, instead of continuing to read through old receipts, he decided to investigate a room he hadn’t been in yet: the bedroom. The blinds were thick and had been closed tight keeping the room dark enough that it could be night. He’d left them closed and flipped on the light. Like most of the apartment, there weren’t many decorations. There was just a large bed, carefully made that took up most of the large room and a nightstand with only a reading lamp on it. The only thing that seemed out of place was the suit he found in the closet covered in a white plastic bag. When he unwrapped the suit, he found it was not something Logan would ever think to wear. He much preferred plain black suits over the honestly rather gaudy golden one he found inside the plastic cover. He was unsure why he’d apparently purchased such a thing especially since he seemed to have a perfectly functional black one in the closet too.

Then he’d laid in the bed that he knew he must have slept in every night for years judging by the way the right side molded to his body. The sheets had smelled weird somehow, though not as though they’d been spoiled, and he’d found himself rolling toward the other side, his hand finding a pillow in the center of the bed. He’d felt something like a tearing in his chest and found himself curling around the pillow so he could hug it to his chest. For the first time since he’d woken in this time, he’d been absolutely certain that something of his memories must still be in his head because this… this was something like a word on the tip of his tongue he couldn’t quite capture.

Part of him had just wanted to go to sleep in this strange, but not strange bed, curled around that pillow, but the other part had forced him to his feet.

He’d gone back to the main room and found his wallet. He dug out the receipts there before spreading them out on the kitchen counter in chronological order.

He was going to retrace his steps from the week before the incident.

Most of the receipts were places on or around the college campus. He decided to avoid the ones on campus, staying true to his word, but planned to work his way out using the university as the epicenter.

The first place he went was a coffee shop which according to the address on the receipts was only a few blocks from where his office building was. It was called ‘The Hideout’ and was the source of multiple receipts. He was easily able to find it on foot.

The second he walked into the shop, he was hit by a wave of déjà vu so strong that he felt he might get a nose bleed. It was as though he’d walked the path to the cash register thousands of times in a dream.

“Hey Logan!” a cheery man said. “I haven’t seen you or Patton in days. I was getting worried.”

“I have been ill and am still recovering,” he replied. “Patton has been caring for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to be out and about. Do you just want your usual coffee or are you eating?”

“I’d like a turkey sandwich,” he said.

“One turkey sandwich, no tomatoes,” the man said, “and a coffee with two sugars, don’t tell Patton.”

Logan gave him a tight-lipped smile and handed him a twenty-dollar bill, adding another receipt from the establishment to the pile in his wallet.

He sat at a corner table and the sight of the calm coffee shop both made him want to relax and want to jump out of his skin. There were ghosts dancing in front of his eyes: little wisps of figures that weren’t there and conversations that weren’t happening. His head hurt.

He ate the sandwich and drank the coffee, the taste as familiar and unknown as the rest of this place. The man at the till waved to him when he left.

The next place was a small bookstore that he walked around for half an hour and the grocery store on the corner. Each prickled familiarly at the back of his skull but did not give him quite the pounding headache as the coffee shop had.

He felt like a ghost haunting his own life.

There were a few other places he found himself, a couple of fast food restaurants and a juice bar in a gym that didn’t seem to affect him at all.

Last, he ended up outside a tailor’s shop farther from the university than anything else. He had a feeling this had been the source of the new suit in his closet. He didn’t go inside, just stared at the mannequins in the window for a long time before he walked away.

He got back to his apartment a bit past noon. Perhaps he should not have been surprised after yesterday that there was a figure on the couch. Logan froze. Patton did not react for a moment to the sound of Logan entering the apartment and Logan wondered if he’d fallen asleep sitting up with his head in his hands.

“Did you go to class?” he asked after a few long moments, still not moving.

“No,” Logan answered.

After enough time that Logan started to shift uncomfortably, he removed his hands and gave a sharp nod. “I’m glad to see you aren’t dead.”

“Would you like to know where I went?” Logan would like to tell him, especially because now it felt like the missing memories, wherever they were in his head, were slamming into whatever figurative wall the memory gun had erected in his mind.

Yet, Patton said, “no. Not right now.” He got to his feet then. “What would you like for lunch?”

He was not hungry as he’d eaten recently, but he wasn’t going to say that. “Anything is fine.”

“I’ll make buffalo chicken tenders,” he said and once again Logan was stricken that the man with an expression on his face that on lesser men meant Logan was about to be cold-cocked would put forth the effort to make one of Logan’s favorite lunch time foods.

Logan wanted his memories back and not even for himself. He just wanted to remember how to wipe that expression off Patton’s face and wondered why on Earth future him hadn’t bother to write that down.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Epilogue

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

On Falling and Identity

One thing I’ve fallen out of the habit of doing is elaborate metas based on my fanfics every Wednesday. First I took a long hiatus to finish “What it Means to Be A Demon” and then I started posting it and it was angsty and that made me tired.

Plus, I’ve been posting chapters on Wednesdays, and busy enough that I couldn’t do a post and a meta.

But I have some time today, so I thought I’d share some of my thoughts on Falling and Identity. Because there’s more to “What it Means to Be A Demon” than physically and emotionally torturing Crowley (there’s that, too).

