#i COULD.. esp since books are starting to read more and more like ‘good’ ao3 fics

[bookstoresmp3]

ali hazelwood’s success is proof that you dont need to understand writing as a craft to get published anymore

[villainessprefect]

Anonymous asked: hello!! may i request a fic with malleus x gn!reader pls? this is too specific since im having a bad day sooo my request is where reader is having a bad day since they found out their 'friends' talking sh*t behind their back and they didnt attend the whole class for the whole day and ignoring everyone esp malleus (bc reader want some alone time) so at night time, malleus found reader and just comfort them? thank you, have a good day! :)

hello! I hope this fic brings you some comfort!! don't let those types of friends get you down!

title: turn to me

summary: Your latest ‘friends’ turn out to be trash. Their words lead you down a terrible descent. At least someone is willing to reach out to you.

ship: Malleus x gn!reader

word count: 2,167

note: does this need a trigger warning for like. self-loathing?? idk

Read on AO3

You should have known from the start that it would end this way. In this hellish world, you would always be an outcast, the odd one out, the magicless one. No matter how hard you tried to fit in, no matter what you did, you were not part of this world.

But is it so wrong to hope? To think that maybe, just maybe, you could be a part of this world if only for a moment.

Perhaps you were just foolish. Naive. All you wanted was to belong somewhere. Taking a chance to break from your usual friend group had been your own undoing. You should have listened to their warnings and stayed with them. They know these people better than you do. After all, they're just like them, aren't they?

You didn't listen. You let that glimmer of hope lead you down the wrong path. All you wanted was a normal school life. With that, you could believe that you were normal.

"Aren't you tired of hanging around with that magicless Prefect yet? It's so damn boring. We can't do anything with them around!" One complained.

"Just a little longer, we can't lose our gopher just yet." Another says.

"Hey! Maybe we should start calling them our best friend. You think they'll like that?" He laughs. Loud. "I bet they'd think they're part of the group!"

"Man, not even they could be dumb enough to believe that. Although, you know what they say. No magic, no brains."

Vile gossip runs around your latest group of 'friends'. They continue to throw insults your way while unaware of your presence. At some point, you begin to tune out what they're saying. Their voices grow smaller and smaller as you make a run for it, but you can still hear their voices echoing loud and clear in your mind.

You run home, or at least to the place you're forced to call home. The door to Ramshackle is forcibly pushed open, left ajar as you head straight to your room. Your bag and books drop to the ground, supplies scattering on the floor. A part of you thinks to pick them up, another disagrees- what did it matter anyway? It's not like your friends would come over.

Finding comfort in your bed is hard. It's not the best, not the softest, it barely does its job, but its all you have. At least this old thing wouldn't betray you. Hopefully. You don't want to jinx it and have your bed turn into a futon.

You take in a shaky breath and struggle to let the darkness consume you. You're not even tired, but your body aches, your chest stinging with every heartbeat. The longer you stay awake, the more your thoughts haunt you. And the last thing you want to do is let those bastards win.

Your phone catches you off guard. In your haste to hide away from the world, you forgot to toss that aside along with your bag. All you do is dig the buzzing phone out of your pocket and turn it off, not even bothering to see who is blowing it up. Friends, new or old, you didn't want to speak to anyone. You couldn't.

With no more distractions, you lie in bed and succumb to your fate. Nasty thoughts poke at you, prodding at you and telling you how stupid you are. You wish you hadn't been so optimistic about branching out. You couldn't always rely on your usual group of friends, but at this point...it seemed like you had to.

It's impossible to reassure yourself that things are okay. They're not. You think how useless and stupid you are. And that...this is how things should have been from the start. People don't need you, you need them. You're unwanted and alone, and always will be for as long as you're in this world. And when you leave? It'll be like you were never here in the first place.

As the day draws on, you fall in and out of consciousness. You don't recall crying, but your pillow says otherwise. Your stomach craved food while feeling as if it couldn't hold down a single scrap. The only movement you willingly made was tossing back and forth for a more comfortable position.

Ramshackle is eerily quiet. The ghosts aren't hovering over you nor is Grim. The latter is probably with the others. It's fine. He's part of this world, you are not.

Something forces your body out of bed. You don't know what it is. Perhaps its an old habit that takes control of you. One that lets you meet with a dragon fae during the darker hours of the world. He doesn't always show up, and for once you pray he won't.

The cold air hits your body and you shiver. The night air that usually comforts you freezes you instead as you take a seat upon the steps of Ramshackle. The light of the moon reveals all to you. It's truly a beautiful night. One you wish you could enjoy.

A dark shadow looms over you. You don't bother lifting your gaze, merely staring down the legs that have blocked your view.

"Child of man," he starts. You don't move. "You were not at school today."

"Mhm."

"Are you feeling alright?" Malleus asks you. You can't bring yourself to speak. You don't want to have a conversation with him right now. Not with a tainted heart that's laced with the fear of betrayal. Surely he wouldn't be the same as that lot, would he?

No. Deep in your heart you know Malleus would never reach that low. He may be cheeky, but he's always been honest with you. If he wanted to end things with you, he would with the snap of his fingers. But you've always been special in his eyes. You're just...not in the mood to find that spark of hope again.

Your silence causes him to worry. The lack of acknowledgement does as well. Malleus looks forward to being beside you. Your conversations were always odd yet interesting. You never feared getting close to him, physically or otherwise. And your smile was worth waiting a whole century for. Having none of that tonight is a little upsetting. Not at you, but...for you? It's strange, difficult to put into words for him.

"Lilia once told me that silence can be hurtful and comforting, you just need to know when it's the right kind. You do not need to speak and if you wish for me to leave, simply...tell me." The last of his words comes out strained, forced. If his voice could break, you think it would have been heard then.

You take in a breath and decide his fate.

"You can stay."

You don't catch the way he lights up. How his eyes widen in surprise at your answer. His brief moment of joy doesn't last, but he finds it a blessing that you allow him to stay by your side.

Malleus takes a seat beside you. He sits closer to you compared to normal, but you don't mind. You didn't exactly pick the most spacious place to brood.

Having company after being alone all day is a little nice. His warmth helps keep some of those nasty thoughts away. Although you don't think that you really deserve this touch of kindness.

You still refuse to look at him and instead lift your gaze to the stars. You once heard that each star is a different world. With countless stars that fill the sky, that meant there were numerous worlds out there. And if a star went out, that meant the world was gone. It must have been a whimsical tale, yet now you wonder if it's true. Was your world a lost star? Is that why you're here now? Did the heavens think putting you here was better than meeting that fate?

You squeeze your body tightly.

"Malleus..." You breathe out his name, which catches him by surprise. It's unusual for you to not use the nickname you gave him. He makes no comment on it. Only watching and waiting for you to continue.

And when you face him, it hurts to see you.

Tears pricking at the corner of your eyes that are filled with nothing but pain. The sadness you bear is so heavy that he can see it. You look so lost and desperate. The friend he once knew is now broken.

"Do you ever think that...I'm worthless for not having magic?" You ask, pleading for an answer.

"No," he responds, quickly. There's a hint of anger in his eyes. He may not know who hurt you, but the question you posed gives him an idea as to how. "You are an extraordinary human in this world. If you wish to base worth off of magic, then one must do so knowing how to wield it. Even the strongest of mages can prove to be inferior to an amateur who only knows a single spell."

"But I don't know any," you respond. You hadn't meant to cut him off, but it was too late to stop now. "I'm not an amateur and I never will be. In this world, I'm not anything. Just a dumb human who thinks that there might be good in all the wrong places."

"You are not dumb." He responds and reaches out to take your hand in his. You're immediately met with his warmth. He doesn't use magic, but it feels like he cast a spell to soothe your body. "And anyone who says otherwise are the fools here. You have done plenty that others have not, without the use of magic. A hardworking and kind soul such as yourself is admirable. Your valor and resolve are truly commendable." He can't help but smirk. "Who else would dare to allow such weakness in front of me?"

You can't tell if his attempt at cheering you up is supposed to be good or not. It's fitting to come from him though. And it's just enough to make you crack a small smile.

"Only a fool would," you say with no pain in your voice. You can see the little annoyance in his eyes though, disliking at your self-loathing words. But, he allows a pass for the moment.

"Will you show your bravery by telling me what happened to you?"

You take in a breath and grip his hand. The pain from earlier is coming back, almost tenfold. It hurts the same as when you first heard those words spoken literally behind your back.

"Friends. Or I guess they're not friends anymore," you scoff. "I thought I could, you know, be a normal student with a group of friends and..." You shake your head, biting down on your lip.

"Spade and Trappola harmed you?"

"No! No! Not them!" You respond quickly. "Other, no-name, unimportant assholes," you huff out. At least that felt a little good to say, even if the insults were rather weak. "I thought I could befriend a few more people, so just in case...I won't have to be alone. But...that didn't work out."

A loud clap of thunder causes you to jump. Your hold on Malleus tightens as you instinctively huddle closer to him. You hadn't noticed the clear skies being overtaken by dark clouds, causing the night to grow darker. And after catching a flash of lightning, you feared that a storm might be coming.

"Those...not friends of yours," he spits out, as politely as he can. You can feel the anger seeping from his voice as he does his best to remain pleasant before you. "They are unwise for taking your company for granted. Your presence itself is a treasure they do not know the true value of. They are blinded by their own ignorance. If there is no one else that you can turn to, then you can always turn to me. I would never take your company for granted."

You feel a pang of guilt for your earlier thoughts. To even question that Malleus would do you harm- you'd really been a fool.

"Thanks," you whisper and let your head bump onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry for...not being in the best mood tonight. At least I know I can always count on you, Hornton," you chuckle.

Hearing that nickname brings a smile to his face. While the clouds still hover overhead, the sound of thunder and visions of lightning are no more. You release a breath that you'd been holding in and finally begin to relax.

While you know you've been keeping Malleus this whole time, you can't bear to let him go. Not yet. He shined a light upon you that you needed. And maybe, it wouldn't hurt to be a little self-indulgent.

"Can you stay a little bit longer?"

"Of course."

And just like that, the night sky is clear once more.

[somewhereinthepines]

This is just a funny little thing rather than an ask, but thank you for sharing your fics with us. After the whole Ao3 drama over the past day or so, of not being able to access the site and its fics, I just wanted to say thank you bcs I enjoy your work. I was having fic withdrawals and thinking, "What if the site never comes back up? I'll never be able to read them again, and I'll never know what happens." So yeah, just thought I'd send this to you, haha :) It just goes to show just how important fandom is. Hopefully, this will encourage others to comment on fics they like since everyone has been struggling without their fics.

howdy there! it’s always lovely to hear from you, ask or not. and yeah, i was a bit sad, that i couldn’t read before bed, like i usually do as well. but tbf, ao3 server/staff is pretty apt and usually they deal with site’s issues fairly quickly. it wasn’t the first time, when the site was down due to cyber attacks. after a couple of days, it always bounces back. i do get the sentiment tho. and it’s really nice to see someone else being this gentle of the writing and online fic community. writing/reading was smth that i held dear since my mid-teens, so i can get the feeling of ‘what if i will never read it again’. i still feel sad about some fics, that i loved, but which got deleted. i wish that i could store it all somewhere. 

anyways, thank you for reaching out! and i agree! i always found shelter from irl stuff in stories, be it my own or someone else’s fics. in online communities writing tends to be looked down upon. a typical ‘it’s written like a fanfiction’ thing, that people throw around as an insult, esp when it comes to some canon property that didn’t met their expectations. but honestly, those people just never read a good fic, i guess. i feel bad for them lol. esp bc it does make sense to write fics, even before you would write a movie script or say, a book. writing like any skill needs to be worked on, and experimented with. fics provide all the ground, that you want for that. esp bc you can even have many accs and stay anon, if you don’t wanna smth to be tied up to you in future. but, welp, i do hope that eventually folks will learn to have more respect for online creators. bc like….i mean, it’s literally a free entertainment. of all kinds and genres. too bad that at times, it’s difficult for people to just create and enjoy what they do. but i always say, that i do believe that anyone can start drawing or writing. it won’t be flawless, esp at first, but this way whatever you want can exist out there. 

but ah, okay. sorry! i talk hella a lot. once again, it’s very touching for you to message me! both as a fellow author and a fellow reader, i’m glad to have the same feeling of ‘i really love fics and ao3.’

[veliseraptor]

26 and/or 28 for the Published Fic ask game? I love your writing btw 💛🌻💛

thank you very much! I will take that sunflower, it looks nice.

which of your fics has the most kudos? do you know why?

this question and the following are always pretty easy/self explanatory for me, personally. my fic with the most kudos is, by far, Life in Reverse - it's in a megafandom (the MCU), for a popular character (Loki), it's a gen fic (so no pairings to alienate people, esp since the pairings I write for tend to be smaller ones), it's long and multichapter but posted over the course of several years (so people were reading it as it went rather than potentially turned off by the length, but also now coming to it because of the length) and it's been on ao3 in some form of completion for...a decade, so it's had a lot of time to accumulate them.

the more surprising one to me is that With Absolute Splendor is over halfway to catching up, despite having had two years to get there. but that one is also for a pretty big fandom (smaller than the MCU but still sizeable) and is working with pretty popular premises (Jiang Cheng & Wei Wuxian reconciliation, Wangxian wedding).

in my top ten most kudosed fics I'd say the only real sort of surprise is Steve Rogers' Halfway House, and even that one is like...it's multichapter, it is (if I do say so myself) a pretty neat premise, and also by the time I started posting it I was a pretty "established" writer in the fandom so there was a built in group of people who were potentially interested.

which of your fics has the fewest kudos? why do you think that is?

on the flip side - my fic with the fewest kudos is a tie between a whole pack of old fics crossposted from FFN with one kudo each, which is 0% surprising because (a) I backdated them to when they were posted, which was in some cases in 2006, (b) several are for small book fandoms with an already small audience, (c) they're old and not very good.

if I cut my stats to just fics under my more recent pseud (so not including those FFN crossposts), then the fewest kudos award goes to Us Each Our Own, a Silmarillion fic about Aredhel and Galadriel having a conversation, which I feel like probably explains pretty straightforwardly for itself why it's my fic with the fewest kudos. another low one is Ouroboros, which is a second person POV Wheel of Time fic about one of the antagonists, which - again feels pretty self-explanatory. (It's too bad, because I personally rather like that one.)

another fic I'm sad (but not surprised) didn't get more traction is The Sad Heart of Ruth, which is one of two fics I wrote about my Jeyne Westerling feelings, and yet another Lise Does Grief/Mourning Fic. I have a lot of them. I'm kind of fond of this one, even if it is old and I could write a better one now.

[pashminalamb]

I AM BACK!!!!!!! And idk if you saw the post I tagged you in explaining and apologizing tumblrs being wonky again because I didn’t see that bachisagi post you tagged me in on your main until I was scrolling through and catching up just now. I have been swamped with juggling school staring again, family, and that friend stuff I told you abt. And the only free time I’ve had is watching TR. I HAVENT EVEN WATCHED THE LATEST BLLK EPISODE YET AND I WANNA SOB BECAUSE ITS THE POST-BACHISAGI BREAKUP EP 😭😭😭. I’ve just had no energy at the end of the day and every time I think I finally have time to respond back to you something always comes up and I wanna tear my hair out. I PROMISE I HAVENT BEEN IGNORING YOU LOVE. But I understand if you’re upset at me and I’m sorry Belle.

I was furious like my blood was boiling when I saw your fic got flagged down. Like what is wrong with people??? Can you not just let other people be and keep your negativity to yourself??? Just because you’re falling doesn’t mean you have to drag others with you asshole. Seriously. You did not deserve that and being so angry and upset over it (with it happening AGAIN and it not even being the FIRST time unwarranted) is completely understandable, I’d be pissed too. I still am actually. It’s so frustrating working so hard on something and then getting pointless hate for it like get a life and stay away from me. 😤😤😒

On another note, I have been getting SO MUCH Tokyo Revengers content the past few days and that has been my only relief from this hectic week. Im being fed so well girl. New episodes every Saturday with my favorite arc being animated, the new character book, new official arts, AND SO MUCH MORE AFJHFFHJGHINH. Also I’m so sorry I missed your event 😭😭😭. You even extended it and I had so many asks saved too 🥲🥲. But I didn’t wanna just demand stuff without explaining where I’d been because I’m not an ass like that but every time I started drafting something for you (not for the event) I’d get interrupted 😒😒. *sighs heavily*

IVE BEEN READING YOUR EVENT ASKS CAUSE I JUST GOT OUT OF CLASS AND ASDFJJGFFHHGFKJ THEYRE ALL SO GOOD BELLE 😭😭. I love them all so freaking much (esp the Bachira ones 👀😌✨) and I’m sad I couldn’t participate but hopefully next time. BUT DONT WORRY IM ALREADY DRAFTING AN ASK FOR THE MATCHUP EVENT THERES NO WAY IM MISSING THAT 😤😤.

CONGRATULATIONS ON 1.9K BELLE IM SO FREAKING PROUD OF YOU LOVE!!!!! 🥹😭❤️ Your numbers keep climbing so fast and it’ll only be a matter of time before you hit 2k 😌😌. Also I’m so glad you’re getting support from new people too and how they’re all loving your works it’s so heartwarming to see and read and really a testament to how far you r come. Be proud of yourself because no matter how much hate you get you’re still continuing to do amazing love ❤️❤️❤️.

I really am sorry for going MIA for a bit there and I understand if you’re upset with me. How’ve you been irl btw?? Uni going well I hope? How’s gym? Has your break ended yet? Go on and vent if you need to love!! Update me on your life because I truly do want to know how’re you’re doing yknow?? Remember to take breaks and take care of yourself love!!! Eat something and drink a glass of water if you haven’t today!!! *sending all the virtual hugs because I missed you and I’m sorry*

p.s. no asks on the way soon 👀🫡

- ✨ anon

Starry!! Ofc I’m not upset with you! You’re usually very active on my blog, so I figured something must’ve come up cause you were away. I wanted to drop in your askbox; but I could find it so I decided to tag you in my posts instead to see if you’re doing alright and you’re doing well so I’m relieved <3

Tumblr has been acting wonky :/ - literally. I had to write to staff about my posts not showing up in the tags and all they did was delete it?

I figured since it was taking so long, I might as well just shift to ao3 and my work has been good so far - working on a yandere rin wip and I’m about 2k words in but since Uni and work keeps getting in the way, i can’t finish it as fast. But. Ik for the fact that this’ll be worth the wait cause. You’ll see 😏

As for my works getting flagged down, it is an inconvenience, but with every work that does get flagged down - people on the other side of the screen are just proving the fact that they can’t keep up with my writing or the fact that my content is well received and I get mostly healthy interactions. I was pretty angry with it, but then I just decided to take it to ao3 instead and I had been thinking about this for months. I take that this was a sign that I should do it and not leave it as a plan cause tumblr has turned toxic over a period of time, among authors and readers alike. So why not minimize the trouble for everyone go somewhere better? Ao3 had really good content;

More plot leaning and good story lines with occasional smut, and both sides are really chilled out. Plus another thing that disappoints me about tumblr is that smut sells really fast here and even Twitter links get more likes than actual writing. And after thinking over it for a while - I realized that my writings are more to do with things human along with lust than just purely writing about lust yk? So in short, my work isn’t meant for tumblr. And I’m not a very interactive author either - I don’t reblog much works and neither do I have any author I can personally recommend cause I stopped reading fanfics here about 2 years ago and I don’t even check the tags anymore since then, only to see if my work showed up or not. but anyway- i made my moveout official still gonna answer asks and host events here tho - and talk to anyone about stuff in general

now talking about tokyo rev, super happy about the new season coming out and honestly? this is the fastest i've seen them make it cause JJBA fans- ykw i'm talking about. Had to wait so long just for stone ocean part 2 to come out And i'm really looking forward to watching vinland saga (cause that's out and istg - canute is such a pretty boy, this is that one anime that made me cry cause Askeladd. nvm I don't wanna give spoilers) AND YES! you did make it to the matchup event !! (i got your ask) as for the character ask i had fun with it as well - Some of the highlight questions I liked; one of them was a question for Rin, asking if (y/n) was single? and istg the way i laughed cause the way he would have a look on his face after that, Bachira is a ray of sunshine to have - such a cutie (>///<) [take your time on working starry! There’s not rush! Ik how annoying it is to get interrupted when you’re writing something] And tysm for your kind words !! Seriously though I should be thanking you guys for giving me your support esp you starry - cause you were one of the first anons along with blue to actually make a convo on my blog and it kinda made other people wanna talk as well (҂ ꒦ິヮ꒦ິ) And no! I'm not upset with you! I knew something was maybe up cause you're never usually gone this long - And you can come to my blog anytime you want - to rant, ask for advice or just talk anything 'kay? ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა As for uni, its on full throttle - *sigh* so much work to do but I'm working on it a little everyday and getting things done as soon as possible. but the cold is making me so drowsy to function. I cut my hair shorter too, its an undercut with a pixie so now i look like a fem ver of corpse - And i re-watched some of my old animes - like i had the urge to watch devilman crybaby this week and i did. the only reason i watched that anime was cause of the clip i saw of Akira's... on the ceiling... (ikyk), rewatched death note - cause i wanted to see L and honestly L is THE emo king. (yeah i had a whole emo phase before turning into a dark academia/ classic aesthetic gal -) and alot of people are getting into tokyo ghoul - *finished the whole manga collection at the age of 14* As for gym... story time. I was busy lifting weights and this man. he is muscular sure, got bulging biceps and a lean body and yet. he had the audacity to chase me out of my corner in the gym and take it instead to lift his weights. He looked at me dead in the eye and gave me the meanest look possible. I couldn't take him seriously cause... he was shorter than me... *not size shaming i swear but when you look at me like that - i can't take you seriously* Me : I do not care if you're more macho than me, I will throw you across the gym, you tiny tiny man. And I just finished another whole bottle of water - hope you’re doing well starry! *sending hugs back*