Names

One thing I think we can all agree on: the demons in Good Omens are not using the names they’d had as angels. We have plenty of examples: Cra(o)wley, Hastur, Ligur, Beelzebub, Dagon, even Satan (on the to-do list: re-watch while keeping track of various names used for the devil. I’m trying to remember where the name Lucifer is used outside Crowley’s drunken rant, and even that is a memory of their time in Heaven). 

(Fun fact: when I searched the GIFs for “Good Omens Devil” one of the results I got was Gabriel, and...technically incorrect, but still accurate.)

Regardless, none of these really fit the pattern of angelic names (Gabriel, Uriel and Michael are all standard angel names; Aziraphale does fit this phonetically, but the spelling is different; Sandalphon less so, but still a traditionally angelic name). So, disregarding the possibility that angels somehow rebelled and Fell based on the names they already had, it seems clear that they chose new names after Falling.

Were they forced to change their names? Did they forget their original names? Did they voluntarily give them up? We don’t know this, but I’m sure going to speculate!

Crowley, however, is the only one we know who changes his name, from Crawly/Crawley (note it’s Crawly in the book but Crawley in the script book). It’s called attention to very early in both - the first post-Eden scene in book and show is our two maggot husbands lurking in the graveyard, and one of the first things they comment on is Crowley’s name change, “what’s he calling himself these days?”

I find it rather interesting that the demon who changed his name - something notable enough for others to comment on - is also the one who winds up the most independent, the most free-thinking, the most human.

Identity

Names and identity are tied together in Good Omens.

Most notable version of this is Dog, a terrifying hellhound who very abruptly isn’t. And the moment he changes is the moment he receives his name: in the book, his shape changes as Adam describes his ideal dog, but his personality changes at the naming; on the show, everything changes at once. 

From the book: “The hound waited. This was the moment. The Naming. This would give it its purpose, its function, its identity.” (page 82)

There’s also the “Form shapes nature” passage on page 132 - in short, now that he looks like a small, yappy dog, he is a small, yappy dog. It can’t just be that simple, though - the Horsepeople (well, 3 out of 4) all spend much of the series walking around in very human bodies, yet their nature doesn’t become more human. So it’s not just being in the form, it’s accepting the form, letting the form be more than just the mask you wear.

So bring this back to the demons. On the series, we see that they have different forms in Hell and on Earth - not radically different, but the Hell version is more extreme.

Beelzebub in Hell 

Beelzebub on Earth

Crowley even more so - he appears as a giant snake, as a human with snake eyes, and as...whatever that thing was at the paintball game. It was vaguely snake-y. So we know they have options for how demonic they appear. Whether by choice or some other means, Crowley’s habitual form is the most human. As a result, his actions seem to be the most human.

Importantly, while it might seem fatalistic to say “Names determine who you are, Form determines nature” - both of these are Crowley’s choice (and presumably other demons as well). He doesn’t want to look like a snake, so he doesn’t; he doesn’t think the name Crawly suits him, so he changes it. Changing his name, changing his form, creating his flash bastard persona - these are how he develops his identity. These are how he makes himself into something more than a demonic snake.

Headcanons

So now we get to the part where I explain how this ties into my story, “What it Means to Be A Demon.” I believe everything has at least been hinted at in the story so far, so I don’t feel as much like I’m spoiling my own plot.

Names were lost. I established this earlier in “Early Days,” but Crowley and the other demons can’t remember their original names, they were taken away as part of the act of Falling. For the purposes of “interpreting canon,” both options are plausible (names were taken or names were rejected), but this is the one I felt had more story potential, because it meant:

Identities were lost. This is a little tougher to explain, and I hope I’ve been able to make it clear in the story. The demons are no longer who they were as angels. They can remember their past lives...to an extent. Names and faces slide out of focus, scenes replay without context, they can’t connect things into a coherent story. And the sense of the being they were before the Fall is just...gone. They became No One.

Demons rebuilt new identities. They chose names for themselves, distinguished themselves, built up cults of personality if you will by attracting followers and supporters. Hastur and Ligur, for example, have clearly built their personalities around cruelty and intimidation, but each even has his slightly different brand, such as Hastur’s brutal honesty (a few metas have pointed out that he doesn’t lie, but his truths are extremely cruel). Appearance is also part of this - while the angels have a certain uniformity to their look, the demons each have a different take on the general theme of “humanoid but bestial.”

Demons, especially low-ranked demons, must fight to retain their identities. This is a major part of what’s going on in “What it Means to Be A Demon.” You sort of need other people to acknowledge your identity...this is something you’ve either experienced or not. Whether it’s a gender identity, a sexual orientation, a diagnosis, or just run-of-the-mill interests - when other people ignore, refuse to acknowledge or outright reject something about yourself you know to be true - it f***ing SUCKS. It makes you doubt yourself, it digs away at you, maybe it even makes you conform more to how other people think you should be, because you start to lack the strength to be who you know you should be, or makes you feel like a failure because you can’t be who they want you to be. In the story, Crowley (still Crawley, as it’s around 2400BC) is abused and tortured, but he’s also forced to take shapes based on what others ask of him; he’s told how to present, how to dress, where to go; the other demons even call him “Crawly” which sounds exactly the same but isn’t a name and trust me in these circumstances you can tell. And it wears away at him, makes him question who he is. Destroys the identity he’s built for himself

When they lose their identity, they become...something else. This is not really based on anything specific from the show, except the endless hordes of seemingly mindless demons in Hell. But if their identities are something they must fight to hold on to, what happens when they lose them? In my story, I’ve presented two options: the Nameless (basically mindless bodies who go where directed, do as told, don’t speak, don’t react, no signs that they even think), and Chaotic ones (imagine a Hellhound in human form - instead of mindless obedience, mindless violence). This is the fate that the demons - that Crowley - fight to avoid.