[janiedean]

I feel bad for all the nice J*nsa shippers who like their ship for whatever reasons (tropes, pretty art, aesthetic appeal, whatever) and know it's not canon but get associated with the misogynistic Dany hating crowd who act like Jon being attracted to Ygritte is J*nsa foreshadowing because red hair (I guess Jon should fuck Edmure Tully too? Omg give me Dark!Jon getting revenge on Catelyn by seducing her brother!) Tell me something. I'm new to the fandom but was J*nsa popular before the show? And I've heard something about the OG J*nsa shippers being alienated by the new shippers who insisted it had to be canon and acted like the series is called, "A song of J*nsa #danysux." I don't find that hard to believe because I know people who are now ashamed of calling themselves J*nsa shippers. Like, at this point, it's not only rival shippers who hate it. Even Gendrya/Braime/Jon stans/etc have started disliking that ship. You know your fandom is a problem when people who have nothing to do with Jnsa have a problem with it.

me: reads this ask

me: iwastheregandalf.gif which I can't find now but

okay anon buckle up because I am sadly well-equipped to answer this ask but before I do lemme tell you dark jon seducing edmure to take revenge on cat is LITERALLY THE BEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD but *clears throat* ALL RIGHT THEN.

disclaimer: as anon says I have no issue with like the shippers mentioned by anon in the beginning and ngl I agree, I have ABSOLUTELY ZERO FUCKING STAKES in the j*nsa vs j*nerys war and the only het jon ship I gaf about is jon/ygritte and we all know where that ended up I just... have been here since 2011/adwd was over and all the fic around was just for the books under secret lj communities and asoiaf qualified for yuletide and I have... seen... things.... and I actually have like uh had... beef... with some people in there and I know things bc ppl who hated those others told me stuff so anyway *sigh* buckle up anon I'mma tell you the story of jon shipwars through the years

in order, the old gods help me here, under the cut bc this is long as fuck

when I got into fandom also given what numbers were on ao3 one ship was popular and it was sansan. no like sansan was lit. the only asoiaf ship on ao3 with more than 200 fics. jb had twenty when i checked first. jc had like around 100-ish because of the show but sansan dwarfed anything. I posted the first jon/ygritte fic on the ao3 tag and the fourth throbb fic and like the others were all reposts from lj kinkmemes. nothing was popular before the show except for sansan when it comes to huge numbers bc grrm doesn't like fic and it was all hush hush until the show made it impossible to control and that ship was the one with a huge enough fanbase it actually had numbers, so like... j*nsa wasn't popular in the way nothing else was popular until it got screentime on the show

now, that stated, j*nsa had a... fair amount of fic for a rareship which was mostly book-based and from og shippers that were there from before the show and liked it for what it was but literally none of them thought it was gonna be canon, like it wasn't huge or anything but it had a small but dedicated fanbase who did their own thing and thought it was fun/liked the idea but that was it

that fandom had their own niche of hcs that they cultivated and shit except that like... at the end of S5/beginning of S6 there was a surge in shipping for... well obvious reasons bc it was obv sansa was getting to the wall and that would have been all nice and good but a) it was the time puritanical shipping was starting to take root and the 'shipping sansa with sandor or tyrion is hella problematic' rhetoric had started to circle coming from sans*ery shippers mostly but I'mma not open that fucking can of worms here, b) while the ending of S5 had more of a theon/sansa spike, the j*nsa stuff started getting big

now here we have to mention my villain origin story ie: j*nsa fandom had this one stan whose name I won't make because honestly it's been years and if she's still around I don't want her to remember I exist who was a bnf, wrote for... the website that created the whole larry/carol thing etc who was really fixed on this thing that j*nsa was actually canon and started writing extremely popular meta about it. now you're gonna ask how do you know, I know because this person once wrote a meta named 'why robb stark is a dick' and I told her that it was really fucking bad meta and she took it so badly she kept on trash talking me on her blog/her podcast (I was apparently the insane robb stark fangirl l m a o good lord) and like that was when some sane ppl who argued with her informed me in pvt that she was basically harping on the CANON thing when they'd have been okay with like... it being crackshipping and that she was basically cultivating a hoarde of followers who were harping on them/the ogs and basically ostracizing them;

I would like to add that this person - before her tumblr got 'accidentally deleted' and remade it therefore deleted most receipts for, er, her so-called meta which included stuff like ned and cat raised sansa as a sexual object and only wanted to sell her like cattle - had at some point started a round robin fic thing where... some of the characters mocked openly said stuff that some of the og fans had said specifically targeting them and people in that side basically went harassing anyone who didn't agree with that specific notion

now never mind that this person basically coined an entire term to describe ppl who liked white guys and excused all their wrongdoings out of my conversation re robb basically lying about everything I said as if I didn't have the receipts and tried to sell shirts with it and it didn't work and like then she got kicked out of her own website because she was telling her commenters disagreeing pretty shitty insults (considering I was called psychotic for disagreeing with her that time I don't doubt it) I think at some point she stepped back from fandom bc idk wtf she's up to these days and I don't want to, but basically at that point the dam was broken and there was a bunch of puritanical shippers harping on anyone who didn't agree with j*nsa is canon endgame stuff

this also includes an incident when those ppl were like... passing themselves as throbb shippers and ended up trying to tell t*hramsay shippers off the theon tag based on moral reasons and I ended up arguing with all of them (and they were all from that crowd) which in turn landed me in contact with other og j*nsa shippers who were like detached from that fandom bc those same people harassed them away as well ssooooo fun

anyway when S6 happened everyone was high on it and whatnot but I wasn't gonna begrudge them that I mean... you shipped it for years, canon is delivering you, good for you, but then j*nerys happened

god j*nerys happened

aaand basically...... I mean personally I was there like are y'all seriously arguing about the best incest jon ship out there but like basically the j*nsa endgame side was like AH JON IS PLAYING DANY SEE IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN, the j*nerys obv got defensive af and both sides were sort of alternatively shitting on jon/ygritte anyway and depicting any other romantic rship jon could have as abusive™ and during S8 it just got worse and like I tried to stay out of it but basically from what I'm seeing now idk how the j*neryses are doing but on the j*nsa one it's ah jon's gonna play dany anyway and she's going to go insane like in the show so SHOW TRUTHING EVERY OTHER WAY and like again denying that sandor exists or that tyrion exists and like I barely touch my corner (sansan) but I ended up arguing with j*nsa/th*nsa people on twitter who were antis and is2g it was white-hair inducing and I know for sure the sansa/tyrion shippers were harassed to hell and back throughout so FUN

and even if the show didn't go there now since everyone there banked on the jnsa endgame thing and admitting you're wrong is like... not a thing, they still haven't let go of it and attach to that ship any shred of evidence which honestly is grasping at straws half of the time (like... the sansa/alysanne parallels like guys please no) and which is why every other ship is starting to get fed up, attaching canon proof of stuff from other ships onto theirs see that batb argument and jb is platonic but jonsa is not nvm taking all the sansan stuff and throwing it on j*nsa but then denying that sansan has canon evidence (like guys I had to read sansa touching his shoulder when saying gregor wasn't a true knight wasn't meaningful and we were seeing things please) and blah blah blah

this also goes hand in hand with the fixation on like... villanizing dany at all costs and like is2g I have zero investment in dany or her storyline I don't even remember it and I don't particularly care abt her either way and sure af I'm not for j*nerys endgame but like.... some stuff I read is completely excessive esp when fixing on how she's a completely mad tyrant who's gonna have to be put down and like... guys no

(also there's some srs stannis hate in that corner which I honestly don't get why they even care abt stannis but I had to read stuff like ppl don't recognize that dany and stannis are the real villains in this saga and like........ idek)

I think most of the og shippers are gone or don't ship it openly bc they don't want to be attached to the drama but like I also think they're pissing off everyone else bc like... I mean a bunch of them also were down with sansa being paired with other ppl as long as it meant a good ending for her except those ppl were... like everyone but the ppl she has actual contact with in canon which meant that at some point sansa/gendry was a thing and like.... you can imagine why arya/gendry shippers & arya stans were fed up, and there's also this tendency to behave like sansa is the center of the entire saga which like these books is named a song of jon snow basically can we pls make peace with it and personally I've had it with both j*nsa and j*nerys people since they started with that dumbass JON/YGRITTE WAS AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP rhetoric but I'm also fed up with the total ignoring that sandor exists/depicting us as delusional and honestly I also was by proxy fed up from the harassing of the sansa/tyrion shippers soooooooooooo

there were also instances of 'well theon is an acceptable choice other than jon bc he can't threaten her' which... i mean we all know what that meant and I'm not even commenting it bc it's one AM and I have no force to but I don't have to explain why it's not a progressive take now do I

there were also metas about how cousin incest being legal in half of the world means that jondany is a worse incest and j*nsa doesn't count as such and I was basically there like guys please just fucking own up to it but honestly I chose to forgot where I read that and I couldn't find the link if I tried

tldr: no one wants to admit that it's not gonna be endgame which considering the amount of fic they have on ao3 is imvho useless bc they have more content than like.. anything I ship that's not jb or that's actually like canon *cries in joncon/rhaegar but I mean renly/loras is canon and has less fic than them* so idk what's the problem with enjoying that instead of insisting it's gonna be canon when not even the show validated it while show truthing anyway when the only show truthing that can be truthed is the small council made of minorities and possibly jon eventually fucking off with the wildlings but not like that but like most people who thought it wasn't gonna be endgame had left/were made to leave by the time S7 rolled by and at this point since wow isn't out yet everyone is fandom-grasping at straws to find stuff to discourse on and we're here beating dead horses *shrug*

so that's... how it is but I would again like to point out that I don't judge ppl on their shipping, I don't particularly care about this entire feud bc I only ship jon with ppl he's not related to in whichever way and I try to stay out of this mess bc I don't really care to argue with ppl who have already decided to bend canon to whatever they want and will have to realize that it's not what grrm wrote at some point but like I have a very good memory and the above rant is as objective as possible also bc again I don't literally have a stake in that race I just think romantic/endgame j*nsa is not a thing and that ppl should stay in their lane and not harping on other ppl who ship whatever in general but especially when their ship is the most popular thing in fandom in the first place /two cents

[savrenim]

I’ve got to say there’s something kind of depressing about only having 7 folks following my patreon just bc, like.... I put so much work into it! I have really cool posts every week! and cool longer posts every month! it’s really cool content that I really want to share and it’s, like. kind of depressing that only a handful of people are getting to even see that content! to the point where honestly I’m mildly tempted to make my patreon be “all content for paying patrons is early release that following patrons will get after a month” just to see if more people will follow me, but, like. mildly worried that even that won’t happen!

but, like. more than that it mostly solidly feels like my work isn’t valued?

like. I started publishing ifmlam in dec of 2015, which was kind of me re-entrance since high school into publishing things onto the general internet. ifmlam is 204233 words. that is two full-length novels. it was meticulously researched to the point where most end-of-chapter notes basically have a works cited, and needed to be meticulously researched because it was in a field that thoroughly was not my own I had not had a US history class since high school type deal. I worked on it during my last year and a half in college, in time that I could have spent studying for GREs, applying to grad school, and writing my thesis-- all things that certainly would not have been hurt from extra time spent. people left comments going “if this were a physical book I would buy it.” which, like!! mostly was just flattering!! it was a labor of love that I started out writing for myself and didn’t really expect anything to come from it! but it did kind of transform into a burden that I kept writing because it had a following, and, like. any future work that gets put into it is mildly coming from a sense of obligation to finish for the people who care about it, and it kind of makes it feel in hindsight like I was creating a product and it was a product put out there for free and the only thing that resulted is a lot of people who want more of that free product that is no longer a labor of love, it is meticulous research and meticulous writing and meticulous editing and time out of a graduate thesis and job applications and writing papers in my field and things that are so intrinsically more important than when I was writing it in college

and, like, I have boundaries, I’m only going to write when I have the time and inspiration to write, but gods has ifmlam turned into a burden and was a burden for a fair portion of the end there of writing it and it’s a mild bummer that it’s a burden that people do not care about throwing me $1 a month or, like. hell, people have bought me two ko-fis in the entire five years I have been writing. and I know I haven’t advertised a lot. and I know that mostly I haven’t needed the money. but, like.

I have published 387735 words on ao3 in the last five years, and certainly have more than 20k of drafts that, like. honestly should be ready to post in the next month or so. so, like, round up, that is more than four full novels length. and back when it was just fanfiction that I was working on, like, yeah it’s just fanfiction and that is not the sort of thing that I hell even would feel comfortable making money from. and I know nothing is published so people can’t see it now, but, like. my primary writing isn’t fanfiction anymore! it’s an actual proper full novel! draft 1 will be done and going out to betas in the next week or two! that I am going to be putting out there for free!. and my patreon really isn’t about “support me bc I’ve been writing fanfiction”, it’s a “hey you’ve seen my writing samples over the course of five years and wordcount of four novels so you trust that I’m a good writer, right? do you maybe want to hop on the bandwagon to try to support my original work too?”

I’ve run the costs from cover to ISBN to copyright filing to actually setting up a personal website to getting print drafts of the book and, like, esp given that I decided screw it I’ve been saving up for years I really want to commission one of my friends to make a professional cover, Opus I is going to cost me out-of-pocket more than $1000 to publish. and it’s being released for free. even if thousands of people read it, as I have set this up, I will not make a single penny from it. and that is okay, I knew that going in. but I definitely can’t afford to pay $1000 out of pocket to publish Opus II, or like. any of the dozens of books that I really do want to publish and have them look polished and professional going forward, that even cutting out cover art carry a price tag of ~$300 for me to do on my own.

and I guess I just...really hoped that there would be enough people either that went “yo your work is cool we trust you on this” to throw what comes out to $12/year, which, like. is the cost of a more expensive ebook if the goal is to be able to release about a book in the Opus series per year, or even just who are enough interested in the content that I have to put out that hey $1/month really is not a lot and the thought process behind my writing is interesting and valued.

and it feels like I’m being dumb and whining complaining in the first place and I’m stupidly lucky to have any sort of following at all or anyone willing to read even the fic I put out or comment on it, like. it’s super cool that my work is acknowledged and read period end! and honestly I think it’s mostly bothering me because, like. I am super self-conscious about “is anyone even going to bother to read Opus” and the fact that this thing that I set up to lay the foundations for and support my original writing only has seven people following and five of those people are close personal friends really does not bode well for feeling like there is any sort of interest in what else I can produce other than the fanfiction that I already have up, but, like

my patreon is cool!!! my content is cool!!! my book is going to be cool!!! and I just really wish there were more people seeing it!

[viktuuriangstbang]

Viktuuri Angst Bang 2019 - Masterlist

Here is the extensive list of the incredible and angsty works created for the Viktuuri Angst Bang. Thank you to all our beloved participants for seeing to the success of this event. 

If you participated and you do NOT see your work here or have found an error, please email corrections to yoiangstbang@gmail.com.

Open the ‘Read More’ to check ratings, warnings, tags, and summaries.

The Affair by Clarinda. Art by  DyeingDoll.

Danse Macabre by AurumAuri. Art by Bectara

By Chance One Turns by Louciferish. Art by Izzyisosaki.

Bound by you by KuraiOfAnagura. Art by R-Tengu.

Our Time, Gone Forever by  AJ Wolf. Art (1,2) by Elianthos.

Body of Evidence by Revampired. Art by Eli Grey.

And all pieces fall right into place by cottonee. Art by mferret9.

Faceless by allollipoppins. Art by Heavy Henry. 

embedded in my chest (and it hurts to hold) by Ace of Japan. Art by Baph.

Can You Hear My Heartbeat? by SchalaDresdan. Art by Bectara. 

you're with me (not someone else) by Adrianna99. Art by Kathe.

Conventionally Yours by Songbirdsara.

I See the Light by black_tea_blue_pens. Art by Bectara.

The Cost of Winning by Daffy. Art by Diem.

Find me in me (Act 1) by LenaLawlipop. Art by Clarinda.

When We Collide by topcatnikki. Art by Clarinda.

Under the Midnight by Mazarin221b. Art (1, 2, 3) by Elianthos.

Genie In The Bottle by PaintingWithWords. Art by smolkristen.

All That We Hold of Heaven by Kazul9. Art by Purin.

Appalachian Harmony by Heavy Henry. Art by cupromantic.

over the oaks by owlishann. Art by Hecate Mist.

The Truth About Agape by Kastuuki. Art by Purin.

Red Cuffs of Fate by Gabzjones. Art by Cerisebio.

strange as angels by astudyinrose. Art by Bullsfish.

The Brightness of Gold and Silver by Katineto​. Art by Ace of Japan.

Drag Your Soul to Shore by LinneaKou. Art by Baph.

Trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday by Briapia @briapia95. Art by DyeingDoll.

To Love And To Honour (Esp version) by Midnight_Luna. Art by Caramel.

When You Really, Really Miss Me by cleverlittleradiator. Art by Caramel.

Sing to me like steel by Ravensmores. Art by Impatvish.

Pleurosis by SnarkyBreeze. Art by rettlecake.

Whiskey Lullaby by Rae. Art by Andi.

*Summaries are trimmed to fit better; please visit fics on AO3 to view full details.  **Chapter counts are as of January 16th.

The Affair by @clarinda0110 . Art by @dyeingdoll

E, 20k, Complete, Series. Canon AU - real world. Yuuri sits down to be interviewed for a retrospect of the career of Viktor Nikiforov. He has quite a story to tell.

Danse Macabre by @aurum-auri​. Art by @bectara​.

E, 110k, Complete. AU - serial killer. Warnings: Violence, Non-con. When Yuuri finds himself in the clutches of an infamous serial killer, everything he thought he knew suddenly is called into question.

By Chance One Turns by @louciferish. Art by izzyisozaki.

M, 90k, Complete, Series. Canon divergence - Kid fic. In 2011, Victor Nikiforov disappeared from the world of figure skating. Desperate to send money home, Yuuri looks for a job in the US. (...)The last thing he expects is for Victor to be the one who opens the door.

Bound by you by  @kuraiofanagura​. Art by @rtengu​.

M, 4/5, WIP. AU - historical arranged marriage, omegaverse. Warnings: Violence. Victor was so much weaker than this omega. Because he was escorting his brother Yuri to marry the love of his life, Yuuri, the alpha prince of the land of the Red Sun.

Our Time, Gone Forever by @ajwolf84​. Art (1,2) by @bowldeepfannish​.

T, 5/6, WIP. AU - Archeology, time travel. It's the archeological find of the century and Viktor still can't quite believe he's a part of it.

Body of Evidence by @revampired. Art by @unicornsovermyrainbow.

E, 44k, Complete. AU - Jack the Ripper, omegaverse. Warnings: Violence. Lost and alone upon arrival in London, omega medical student Yuuri is rescued by and befriends a famous local prostitute, Victor Nikiforov.

And all pieces fall right into place by @v-katsuki​​. Art by @mferret9.

M, 4k, Complete. Canon divergence - after Barcelona. After the Grand Prix Final, Viktor and Yuuri go separate ways for the rest of the season. They try to make their long-distance relationship work while both prepare to win a gold medal.

Faceless by @allollipoppins. Art by @snarkonice​.

T, 1/10, Hiatus. AU - Werewolf, soulmates, dystopia. Warnings: Violence. A beast roamed the streets of Hasetsu come nightfall and preyed on all whose face it looked upon. (...) A new disappearance gives Yuuri an opportunity to get to the heart of the problem, and face his own - not without consequences.

embedded in my chest (and it hurts to hold) by @theliteraryluggage. Art by @anonbaph.