Crowley is not going to let this happen. I’m dead center in this story, so sorry if this is too much of a spoiler, but I did mark it Canon Compliant. The demon who makes an Arrangement with an angel, the demon swaggering around Shakespeare’s Globe, or performing daring Bastille and Nazi Church rescues, who asked for Holy Water because he was going to fight Hell if he needed to - that Crowley is not a demon under existential threat of oblivion. In “What it Means to Be A Demon,” his identity is under threat, because of the things he feels he needs to do to physically survive. But his story arc for this portion of the overall series is all about Crowley finding his identity, and forcing Hell to acknowledge it, one way or another. And over time - he changes to Crowley, he adopts Anthony and Anthony J as his names, his sense of style becomes more elaborate, more personalized, his possessions more solidly representative of his self. And, ultimately, he creates an identity that is strong enough to go against Hell.

So, those are some of my thoughts on DEMONS and FALLING and IDENTITY. I have mentioned that I have a lot of them. ;) If my ideas intrigue you (and if you have a strong stomach for angst and abuse), I hope you will check out my story! Here’s the link one more time:

Read it on AO3! (Rated T for violence, language, and potentially triggering scenes)

Here’s the whole series! (All but two stories are rated G, so if you prefer something lighter...)

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Something I’ve seen around recently is people asking how to tag fics on ao3 (particularly fics with dark elements), so I figured I’d make a post on how I tag my own fics. 

1. Archive Content Warnings (graphic depictions of violence, major character death, rape/non-con, underage sex)

I think the most confusion I’ve seen is in regards to these tags, the Big Ones. Additional tags are up to the discretion of the writer, but the Archive Content Warnings are important. 

When I’m writing a fic that involves one or more of the above topics, there are a few things I evaluate before choosing whether or not to tag. 

How relevant to the plot is it?  How often does it happen? If only once, how big is the scene? How much detail is involved? 

Let’s say I’m debating over the graphic depictions of violence tag; first of all, it’s in the name. The depictions should be graphic to warrant this tag. Is the violence only in a single chapter? Lets say I’m writing a 6 chapter story that has 30k words, so 5k/chapter, and the graphic violence scene takes place across 2k in chapter 3. I would likely forgo the Archive warning, and add a content warning in the notes of that chapter. However if the scene took place across 5k, I would likely use the Archive Warning, regardless of how long the fic itself was. My reasoning being: 5k is a good sized scene that takes some time to get through. Your reader will be devoting a lot of attention to it, therefore it warrants a tag. 

What if we keep the same fic parameters, but the graphic violence takes place in multiple smaller scenes, say 1k or less, across multiple/most/all chapters? In that case, the warning applies in multiple places, in which case adding a content warning in each chapter would get repetitive and redundant. This would be a good tie to use the Archive warning; this tells your reader is can apply at any point in the fic, and so they will be prepared for it. 

What if you’re writing a fic where the character mentions something that happened to them in the past. Rather than using a flashback, you’re having the character recount it verbally to another; this means there will likely be less detail, since you’re filtering the incident through the character. This is where you would use another helpful tag: implied/referenced ____. This is good for when you want to write about something, but you don’t want to get into the nitty gritty details, or your character is dancing around the subject. This could also be accompanied by an additional content warnings in the notes of the relevant chapter. 

2. Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings vs. No Archive Warnings Apply

These can get confused sometimes, but they are not the same thing. After going through and selecting all of my relevant Archive Warnings, I’ll typically select Choose Not To Warn as well, just to make sure all my bases are covered, 

Say you’ve written your fic; you decided to add the additional tag “implied/referenced torture” in a hurt/comfort fic. Character A, after getting rescued, tells character B in vague or euphemistic terms what happened to them, but skirts away from the gory details. You put a content warning in the notes of the relevant chapter, but you’re still unsure if that’s adequate. Maybe you want to be mindful of your readers’ different sensitivity levels, and you don’t want to blindside anyone. Maybe there’s something that will happen at a later date with more detail. Either way, you decide to also select Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings. 

This warning means that any of the other Archive Warnings may apply, at any point in the story. It saves you from having to put every little thing in the additional tags, just to be safe. 

On the opposite side of the spectrum, we have No Archive Warnings Apply. As the name suggests, this is a fic that is “safe”. I use quotations because it really depends on the author; you can write plenty of dark themes that the Archive Warnings don’t apply to. For example, fics dealing with depression wouldn’t necessarily use the Graphic Violence warning, etc. 