M, 105k, Complete. AU - Artists are millennials, hanahaki disease. In which Yuuri falls in love, then falls apart, one petal at a time.

Can You Hear My Heartbeat? by @schaladresdan. Art by @bectara​.

M, 7k, Complete, Series. AU - Androids, temporary character death. In this world, androids are commonplace. At 18, people of this world can choose whether they want to be ‘transferred’ to an ‘transfer androids’ or not when their human bodies die.

you're with me (not someone else) by @iwritebetterthanispeak​. Art by @mandolinearts.

G, 2k, Complete. Canon divergence - Injury. Yuuri falls on the quad flip. He and Viktor end up kissing anyway 

Conventionally Yours by @songbirdsarawrites.

T, 10/11, WIP. AU - Artists. Yuuri Katsuki is fascinated by charming young artist Victor Nikiforov when he encounters him behind an artist booth at a convention. Nearly two years later, with a table of his own, Yuuri gets the chance to meet his hero.

I See the Light by black_tea_blue_pens. Art by @bectara​.

T, 15k, Complete. AU - The Little Mermaid AU. Warnings: MCD. Victor is the Crown Prince of the abyss merfolk. In order to escape from his work and obligations, he makes trips searching for something. He discovers the surface and a young boy who likes to dance at the beach.

The Cost of Winning by @narcissuspseudonarcissus. Art by Diem.

M, 1/10, WIP.  AU - Fairy tale curses. Warnings: Violence. Everyone on the continent of Bayuria could see the storm clouds on the horizon as they watched the King of Leroy stripping his lands of resources, and his people of their dignity.

Find me in me (Act 1) by LenaLawlipop. Art by @clarinda0110.

M, 5/6, WIP. Canon divergence - suddendly supernatural elements, character study, isolation. I was at the banquet, wasn't I? At Sochi? My head hurts a little bit. I think I need to get up and figure out what's going on. It's... probably for the best.

When We Collide by @topcatnikki​. Art by @clarinda0110 .

M, 24k, Complete. Canon compliant - post series, relationship problems. Days laid in bed with their fingers twined and their lips connecting had turned into hurried kisses to the cheek as Yuuri rushed out of the door. Hours of conversation late into the night had become muttered 'goodnights' and waking up to empty beds.

Under the Midnight by @mazarin221b . Art (1, 2, 3) by @bowldeepfannish.

E, 2/5, WIP. AU - Fortune teller, magical realism. Yuuri Katsuki is a ballet teacher by day and fortune teller by night. Thing is, he is actually a real fortune teller. Into his strange little life he's built for himself walks one drunk figure skater, getting his fortune told on a dare.

Genie In The Bottle by @paintingwithwords. Art by @smolkristen.

E, 5/14, WIP, series (3). AU - Epidemiology. [Zebras among the horses followup] Things are going well for Yuuri Katsuki.  But danger looms on the horizon, as it always does for someone in his line of work.  When people start getting sick, Yuuri must race to find out what has been set loose... and if there's any way of stopping it.

All That We Hold of Heaven by @kazul9. Art by Purin.

T, 20k, Complete. AU - Fallen angel. Falling—the act of it, the emotion of it—means a lot of different things to different people.For Yuuri, it means everything.

Appalachian Harmony by @snarkonice. Art by @cupromantic.

Not rated, 15k, Complete. AU - Apalachian trial. Warnings: MCD. Newly sober and almost forty, Viktor Nikiforov realizes that he has to make a change. Never a fan of half-measures, he quits his job in corporate law, rents his swanky Manhattan condo to his younger cousin and takes off to hike the Appalachian Trail.

over the oaks by @owlishann. Art by @hecate-mist.

T, 27k, Complete. AU - Spacetrip, time travel. Books have always called Yuuri, ever since he was a child. So when he gets the chance to answer the call, he does, even if it implies crossing the milky way in a tiny spaceship with Victor Nikiforov —the man Yuuri has been pining after since they met— by his side.

The Truth About Agape by @kastuuki. Art by Purin.

M, 2/7, WIP. AU - Superhero, temporary charactter dead. Looking at the picture in the newspaper, the superhero is carrying Victor in the most cliché way they could ever find themselves in: a bridal carry. It has become an iconic photo and the city just ran with it. Everyone loves a good love story, even if it’s not entirely true.

Red Cuffs of Fate by @gabzjones. Art by Cerisebio.

E, 38k, Complete. AU - Crime and police, soulmates. It was his first job as detective; hunting down the ever elusive Mercury, a thief who got his kicks from simply getting away with the crime. Yuuri had gotten close. Really close. And then he noticed the mark of the soulmate bond on his hand.

strange as angels by astudyinrose. Art by @bullsfish.

M, 1/?, WIP. AU - Just like Heaven AU, apparent MCD. Yuuri has a traumatic fall, and he's absent from the rest of the series. After Victor's fifth straight title at Worlds he feels strangely despondent, so he decides to leave St. Petersburg. The first night in his new apartment, he's haunted by the ghost of a beautiful Japanese man he's never met before.

The Brightness of Gold and Silver by @katineto​. Art by @theliteraryluggage.

M, 7/16, WIP. AU - Royal, medieval monastery, omegaverse. After the death of his husband the king, Viktor—childless and powerless—finds himself relegated to a small convent far removed from the royal court and its political games. As he struggles to adapt to convent life, he begins to notice how desperately he desires one brother's compabullsny—even to the point of sin.

Drag Your Soul to Shore by LinneaKou. Art by @anonbaph.

M, 36k, Complete. Canon divergence - supernatural, curses. Just before Katsuki Yuuri advances to his first-ever Grand Prix Final, the skating world is sent reeling when a stranger destroys Viktor Nikiforov’s life in more ways than one, resulting in him being banned from competing and gaining the hatred of everyone he knows.

Trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday by @briapia95. Art by @dyeingdoll.

T, 1/?, WIP. AU - Kyoukai no Kanata AU. The youmu stops and Viktor, vision blurred and confused, notices something he never thought he would see again. A sword, slightly curved to the back, red, and clearly made of blood is emerging from the youmu’s front. He knows who that kind of power belongs to, but he can’t bring himself to believe.

To Love And To Honour (Esp version) by Midnight_Luna. Art by @caramel-draws​.

T, 1/?, WIP. Canon compliant - Disney's Coco AU. Warnings: MCD. On the day of the Obon, Hikari Katsuki'll have to embark on a journey without precedent to the Land of the Dead, uncover the secrets that shattered her little family and find the real reason why her father never let her go near a skating rink.

When You Really, Really Miss Me by @cleverlittleradiator. Art by @caramel-draws​. 

M, 2/4, WIP. Canon compliant. Warnings: MCD. In which Yuuri dies, Viktor lives, and he's not the only one left to deal with the aftermath. 

Sing to me like steel by @ravensmores​. Art by @impatvish​.

E, 2/2, Complete. AU - Hospital.

“I just know I’d hate myself even more if I didn’t tell you.” Victor’s voice is surprisingly hesitant as he wipes his face, hand still resting softly in Yuuri’s. “If- if I didn’t ask if there was still a chance.”

“You killed people Victor.”

Pleurosis by @kingfisherunion. Art by @rettlecake.

T, 1/?, WIP. AU - Hanahaki. 

Viktor doesn't take Yuuri up on his offer at the Sochi banquet, but someone else does. Depersonalized, depressed, and doubting that he'll make it through another season of marketing himself to an uncaring public, Viktor finds himself ill at Worlds, and nothing he does seems to help. When Yakov takes on a new skater, Viktor's health takes a turn for the worse and he's suddenly faced with a dire choice.

Whiskey Lullaby by @justrae2010​. Art by Andi.

E, 8k, Complete. Warnings: MCD.

The divorce papers had come through a month later. Yuuri didn’t come back.

Victor needed a drink.

[bytheangell]

Raise a Glass to the Past

(Read on AO3)

Present Day

“I was looking through your files again at work today,” Alec says, leaning his head back against Magnus’ shoulder. They’re both on the sofa, Alec nestled comfortably in the space between Magnus’ legs, leaning against Magnus while Magnus leans back against the cushions. They each hold a glass of white wine after dinner, enjoying the breeze coming in through the open balcony door, listening to the faint sound of rain falling just beyond the wall.  “Again?” Magnus asks, a light laugh chasing his words. “Ran a full Nephilim background check on me before we started dating, didn’t you?” 

Alec knows the words are spoken in jest, but the memories they bring up leave the current Head of the New York Institute biting down on his lower lip, considering his next words carefully. 

“Actually…” Alec starts before stopping abruptly. It’s a strangely personal series of events to explain, even if they all involve Magnus; somehow the idea of telling him about it brings up a lot of conflicting emotions in Alec He’s embarrassed at the guilt he felt for most of his life, at how he thought so much about the man he loves before he ever met him, that this man who changed his entire life from the second they did meet managed to shape so much of it even before that moment, without ever realizing... 

What will Magnus think if he tells him now? 

“Actually, sort of. But not intentionally. See, when I was probably about 5 or 6…” 

---

Alec, age 6 

Alec finds his way once more behind his father’s desk at the New York Institute. There are files up, files that he knows he shouldn’t be reading, but ever since he learned how to string full sentences together he’s absorbed every word he could lay his eyes on. And that includes dossiers left on computer screens in the same room as him while his father runs down to the ops room for a moment to deal with some emergency or another. 

Even kneeling on the large chair his head doesn’t clear the back of it, blocking him from view of anyone passing by the open door. Which is good, because if they did see him he probably wouldn’t get to read the page about a warlock that’s front and center, with a black-and-white photo of a man with spiked hair, slit cat-eyes, and a grin that makes Alec smile back even though he knows the man in the photo isn’t smiling at him. Magnus Bane. Those aren’t words Alec knows, but they’re words he’s heard out loud before. A name. 

His father comes back and scolds him for touching his computer (which, Alec defends, he didn’t technically do, he only read what was already open), before being ordered to re-read the section of the Shadowhunters Codex on Warlocks if he’s so damn interested in them. Alec dutifully slumps out of the chair to obey, his copy of the book marked with dozens of pencil circles of words he doesn’t know to ask about later. He’s only half focused, however, his mind frequently drifting back to the eyes and the smile of the man in the photo.   

---

Present Day

“I was your first Downworlder file. How cute.” There’s a hint of sarcasm to Magnus’ tone, one that Alec doesn’t take personally. He knows the tone of those sorts of files and the reasons why his father might’ve had it up on the computer that day. But there’s also a hint of actual endearment over the idea that Alec remembers that, even now. 

“You were,” Alec confirms. “And I have to admit, as a suggestible youth, I didn’t have the best impression of you at first.” 

“Oh, no?” At this Magnus straights up a bit, shifting behind Alec on the sofa. There’s no turning back now, Alec, realizes, not after piquing Magnus’ curiosity like that. 

“I’m sure you can imagine, but any files the Institute had on you weren’t painted in the most positive of lights…” 

---

Alec, age 8

It isn’t long before the Institute’s records, both on the computer and in the library, become freely available to Alec. He’s reached a point in his training and studies where it’s easier for him to simply look up answers on his own when he can rather than run everything back to Hodge or his parents. Because he stays out of trouble and does what he’s told when he’s told to do it (as much as any kid does, certainly more than Jace or Isabelle at the very least) he’s left to his own devices for most of the time he’s not in a lesson or training. 

This means no one is around to see him stop at Magnus Bane’s file almost every time he goes to look something else up… or should he say, files, plural. There are a lot of files on him, Alec notices, many marking him as a criminal in varying degrees: lying during Clave Inquiries, harboring fugitives, refusing to assist in investigations when his services were requested, aligning with dissenting Downworlders against Clave sanctions throughout the centuries. The bottom line is always a general disregard for the Nephilim which is all Alec is able to discern from the words on the page when he first comes across them. 

It seems simple enough at first read. He isn’t familiar with all of the terms he comes across or every single one of the various laws and regulations broken, but he doesn’t question them. This is a very powerful warlock who is capable of doing a lot of damage - and he doesn’t seem to listen to any of the rules. Hiding fugitives, helping criminals. If Magnus Bane is on the Clave’s radar then it must be for good reason, High Warlock or not. 

So when everyone around him tells Alec that Magnus is not to be trusted, despite the fact that he still feels inexplicably drawn towards the cat-eyed warlock in the photos, Alec forces himself to believe them. 

---

Present Day

“And what number is that file up to these days?” Magnus asks with an amused smile. 

“Right now? Pending review of wiping your record clean after, you know, saving the entirety of Idris and all,” Alec says, shifting himself forward enough to turn to face Magnus on the sofa as he takes a sip of his wine. “Plus, I don’t think Jia liked the idea of the Head of the New York Institute being married to someone with such an extensive criminal record.”  

They both laugh at that, Magnus shaking his head incredulously. “I don’t know… that’s a lot of history to erase. I think I’d like it better if they kept it - we could print it out and frame my accomplishments, hang them over the fireplace.” 

Alec shrugs. “We both know most of those violations were bullshit anyway,” he points out.  “Do we?” Magnus challenges playfully. “Because a moment ago you were telling me all about how young Alec Lightwood thought Magnus Bane was nothing more than a dastardly, dangerous lawbreaker.” 

Alec rolls his eyes. “I didn’t stay that naive forever.” 

---

Alec, age 10

Alec never stops asking questions, always eager to learn more, so no one thinks twice about it when he starts to ask them about the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He’s careful to approach a wide range of adults around the Institute so no single person will see that the cases he ‘randomly’ chooses to read up on for his studies all happen to revolve around a singular Warlock. 

What he learns, slowly, is that the only danger Magnus Bane poses is to the stuffy older members of the Clave who wouldn’t know how to be nice to someone if they tried. Almost all of the fugitive harboring Magnus is guilty of turns out to be for injured or wrongfully accused Downworlders (though the Clave didn’t know they were wrongfully accused at the time). But Magnus knew, and he protected them when he thought the Clave probably wouldn’t listen to a word they said if they were taken in. 

The more Alec learns about his people, the more he starts to realize that they believe they’re better than everyone else in the Shadow World. The rules are set up to favor them because they enforce the rules. The Nephilim are in a position of power in the Shadow World, dealing out justice as they see fit - this is a lesson taught to him now as something to pride himself on, but instead it leaves him feeling uneasy. 

He wants to talk to Downworlders about it but he’s forbidden. They would only feed him lies, the older Shadowhunters tell him. He doesn’t need to confuse his mind with so many sides of the same story when their side is right here for him on a silver platter. When their side, the right side, is the only one that matters.

Someone must talk to his parents because soon he’s told to stop asking questions about Magnus Bane. His job is to learn what he’s taught, to do as he’s told. 

Except his questions don’t stop there, not about Magnus, and not about himself. 

His parents take him to the wedding of a family friend and with tears in her eyes his mother smiles down at him and says “One day you’ll meet a nice young lady, and I’ll be watching you up there.” 

Alec thinks of all the girls his age and frowns. He doesn’t like any of them that way, even though he knows one or two have a crush on him. Their friends giggle about it and try to push them together during sparring, but Alec mostly finds it annoying. 

“Does it have to be a girl?” Alec whines. When he thinks of the people who make him smile, the people he might want to spend the rest of his life with (which doesn’t mean much to a nine year old who thinks the break between dinner and dessert is an eternity) his thoughts drift to a boy or two in his training classes, and then to some photos in a database that bring him more comfort than he even fully realizes. 

“Of course it does. Why would you even-” Maryse almost dismisses before her gaze turns sharp, almost fearful. 

“What if I want to marry a boy?” It’s such a simple, innocent question. He hasn’t liked any girls yet, but there are a few boys he think he might. So it only makes sense that instead of a nice young lady he’d want to marry a nice young man. 

“No, Alec. Shadowhunter boys don’t marry other boys. It isn’t-” Maryse falters. “They just don’t. You just haven’t met the right girl yet, but you will. I promise.” 

Alec considers this. “But what if-” 

“Alec, I said no. This isn’t up for discussion. And don’t ever mention this to anyone else, okay? Especially not to your father.” They’re speaking in whispers to begin with, and though Robert is only two seats away on the other side of Isabelle he’s entirely oblivious to the conversation. Izzy looks like she may have been listening but turns her head quickly. 

Alec simply nods and keeps the rest of his thoughts on the matter to himself, not just for that day but for years to come. 

---

Alec, present day

“I always knew how I felt was different, but that was the first time I realized it was wrong,” Alec admits. “And up to that point I was nothing but the perfect son, I didn’t want-- I didn’t want to ruin that.” 

“Maryse knew,” Magnus realizes, surprised. 

Alec nods. “My father was the only one who didn’t, or maybe he was just in such deep denial he convinced himself he didn’t notice. But I think everyone else had an idea, at least. Izzy was the only one who ever tried to bring it up but I denied it long enough that she stopped trying. My mom never mentioned it again after that wedding, and neither did I. Well, not until…” 

“Not until your wedding,” Magnus says, smirking ever so slightly. 

“It was kind of hard not to talk about it after the stunt you pulled, yeah,” Alec points out, and though he tries to sound accusatory he’s smiling back, unable to help himself. . 

“The stunt I pulled? It takes two to tango, Mister. You could’ve just taken me out of the room to talk, you didn’t have to make out with me in a hall full of Shadowhunters,” Magnus counters, eyebrow raised in amusement before growing serious once more. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide who you are for so long.” 

“Yeah,” Alec agrees. “Me too.” 

---

Alec, age 12

“Please?” Alec begs, hazel eyes large as he tugs at the back of his mother’s dress. “Let me go to the meeting! I promise I’ll behave. I won’t say a word, you won’t even know I’m there.” He’s twelve-and-three-quarters now, nearly thirteen whole years old. Plenty old enough to sit in on a meeting. In fact, his parents have dragged him along to countless meetings he didn’t want to be in, so he doesn’t know why this one is such a big deal. 

Maryse shares a look with Robert who only shakes his head. “You can come to the next meeting we have with the Clave. Not this one. I don’t even want to be in this one.” Alec’s father mutters the last bit, earning him a reproachful look from Maryse. 

“But I don’t want to go to a Clave meeting. I want to go to this one,” Alec insists. 

“Why this one?” Maryse asks, and Alec opens his mouth to answer before snapping it shut again quickly. What can he tell them? That he overheard them talking about meeting with the local Warlock representative? That he wants to be in the same room as Magnus for more than 5 seconds, to hear the man speak and see if he’s anything like what Alec imagines after reading every report on him they have? 

“Because I already know a lot about Shadowhunter things. I want to learn more about Warlocks, too.” Not a total lie. 

Both Maryse and Robert exchange a hesitant look. “Alec, sweetie. The man we have to meet with… well, he doesn’t like us very much. It’s already going to be a very difficult meeting... Maybe we can bring you along to talk with some other warlock another time. You just be good for Hodge, okay? We’ll be back soon.” 

They’re gone before Alec can ask any of the dozen follow-up questions running through his head. Us? Did Magnus not like him either, even though they never met? Did he hate all Shadowhunters? So many questions that Alec knows he’ll never get the answers to because he knows better than to ask now. 

...then again, maybe no answer is better than getting a truth he doesn’t want to hear. 

While his parents are gone he goes back to the computer. Back to the files and the photos. It’s safe, and it’s become almost a ritual habit by this point to imagine a world where the things he’s starting to feel for boys isn’t something he can’t talk about; a world where his gaze can linger on more than just a photo on a screen without being seen as a cause for concern. 

---

Alec, age 14

“Son, we need to talk. You’re coming of an age now when you’re going to start having… impulses. You see, when you like a girl-” Robert Lightwood begins after making it a point to call Alec into his room after watching one of the girls in his class flirt with him endlessly during his last training session, going so far as to try and lean up for a kiss after he pinned her to the mat. Alec had never moved so fast in his life to jump back from it but apparently that part was lost on his father. The fact that Alec got a lot of attention from the girls his age, however, was not overlooked. 

Alec doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he already knows all about sex. Word travels fast once one kid gets The Talk and his dad is a year and a half late to this party. He also doesn’t have the heart to tell him that liking girls, Alec is now entirely certain, is never going to be an issue. 

Or perhaps it’s going to be the biggest issue, because his mother’s words still echo in his head, creating a cycle of guilt and shame every time he does feel an impulse, just not about any of the girls he’s around. He barely looks at the other boys, afraid of what might happen if he looks too long, or the wrong way. Afraid someone will notice… that someone will know. 