But at a general rule, this will apply to fics that are relatively gentle. If you’re asking yourself if this applies to your fic, then it probably does, and the same for the Choose Not to Warn. 

3. How much is too much?

Nobody likes scrolling through a mountain of tags. It’s off-putting and annoying. Chances are, you don’t need to tag every little thing that happens in your fic, good or bad. 

Think of it this way: You tag your fic for “homophobia”, giving readers who would rather avoid characters dealing with that subject matter the chance to do so. Except the tag only applies to a short interaction the character/s have that lasts for maybe a few lines; it’s not a focal point in the fic, or a recurring theme the character/s will have to deal with. Then another reader comes along, sees your tag, and opens your fic because they want to read a fic where the characters do deal with homophobia. That reader would be dissapointed when it’s barely more than a throwaway line. 

This is why the first question I ask myself is how prevalent a tag is in my story. I always tag on the basis that readers will be able to find my fic is that’s what they’re looking for. 

A good rule of thumb is: how specific is your tag? The more specific it is, the more likely it will only apply in a very specific place/case, and the more likely you should simply add a note in said relevant chapter. 

For example: back to that fic that involves torture. This time, rather than having the character recount it themselves, you write a flashback scene. Your first tag would be the Archive Warning Graphic Depictions of Violence. When you get to the additional tags, you might use one of the following: Torture, Past Torture, Aftermath of Torture, etc. (All of these are from typing “torture” into the additional tags). 

Now lets get even more specific; the scene involves waterboarding and teeth pulling. Waterboarding is an additional tag, and if it’s a significant part of the scene, go ahead and use it. Teeth pulling isn’t a wrangled tag, which means including it won’t help someone searching for/trying to block it. In this case, you could still add it, but it would serve no functional purpose except to clog up your tags, which we’re trying to avoid. 

Let’s get really specific. You have a list of all the things that happen to the character in this chapter; do you really want to tag every single thing that happens in this one chapter? Probably not. This is where we leave the tags, and go to the notes. I like to put my general content warnings in the beginning of the chapter, and if I feel it’s necessary, I’ll put the specific, possibly spoiler-y content warnings at the end of the chapter as well. That’s up to you; but if you put your warnings at the end, make sure you include that in the beginning notes. 

4. How to avoid spoilers while tagging?

This is a big one for me; I prefer to add tags as they become relevant. I have a fic where one of the main plot twists is that a character is psychic; if I’d tagged him as psychic from the beginning, it wouldn’t have been a very good twist, was it? 

But what about when you’re trying to maintain the suspense, but you also don’t want to blindside anybody? A conundrum I’m facing right now: I’m writing something of a murder mystery, and when the murderer is introduced, no one knows he’s a serial killer yet because the fic is from another character’s perspective. However that has lead to my readers believing this is a very fluffy story; my lack of tagging on what is actually a very dark story, has lead to me unintentionally misleading my readers. 

Once I realized this, my first course of action was to make one minor change to my tags: I added the Choose Not to Warn content warning. That tells my reader that at least one of the warnings (or in my case, all of them) will apply at a later date in the fic. To correct my mistake I will also put a note in the next chapter explaining that this fic will get darker as the story progresses, and remind them to keep an eye on the tags, which will change over time. 

How do you avoid this? Be honest from the beginning. There are multiple ways you can do this; do what I did, and select Choose Not to Warn, and in the additional tags, add Additional Tags to be Added. This will tell readers to refer back to them occasionally, and see what has changed about the story. You can also add a note in your first chapter saying that the story will get darker; the end notes of your first chapter will be listed at the end of every following chapter (so be mindful of what you put there). 

After this, you can add your Archive Warnings/additional tags as they become relevant, that way you won’t spoil the surprise for your readers. 

tl:dr: When it comes to tagging, less is more. You could write the darkest fic on the Archive, and tag it with nothing more than Choose Not to Warn, and you would be perfectly fine. Tag only what is relevant to your story, and if you still feel you need additional warnings, put them in your chapter notes. 

[olderthannetfic]

I saw some stuff related to tagging and it made me think abt the way I tagged my last fic. This may take me a minute to explain and sometimes my words don't come out right so before anyone has the chance to misinterpret my intentions: this is just the way I like to tag. I have no opinion on how others tag, and as long as they're responsible in their tagging, I find the way people tag to be entirely neutral. I just had thoughts and wanted to share, is all.

As I was writing it, I started to realize that there were pretty heavy unreality elements. I would give a definition for unreality, but I don't know how to describe it and Google is free.

The fic involves heavy manipulation elements, and the first chapter is from the manipulated character's POV, and he never discovers that he's being manipulated. The reason this had heavy, actual possible real life unreality elements is because with the way I was writing it, and the way I planned on tagging it, the reader's perceptions were being manipulated as well, to the point where if you aren't well versed in manipulation tactics it would be a fair assumption from the first chapter that this was a human AU (the character in question is an alien). This had me concerned, as I am psychotic and have unreality as a very real trigger. At the same time, while yes, I had to take breaks while writing, playing with unreality in the safe, controlled environment of the fic was actually kinda fun, and I'd say it even added to the experience, so I didn't want to overtly tag for it, along with the fact that tagging for it would spoil the twist.