For now he forces himself to smile back at the giggling girls, but he hates it. And every time Jace ends up stepping in oozing charm to pull the attention away from him it leaves him feeling equal parts grateful and sick to his stomach, because he wants Jace to smile at him like that. He wants any boy to smile at him like that. 

Except every time a boy is even remotely kind to him he’s afraid it’s because of something he did that he didn’t realize, or something he let slip that he didn’t catch, and so he closes himself off entirely. He throws himself completely into training, into work, and into files stored away he sometimes forgets are for everyone’s use, and not just his own personal escape. 

---

Alec, age 17

Duty first, his father tells him. He’s being raised to run an Institute, to help bring the Lightwood name back to its former glory and prestige. That leaves no room for error… it certainly leaves no room for his attraction to guys, especially not his troubling feelings for his parabatai or his increasing infatuation with Magnus Bane. 

His exposure to Downworlders has increased significantly since he, Izzy, and Jace began sneaking out to a Downworld-run diner downtown. Izzy and Jace have both dallied in the company of romantic partners who would give their parents a heart attack to learn about, but not Alec. He watches from afar, daydreaming but never partaking. He can’t, not with anyone he actually wants to. Part of him knows that they’d never say anything if he told them but he doesn’t want to put that sort of burden on either of them. Because that’s what it is, and that’s all it will ever be: a burden. 

He gets the feeling he’d be more easily forgiven for wanting to spend his time with downworlder girls than Shadowhunter boys, if his feelings were simply an act of teenage rebellion. If only. He knows by now that Shadowhunter, Downworlder, or even mundane, the only people he’s ever going to like are going to be boys. And he knows that will never be okay. 

So instead of smiling back at the waiter he keeps pointedly avoiding eye contact with he watches after Izzy and Jace, yearning for the freedom they have and their honest sense of selves. They can afford to sneak out, to mess up, to disappoint - the same pressures and expectations aren’t put on them that are put on him, and he envies them for it. He shoulders the burdens so they don’t have to, defending them at every turn in the hopes they never feel the crippling shame he experiences every single day. 

---

Alec, age 20

Alec gets stuck with the task of assisting with updating all of the databases with more up-to-date photos after getting caught sneaking into the Institute at 3 am one night. In truth, he only allowed himself to get caught by security in order to buy Jace and Izzy enough time to run in the opposite direction - both of them are already on probation this month while he has, as usual, a nearly spotless record. He’ll take the hit this time and they’ll owe him a huge favor later, one he’ll be sure to make count. 

“I can’t believe he supplied us with his own photos,” says a voice followed by laughter from one of the other Shadowhunters on the project. 

“Who?” Alec asks, only half-listening for the answer. He doesn’t particularly care, 

“Magnus Bane,” comes the reply in a tone full of contempt. Alec freezes, nearly dropping the stack of photos in his hands. “Said, and I quote, ‘Our security cameras never pick up his good side’.” 

“Let me see,” Alec manages, wondering if he sounds as anxious as he feels. They all look over the offering Magnus sent over, most of which are from that club in town that he owns now, Pandemonium. Some of the photos are just him, others have an assortment of men and women in extremely close proximity. One photo looks downright compromising and Alec has to turn away quickly to avoid anyone seeing the fierce blush that crosses his face. It’s the first time he realizes that maybe Magnus is like him, a simple reminder that he can’t possibly be the only person in the entirety of the shadow world who likes the same gender. Magnus looks so comfortable, so carefree in that photo, and Alec wants that, too. 

For a moment he closes his eyes and imagines a world where he has a chance at happiness without having to hide, where he can be bold enough to take a photo with another man, to leave a lingering touch--

And then it’s gone. 

The names and jokes that follow at Magnus’ expense make Alec’s blood boil as much as they make his stomach turn, because a lot of them could just as easily be aimed at him. They are, indirectly, not that anyone other than him knows it. Alec doesn’t know how long it goes on before something inside him snaps. 

“He really isn’t that bad, you know,” Alec mutters. 

“What was that, Lightwood?” One of his peers questions. 

“Magnus Bane,” Alec says, louder now. “From what I’ve read on his file, he really isn’t that bad. Most of his charges were due to misinformation.” 

“I heard he and Camille Belcourt were a thing once. Bet he gets her to just encanto everyone who catches him,” one suggests. 

“Yeah. My father was part of a raid on some rogue werewolves Bane defended in the early 90s. He never got charged for that, either, but my uncle nearly died,” another says. 

Alec decides to cut his losses and not bring up the fact that most of those raids were unjustified, the charges were dropped because the warlocks and werewolves were only reacting in self-defense. 

The photos Magnus sent in end up in the trash and the standard security camera footage uploaded in their place. Alec can’t help but think that the photos are unnecessary anyway - every side is Magnus’ ‘good side’. 

---

Present Day

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Do you know how long it took me to pick out the best photos for that?” he says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “The least they could’ve done is return them to me. Didn’t have to throw them out.” 

Alec, however, finds it difficult to be amused by the story, even now. “Doesn’t it bother you? That that’s how some Shadowhunters see you? Not just you, but all of the Downworlders?” It’s something that’s bothered Alec more and more ever since he saw the sort of reception Magnus got for the brief period he stayed at the Institute with him. Of course Alec isn’t naive enough to think the bias is gone, that people would change their minds overnight just because the Head of the Institute was with a Downworlder, but… he expects more than what he got. He expects better. Magnus deserves better. 

“Of course it does, Alexander. But there are some people so stuck in their antiquated ways that they’ll never change, not for you, and certainly not for me. If I worried about everyone with an unfavorable opinion of me then I wouldn’t have any energy left for the people actually worth my time and effort. People like you.” 

Alec relaxes a little at that. 

“I wasn’t so sure I’d be one of those people when the first time I saw you at Pandemonium ended with you fleeing through a Portal,” Alec admits. 

---

Alec, age 24

Alec keeps an eye on Jace and Clary… and Magnus. It’s the closest he’s been in years, not trusting his own instinctive reactions enough to dare come to the club on his own. Magnus is so much more attractive in person, and the guilt that wells up inside of him at the simple observation is nearly enough to drown under. 

He doesn’t have long to dwell on it before a Circle member sneaks up behind Magnus and Alec takes him out with one well-aimed shot from his arrow, careful to avoid eye contact with Magnus as he walks by him to retrieve his arrow and scan the crowded room for other attackers. He has a job to do, he can’t allow his emotions to distract him.  

 “Who are you?” Magnus asks out loud, unaware that a few recently activated runes allows Alec to hear the words over the thump of the music even at this distance. Alec has to fight against the shiver of anticipation that runs down his spine in that moment. 

Because Magnus Bane may not know who he is -  not yet - but Alec certainly knows who he is. How do you explain to someone you just met that they’ve held your interest for years? Short answer: you don’t. 

Alec focuses on his arrow, on the Circle member, and by the time he turns back around Magnus is gone and Alec’s following Jace, Clary, and Izzy out of the club without looking back.

Alec doesn’t miss his chance the next time they meet, not long after and under strangely similar circumstances.

“Well done,” Alec says, allowing his bow to drop slowly once he’s certain his arrow hit its mark. His shot is followed quickly by a blast of blue magic which renders the circle member unconscious. Alec looks away from Magnus, aware of how long he’s waited for this moment: their first meeting. Just to be in the same room as him-- 

“More like medium rare,” Magnus says, and Alec’s thankful he’s looking away because he doesn’t know what he’d do if his first proper interaction with Magnus Bane is for him to catch Alec rolling his eyes at the pun. 

It isn’t long before Magnus makes his way across the room and into Alec’s space. “I’m Magnus, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced?” 

“Alec.” He smiles. The only thing he can think is that the photos and faraway glances didn’t do justice to even half of Magnus’ beauty. And then he realizes he’s staring, smiling like some dopey schoolboy, and he can’t seem to make his mouth stop grinning. “Um, we uh, should really, uh, probably get, you know…” 

Alec silently prays to the Angel for the ground to open him up and swallow him whole, which would be far less excruciating than his fumbling. Magnus, to his credit, doesn’t seem deterred. “Right. We should join the party,” Magnus agrees, finishing his thought for him. 

And the rest? Well, the rest is history. Their history. 

---

Present Day

As he finishes recounting the impact Magnus had on his life before they even met, Alec’s face is a little flush despite the cool autumn air; whether it’s from the tinge of embarrassment over the story he kept to himself for so long or the alcohol (which he blames for blurting all of that out) finally starting to get to him he can’t tell. 

“Alexander…” Magnus says, voice soft and eyes full of an emotion that Alec can’t quite place at first. “I had no clue-” 

“Of course you didn’t,” Alec says with a soft laugh. “You had no way of knowing. Honestly, I never even planned on telling you. But that’s what made it so easy for me to trust you from the very start - I knew you were a good person before I even met you. It wasn’t just that I always dreamed of meeting someone like you… I just always dreamed of meeting you.” Alec takes a deep breath. “But do you know what finally made it sink in that it didn’t have to be just a dream?” 

Magnus doesn’t ask what, he doesn’t have to. The curiosity is written all over his face and he remains silent, giving Alec the time to finish his story at his own pace. 

“The day we tried to get Clary’s memories back, when I ruined the summoning circle. You told me I didn’t have anything to be ashamed of,” Alec’s voice is quiet now. “It was the first time I had the hope that that might be true. That there might be one person out there who wouldn’t look at me, at what I wanted or who I wanted, and only see something that needed to be hidden.” 

Magnus reaches across and takes his hand. “I’m glad you listened.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t give up on me,” Alec admits. “I didn’t exactly make it easy on you.” 

But Magnus shakes his head. “All my life, the only times Shadowhunters were willing to give me a chance were when they needed something from me: a deal, or a favor. You aren’t the first to see that file and form a judgement, but you’re one of the first to look beyond it. To see me as a person, and not just someone with something to offer.” Magnus smiles again. “It seems to me, Alexander, that you didn’t give up on me, either.” 

Alec thinks about that for a moment and nods, and then turns and grabs his glass of wine. “To not giving up on each other, then” he offers. 

Magnus mirrors the motion, glass meeting glass in the space between them on the sofa. “To never giving up on each other.” 

They drink, and Magnus shifts to lean back against Alec, Alec’s hand moving up to brush through his husband’s hair. The last thing Alec thinks as they drift off to sleep on the sofa, Magnus first and Alec close behind, is how nice it is to go from never dreaming he’d have someone like Magnus in his life to dreaming about Magnus every time he closes his eyes, no longer ashamed of the love he deserves.