Then there was also the dubious consent for the sexual encounter, but it only reads as dubious if you have the context of the second chapter from the manipulator's POV, and in the end both characters POVs read like they were thoroughly enjoying the scene, so I felt like the dubcon tag wouldn't really fit, along with the fact that that was more spoilers for the twist. The reason I felt it didn't fit is because I like dubcon, and likely would not have been satisfied by what I wrote if I were going looking for dubcon.

The eventual compromise I made was to give very vague tags alongside the tags "CNTW" and "Additional Warnings In Author's Note". The warnings were put in the end notes of chapter two, with the beginning notes telling the reader as such and suggesting that they read without them if possible, as that was the intended reading experience.

And then, ofc, someone bookmarked the fic with all the spoilery tags I was avoiding, lol

I guess this is kind of a result of me growing up in both cultures. I got my start in fanfiction on FFN, and was used to routinely discovering incredibly fucked up things that led to a number of sexual awakenings, and for a while I actively avoided Ao3 because the search function intimidated me. I eventually made the switch and figured it out anyways, and suddenly a whole new world was opened up to me because I could find all the gloriously fucked up fic my heart could ever desire. At the same time, sometimes I was not in the headspace to deal with something, so I would avoid certain tags. On one hand, I appreciate the tagging system as a reader. On the other hand, sometimes you just want that surprise and shock value as a writer, y'know?

--

[ancient-artificer]

Bounties, Booze, Etc.

A Cowboy Bebop AU. Found on FF.net and Ao3

NEW* Fic

After a devastating break-up, Spike turns to old medicines to remedy the hurt. Concerned for her good friend's overall health, Faye strikes up a deal: if she can set Spike up with a good woman within a month's time, he must give up drinking and live a healthier life, for all their sakes. Leave it to a woman to beat around the bush...

Eventual Spike x Faye. Plot-driven.

ONE - Hangovers, Milkshakes, etc.

The majority of the household wasn't too thrilled with his decision-making skills of late.

Spike's wobbly hiccuping, coming in too late and hastily leaving too early was all beginning to cause for concern; the hole-in-the-wall pub inhabitants were ready to create for him a permanent place barside, a stock brand with his name on it if they didn't soon do something about his drinking.

Jet claimed that was just how he functioned and to let him be, the old "he'll fix himself, he always does" routine. Faye had always blatantly called him emotionally constipated, for lack of better terms, but even from her opinionated viewpoint, it wasn't that simple this time around.

It wasn't that Spike couldn't let himself feel emotions.

He felt them too much, too strongly.

It had been two weeks since Julia left. No heads up and no word since. No one understood what she had been thinking or why in the least she had not decided to tell anyone her plans. The blond bombshell just up and disappeared.

And left Spike a goddamned messed, barely able to pick up the pieces in her wake.

"What a bitch," Faye spat. She stared at the lifeless form lying on the couch and crossed her arms over her voluptuous breasts.

In front of their computer searching for the next easy, potential payload, Jet hummed, his fingers stroking his beard in thought. One of his eyebrows rose as he glanced up to her. "Way to kick a man while he's down," he monotoned.

Faye turned towards him. "No, not Spike, that damn bimbo he was head over heels for."

"Yea, well, it happens."

She snorted. "Which one, falling in love with a trash can or having it dump you?"

Jet acted as if he wasn't paying attention, but his mouth twitched up in a small smirk. "Like I said."

"I guess…" Her voice trailed off.

Her gaze returned to the dingy couch with the broken man sprawled across it. It softened as she took in his expressionless, slumbering face. "It must really suck."

"Mhm." His eyes darted back and forth on the screen as he read a profile from the bounty office site.

Faye sympathized with the man. Seeing him asleep, finally buried under consciousness after hours of fighting with himself made her glad she had never fallen in love. Of course, there was the like button, the pesky infatuation that came and went as quickly as the vast amounts of alcohol Spike had no doubt thrown back, and that was only a surface level sentiment.

What Spike tried to let go of was deeper. Scarring.

His sleeping form seemed peaceful, though she supposed it would turn one-eighty once he awoke. He had stumbled in around four-thirty that morning, sloshed beyond all hope, incoherently blabbering on. It was a wonder he had made it back to the house in one piece. Spike had easily passed out with his boots still on his feet.

She stepped to the couch and pulled the folded blanket from the recliner to spread over him. He reeked of hard booze.

"What are we gonna do with you?" She murmured to herself, giving her head a shake.

"Mm… er, do what now?"

Spike's eyes were still closed as he stirred and tried to lift his head and speak. The low, cigarette and whiskey-burned groan that escaped between his dehydrated lips sounded painful.

"You look like you were hit by a train." She was ever so blunt.

What resembled a short-lived laugh tumbled out from him, ending in a cough. He winced. "You should feel it," he mumbled.

Faye rolled her eyes and left to fetch him a bottle of water.

His liver and kidneys would be working overtime for a while until his situation leveled out, those brave, little soldiers. These days she felt more like the caretaker of a twenty-seven-year-old baby than a hard-earning, semi-successful bounty hunter.

"I think I'd rather feel the emotional ass-whooping than your kind of hangovers. It'd pass faster," she replied loudly, handing him the bottle with an added sarcastic, "Your drink, sir."

Spike winced hard as he sat up. "Not so loud, fuck…" he croaked. "Trying to kill me."

One hand took the water, the heel of the other rubbed into his forehead, seeking relief from the growing ache. The pounding behind his eyes rocked his balance and sensitivity. A queasiness hit his stomach before he brought the drink to his mouth.

He heaved into the previously placed bucket below him.

"Serves you right," Faye muttered. She walked away before she heard anything else that would haunt her later.

She had never been fond of Julia. From the moment that woman stepped foot inside their abode she could tell they were in for some bad news. Spike was only now unwinding himself from around her slender fingers.

However, Faye was fond of Spike and hoped he would learn from this rather unfortunate event and the things that spurred it. She just didn't approve of his methods. It wasn't fun to tease him when he was hurting himself. If he would let her help.

"Just give it a few more hours. His wallowing's almost over," Jet announced. He stood up from the desk and stretched, his thick arms reached above his head.

Reaching into his pocket, he tossed Faye a pack of smokes as she strolled by. "Give one to pathetic over there and then suit up. We've got a job."

"Uhh, okay, but isn't he a little useless right now?"

From the couch beside her, Spike gave a rough groan and then snarled, "Cowboy up or sit in the fuckin' truck."

Jet only smiled.

"You can't possibly know how this feels," Spike monotoned, briefly closing his eyes. He plodded after the others down the sidewalk towards the pub, which happened to be the location of their next hit.

It was a first. Strolling that day into the same bar he'd gotten plastered in the night before, still hungover as hell. The dark circles under his eyes had deepened in their shade of bluish-purple on the way over.

"Psht, yea, you're right, I can't. 'Cause I'm not a drunk loser," Faye replied in kind. She threw a glance his way.

"You're both getting on my nerves. Focus," Jet grumbled under his breath. "Faye, you walk in first. Spike and I will be in after you've had a look around."

They gave it a good thirty seconds.

Nausea hit Spike as soon as he smelled the alcohol.

The drink hall harbored few patrons in the early evening. It would later fill up to near capacity as the hours wore on. Smoke and other various and unique scents floated through the stale air. The place could have used a strong breeze.

As if not affiliated with the other two, Spike beelined it for the bartop and sank onto one of the many stools. His head hit the cool, shellacked wooden surface and he went limp. All but useless.

Mentally patting herself and feeling the weight of gunmetal beneath the ridiculous outfit, Faye easily slipped into a facade. The perfect trap laid before a hungry smuggler.

Remember he'll be armed, Jet's voice said to her through the earpiece connecting the three bounty hunters. Name's Merle. His crew smuggles drugs and other goods into the country through the underground. Not unlike them to enjoy the spoils.

He adjusted his sunglasses to sit further up on his nose and peered at their target as he sat down two stools from Spike's seemingly knocked out form. He raised his hand at the only bartender, who stood directly in front of him, looking oddly at him as he wiped down the bartop.

"Uh, what can I do for ya, sir?"

Jet nodded. "Iced tea, please."

"Is that all?"

Spike let loose a series of quiet snores. A drop of drool slid from the corner of his mouth.

"And a protein shake. If you've got them," Jet said.

The bartender shook his head. He dropped the wet rag into a sani-bucket. "Don't got those. But there's ingredients for a milkshake?"

Jet glanced at Spike, then nodded to the employee.

Faye said nothing as she roamed about the great hall, her gaze hitting everything that could be used as a weapon if the need arose, all of the exits should they have underestimated their target.

If Merle was easy to catch, he would already be in police custody. The profile stated he'd been on the run for four years, successfully evading cuffs and a comfy cell. Within that time, due to the extremely toxic purity of the illegal synthetic drugs he often smuggled and sold, many innocent lives were needlessly lost. The bounty on his head paid a hefty price, dead or alive.

But preferably alive to watch his freedom turn to cash.

Large, green eyes gave a sultry flash at the giant of a man sitting in the corner intent on the brown bottle in between his fingers.

His expression never faltered. His grip on the bottle loosened a bit when Faye swayed near and laid a hand on the only other chair present at his table. She made a point to throw her shoulders back and jut out her ample breasts barely covered in the low cut of her dress.

"May I join you?" She purred.

He stared at her. First at the twin fun sacks staring back at eye level, then up at her expectant, smiling expression. "I'm meeting someone," he simply stated, his voice gruff.

She gently pressed. "I could be that someone… if you have time," she said, the words rolling off her tongue like a satin sheet.

"Time for you to fuck off," he said, shifting in the chair.

Faye grinned.

He played hard.

She opened her mouth to respond in the same smartass, sarcastic tone when the establishment's glass door swung open once again. Her eyes darted to it.

In strode three buff, ruffian-looking men, one right after the other. The didn't try to hide their full sidearm holsters conspicuously hanging from their clothing or the fact they all knew the dark man in the back. They sneered when they saw Faye.

"Looks like Boss has a customer, heheh," one of them chuckled. With one arm in a fluid motion, he snagged a chair from another nearby table and unceremoniously sank onto it.

The second did the same, but with the chair Faye had her hand on. "A lady friend," he commented.

The remaining man still standing peered closely at her, leaning down so he could breathe on her cheek as he inspected her.

Straightening her back, Faye loosened the hold she subconsciously had on her features. She tried not to tense. She had to act like a whore, not be one. All she had to focus on was getting them happy and cooperative, Jet -and hopefully Spike- would do the rest, with her lending a helping hand should the need arise. The moment they caught wind of her unwillingness to indulge in their scumbag needs and desires, she would be outed as a cop or worse -what she really was- and the bounty-op would be eighty-sixed.

Jet's voice was low and steady in the earpiece. "Hm. This might've turned into a four man warrant..."

The man with his face next to hers smelled like tobacco and grease. A throaty hum of approval thrummed in his chest. He turned to the man who had first occupied the table. "This yours?"

Merle took a swig of his drink. He said nothing, only his dark eyes moved to inspect Faye once again, sizing her up, himself unsure of the answer.

She shifted her weight, making sure her breasts jiggled a bit to keep their attention. Her fingers pushed some of her violet hair behind her ears, her gaze quickly shifting from all four with a mysterious grin sliding up on her red lips. "Well. How about I buy rounds for you. And you can buy for me… and then we see where we stand?"

The three disgusting bastards were instantly hooked, line and all, at her innuendo. They automatically turned to each other and then to Merle, who had yet to give the okay for the extra person to accompany them for the evening.

Jet kept his head down, seemingly staring at the bartop under the dark of his glasses and intently listened in on her conversation. He breathed from his seat in surprise at Faye's words. "Geezus, you don't have to go all out," he said quietly.

At the same moment, the bartender gave him a quizzical gaze, one eyebrow raised as he set the glass full of iced tea down in front of him. "Um. Uh, w-would you also like ah, a lemon wedge? Or two?" He stuttered in his confusion.

A choked sound akin to holding back a burst of laughter came from Spike. He wheezed, his lips turning up at the corners before going back to his expressionless, slumber-like state.

The bartender reappeared with a handful of lemon slices and a milkshake in the tallest glass he could find. He set the tiny fruit bowl and the shake next to Jet.

Jet slid the drink to Spike.

"Finally…" Spike uttered. He unfurled his limbs from his lap and inched the straw to his mouth and sucked down a large mouthful. He frowned. "Hmm, it's missing something… what's it missing?"

"Sour wedge?" Jet sarcastically offered. He dropped a small piece of lemon into his tea without looking at him.

Merle straightened his back at Faye's suggestion.

"You're pretty. Too pretty for a dump like this shithole," the bossman grunted. His eyes bore a hole through her dark red dress. He spat, "How do I know you're not a cop?"

Faye blinked. "I'm not," she replied as a confused question.

She didn't look like one, that was for sure. But they couldn't be too careful these days. Highly sought after criminals could not let their guards down, especially around a woman, no matter how pretty. They were sly. They were just as capable of manipulation as men.

Merle snapped his fingers and pointed. "Vic. Search her."

"Heh. With pleasure."

Faye swallowed.

Through the earpiece, Jet heard the demand. She had a Glock and a pair of cuffs strapped to the inside of her leg. If they found those, she was as good as dead where she stood.

"Ahh. I see." Spike hailed the bartender. With a raspy voice and a fake smile, he asked, "Do you have any eggs?"

"Eggs?"

"Yea. Eggs. You know. Chickens shit them out. Can I have one?"

The perpetually perplexed employee headed for the back with his strange request, oblivious to the growing tension in the place.

"What are you doing, Faye needs us. Now," Jet said. He was already turning in the stool to free the handgun at his side.

"Relax. Everything's fine." The hungover bounty hunter lazily sipped at the whipped cream on top of the milkshake, seemingly uninterested in the fate of his female friend. Or any of their fates, for that matter.

The employee came back and handed him a white egg.

Jet slid from his stool and took a long step in the smugglers' direction, in his hand a grey and silver Walther P99.

Faye backed away from the table as two of them approached her. A quick glance to the bar area at Jet and she reached down under the hem of the dress. One hand made a fist, the other gripped the black, fully loaded Glock.

She landed a swift uppercut into the soft underside of the ruffian's jaw and pistol-whipped the back of his head with the butt of her gun. He landed on the ground a shove. She shook her hand in the air and cringed.

Jet fired the Walther at the other man standing between Faye and the table, the explosion of contained gunpowder slicing through the previous quiet. As soon as the man fell to the floor with a shout, he shifted his aim toward the two still seated.

Distance offense strategy was now useless; Merle and his thug friend were already up and closing the space that separated them.

Merle rushed Jet. He knocked into him before he could bring his pistol around to aim. The Walther flew from his hand and a fist connected into the side of his face.

Throwing a glance towards Jet, Faye knew she wasn't equipped to fight like him or Spike. She wasn't trained in hand to hand, but in the close quarters of the small pub, the Glock was still her only defense. She didn't want to flat out kill them, they wouldn't get their money if the smugglers were dead.

"Spike! You idiot!" She called in frustration.

Hunched over his drink, Spike concentrated on cracking the missing ingredient into his shake. He was terrible at cooking anything, having relied heavily on Jet for sustenance for most of his adult life. He winced from the gunshot, which only added to the ache behind his tired eyes. Behind him, all hell broke loose, the sounds of struggles and gunfire ringing in the stale air.

Jet blocked another fist aimed for his gut and connected his own to Merle's temple in return. The smuggler stumbled backward. Jet shoved him hard in the chest and the muscled man toppled over the table and his unfinished beer.

"Faye!" Jet shouted in warning.

The woman turned at his voice, seeing one of the thugs ball his fist and advance to pummel her. She ducked and threw her shoulder into his gut, using the Glock's barrel to assist her in tagging him in the process.

He was out of the fight, down for the count, dry heaving with his hands on his junk.

The man she had earlier pistol-whipped rose and ran at her, the bloodlust apparent in his angry eyes. She promptly ducked again and stuck out her leg, which he ran right into. He was sent stumbling into the bar and smacked right into Spike.

The still unbroken egg slipped out of his hand to bust on the floor.

"The fuck," Spike barked. Anger boiled inside his chest.

The pub's door flung open and four more similarly dressed men ran in, all familiar with Merle and the two men sprawled on the floor. They looked around at the fray, briefly orienting themselves with the situation. It took only seconds, but Jet and Faye knew they couldn't hold off the newcomers.

"My egg! I needed that," Spike seethed. "Everything's so not fine!"

He jumped and shoved the stool away from the counter, standing up and tugging out his Jericho 941 from its holster. He snarled, racking the pistol and without aiming, started firing off round after round directly at the smugglers who had just entered the building.

They scattered to hide behind anything they could find, knocking tables on their sides to use as makeshift shields as he channeled his frustrations into the gunmetal.

Spike turned to the downed man who had run into him. He smashed the man's bloody face into the egg mess with his boot. "That's for ruining my milkshake," he hissed.

Behind him, Jet's left fist smacked into Merle's jaw, his torso bending in half at the waist with the momentous effort. He breathed out, struggling to catch his breath with the strain.

The drug smuggler bounded into the back wall. His head shot side to side, looking for a way out while Jet was preoccupied with the small group of his followers that had come in to join them.

When his attention returned to their main target, Merle was nowhere to be seen. Their intended target escaped.

Faye dove for Jet's discarded pistol as the newcomers began to retaliate. She threw herself back on the floor. With her own gun, she covered them with gunfire until she could return Jet's firearm to him. Her dress hitched up her legs, the thigh holsters now in full view. Vibrant green panties peeked out from the inside at the apex of her legs.

Spike barreled out of the way of blazing bullets zooming past. "Shit!"

Lying on the ground next to Faye, he ejected the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one into his black pistol. From his position, he spied the material. "Really. Lime green, huh," he stated casually. A smirk showed up on his mouth.

Faye pursed her lips and cow kicked him in the chest. "Stop looking, pervert."

"We gotta get, fast," Jet grunted. He caught the pistol Faye tossed up to him.

"What about the bounty-" Faye started, the surprise coating her voice.

The big man shook his head. "It's no good. Let's go before we're shot all to hell!"

With Jet laying down cover fire, Spike hauled Faye to her feet, then angled his body to pop off a few rounds at their opposition. He snatched up the milkshake on his way and followed the other two out the back exit and into the alley.

Outside next to the dumpsters, Faye watched for any signs of their fleeing quarry while Jet fetched the car parked on the other side of the alley. She turned at the door opening, relaxing when she saw Spike. He made a face as he sucked up the shake.

"You went back for that?"

He swallowed. "It's not as good without some egg in it. No tip for him."

Faye tried to hide the smile he unknowingly put on her face. Though the man liked to mess around, making light of certain situations, never mind how dire they may be, he made her heart a little lighter. Every day. His presence settled her. His lack of emotional awareness, however, would get him into serious trouble someday.

Jet drove the car up to them, skidding to a halt.

Pulling at Spike's shirt, Faye dragged him to the car, pushing him through the now open door. She shoved him further to climb in herself.

The junk car didn't look like much, though it got them from point A to B with no hesitation. The engine's rumble turned into a roar as Jet sped away. "Watch for that slimebag," Jet said.

They entered the main, busy streets, blending in with the locals. People walked along from one area to another. Other vehicles on the streets passed by in a rush. There were so many, Faye couldn't distinguish after a certain distance. "I don't know, Jet. I don't see him. Sorry."

"Hmm. Well. This blows. Not what I expected." Jet made a sound with his mouth and flicked the air freshener hanging under the rectangle mirror.

Faye nodded. "We'll try again. Another day, sometime."

"Sometime," Jet repeated. He looked at her in the mirror. "You mean another year. That guy's evaded the cops and bounty hunters alike for half a decade. He's not stupid."

There was an empty, sipping sound.

They both turned to Spike, who had finished his mediocre milkshake. He seemed to be doing a little better than earlier in the day. His eyes were a little brighter, almost back to normal.

From the other side of the backseat, Spike peered at Faye from his position, his head resting on the armrest. He took in her ragged appearance after their small bar fight.

Bounty work did a number on her.

He licked the whipped cream off the straw and said, "Yea. Next time it'll be a thousand times harder 'cause he knows who we are."