[irisvseyelash]

[Part 1] B-But my thingsss is just either sleep, eat, having existensial crisis while doing nothing (esp during this lockdown), staring at my ceiling for hours, checking any Batarou content for hours too, or making super random hcs. So yeah, I'll do it anyway! It's already halfway done, btw✌ Also good chance to try how that submit button will work I'm honestly curious, too 😗 Lmao the teachers had already fed up for these 2 rascal kids, they're so done with all shoujo love drama between them 😂

[Part 2] I believe Bang will pester Garou by asking anything about Badd EVERYTIME like a nagging father. Bang: "When will you make Badd my son-in-law?", Garou: "I'M NOT EVEN GRADUATED FROM HIGHSCHOOL PLZ CHILL, OLDMAN!!". Zenko: "Ma, bigbro has a new bf. That's why he insisted to make extra lunchbox every morning", Badd: "Zenko NO-", Mom: "WHA-, BADD WHY YOU DIDN'T TELL MA, HUH?! NOW CALL YOUR BF HE MUST GOING TO DINNER WITH US TOMORROW". They adore Garou very much in the end. Good! 😆

[Part 3] It's OK to write our emotion out! Sometimes I also write comfortfic/sickfic when I'm depressed, depended my mood atm. But happy end always there, even it's in "twisted" way, huehehehe~ *suspicious evil laugh* 😈 When I make my OTP die: "oh no poor soul.. let me do it in a quick merciful way 😢😇". When I make my disliked charas die: "YASS SWEET PAINFUL DEATH TASTED SO GOOD, MMHMM.. NO MERCY FOR YOU OHOHOHO-- 💀😈" (and yesss plz talk more about your Batarou Hanahaki!AU 👀✨)

[Part 4] Aww THANK YOU, IRIS! I'm glad that you think I'm one of the best anon or I've provided good Batarou hcs this year, I feel honoured too tysm I LOVE YOU TOO aaaa-- 😭🙏💖💗💘💕💞💝🌸 (wha? I never joined any discord, only lurking around on tumblr as anon or ao3 as Little1993lamb lol 😜). Also, I'm glad that I could meet you in this fandom. Because what? TWOSET GANG!! SOUTH-EAST ASIAN GANG!! FELLOW BATAROU FANS!! YOOO~ WE (and the rest of fandom members) ARE AWESOME!! 🙌🙌

[Part 5] OMG I FORGOT TO MENTION, Temperans-sama made another DemonAngel Monster!Batarou again it's so magnificent I'm fangirling at it rn I'M CRYING I'M MELTIN-- *incoherence babling mess*. Lol sorry for that, but seriously plz checked on her newest art! Despite labeled as nsfw, there's no actual explicit content in it. Only implication, the rest is our imagination.. 😏 Badd's wings in the art, bro.. I can't stop looking at his soft fluffy wings. The lighting made him looked like HOLY BEING 😳✨

Me: Hm... Wonder if Dyan's replied yet

This 5-Part ask: hELLO THERE

Me: *literally startled enough to drop my phone*

Ah yes anyway, your things is indeed a big mood but don't you have like... Work, to do? I mean mine's just a mountain of assignments and schoolwork ( ;- ;)

wEll I guEsS NOt ¯\(°_o)/¯

It's halfway done? 👀👀👀👀👀 can't wait to reaaaad ugghhhdhdhdh and looks like the mystery of a post submission is gonna be solved soon wheeEEEEE

Okay but the teachers being So Done™ with the two of them is a big mood like who wouldn't be if they were probably the type to literally skip class just to escape school and hang out at the arcade or the manga store or sumn (*cough* Date *Corona*)

Also, your little convo of the typical teen and their s/o is PERFECT I CAN SEE IT HAPPENING 😂😂😂😂👌👌👌 Bang's just going "I want to see grandchildren before I die" and Garou just going "dAD NO—" AND BADD'S MOM GOING ALL "LET ME SEE MY FUTURE SON-IN-LAW *SCREECH*" and Badd just looking around at the shopping centre like "Mom.. Mom stop... Mom people are looking sTOP" because they would be at the grocery store looking for the ingredients to buy and his mom dragging him because she wants to know ALL about this charming young man that successfully charmed her hard-head of a son

And when they meet one another they just. CHARMED. CHARRRRMMMMEEDDDDDD YOU HEAR MEEEE

Garou's arrival would be like *steps into Badd's mom's view* *imaginary roses start appearing out of nowhere because he REALLY DRESSED UP for this* and his mom turning to Badd like "If you're not gonna marry him I will" and then Badd just proceeds to choke because this old woman wants to marry an 18 year old like no bro nooooo

And Badd would be just. Baby. He's baby enough that Bang would fuss over him so much that Badd accidentally snaps at him and Bang goes all "Oooooh feisty. You chose a great one, Sonny" and Badd has his back almost folded in half by how hard Bang smacked him and Garou just flusters and stutters amd is just overall Embarassed™ not for himself but for his 'Dad' whose making Badd a little overwhelmed at how he's acting

Idk man my teacher said writing with the ink called emotion's not good. Like the readers can see that you utterly despise or adore that character or situation. Which in my opinion is great, but I guess not

ヽ(｀⌒´)ノ

But yess killing off that one character you hate the most just gives you so much satisfaction that you just... Can't help but grin when you write out their death.

And Imma write up the Hanahaki AU in the reblog of this post... Soon. Cause I needa finish reading Azfa Hanani (my literature book) for tomorrow's quiz D': AND YES DYAN YOU DESERVE ALL THE LOVE FOR WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING RIGHT NOW I LOVE YOUUUUUU

*squints suspiciously* that wink looks very sus and even if you ARE in the discord gang, Fiji is the twosetter there and YES TWOSET GANG (wait a damn minute) ASEAN GANG AND BATAROU GANG WE COOL (EVERYONE TOO)

AND TEMPERANS-SAMA POSTED ANOTHER ART?! HDHDHDGSGGD OH NOOOOOO ITS NSFW I CANT LOOK AT THATTTTTTT I'M 15 (°ﾛ°٥) *snurt* Oh there's no explicit content? Oho okay~ AFTER FINISHING MY BOOK.

And BABBLE ON ALL YOU WANT DYAN

Temperans-sama's art is ✨magnifique✨ and is just simply on a whole other level. SO I TOTALLY GETCHU.

I WAS A WHOLE BABBLING MESS WHEN Y'ALL STARTED TO INTERACT WITH ME TOO MY FIRST WAS CAIN THEN EIR AND THEN YOU AND THEN THE DISCORD GANG AND I LOVE, APPRECIATE AND ADORE ALL OF YOU—

*clears throat* Excuse me. Anyways, since I'm a little restless today, my mind made another au but Azfa Hanani style and I can't wait to finish the story so I can just write a whole AU for my boys :')

So anyways when I've seen the art I will simply simp harder for them I see 👀 I am unprepared but then again just when are we, amirite?

[moiraineswife]

Snitten - A Crowley Fic

Ty to my discord goblin squad for helping me get through this!!! <3 And esp to @flootzavut for helping me beta/giving me a lil confidence boost when I needed it. Who knows if the footnotes will work #ITried 

Title: Snitten 

Summary:  A cat starts hanging out outside Crowley's London flat, he takes a bit of an interest in. But he doesn't care about it. Absolutely not. (spoiler: he does).

Teaser: 

Link: Ao3

Yawning, Crowley slouched towards his flat, not bothering to grope in his jacket for his keys. Fumbling was for mortals, not for demons who could just use a simple miracle to achieve the same thing.

With a casual wave of his hand, he unlocked the door –then promptly ricocheted off it, having tried to push into the wrong one.

Glancing around to see if anyone had spotted him, he caught sight of a pair of small yellow eyes fixed on him, judging his mess up.

He hissed threateningly at it, intending to terrify it directly into Hell.

The eyes blinked back at him.

He frowned slightly and took a step back to better view the ballsiest little fucker he’d come across since leaving Aziraphale’s place earlier.

It shrunk back slightly into the shadows, but he managed to clap eyes on a tiny scrap of fur and bones that somewhat resembled a cat. It wasn’t any particular colour or pattern. It looked like a white cat that had rolled around in a patch of cat-coloured paint.

He stared at if for a minute longer, then flicked a scrap of chicken from the wrap Aziraphale had bought him at the park at it. He figured it had earned that much. It darted out, seized it in its mouth, then launched itself back to the shadows, chewing it up, eyes still fixed on Crowley, as though afraid he might take it away again.

Crowley gave it a vague salute, then shoved into his building through the right door and disappeared upstairs for a nice nap.

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

Though he was a demon, Crowley had relatively few genuine full-blown weaknesses. It just so happened that two of them collided on Sunday afternoons, with the flower market, and a little pop-up street vendor stall that made the world’s best (Crowley-verified) fish and chips.

On this particular Sunday afternoon, Crowley was feeling rather pleased with himself. He’d acquired a lovely little rare bromeliad to add to his collection, as well as the last special fish supper of the day. Life was good.

He returned to his building and, as he pushed into the door, he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see the eyes of the vaguely-cat-shaped scrap from before watching him again. It seemed to have crept out of its hiding place at the sight of him.

“You really are a ballsy little shit, aren’t you?” he muttered to it.

It gave a tiny mew, as if in answer.

Glancing down at the grease-soaked newspaper in his hands, he tossed it down towards the corner. He was nearly finished, anyway. And it was litter! He was littering like a good demon should. If the cat-like-thing happened to eat it afterwards, that wasn’t down to him.

As he wandered into his building, holding the door open for the little old lady that lived in the apartment underneath him on impulse as he did so [1], he heard a quiet little rumbling purr start up behind him.

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

“I mostly find that Adam’s taste is quite fascinating, not to mention refreshing, the take of the youth, you know, but there are quite a few new novels I’ve found that don’t really make much sense to me at all,” Aziraphale babbled, trotting along at Crowley’s side as they wandered back to his flat for some wine, followed by more wine, followed by still more wine.

As They had decided that, in the wake of the apocalypse that never went off, they might change some of their age old traditions. This included Aziraphale sometimes coming over to Crowley’s flat for post-Ritz wine, rather than always retreating to Aziraphale’s shop[2].

“Like what?” Crowley said, frowning.

“Well there’s quite a lot of romance novels,” Aziraphale said, frowning and, to Crowley’s mingled surprise and delight, blushing, “Along with some that are decidedly, well, inappropriate,” he said, delicately.

Crowley’s smirk broadened at that, “Find a little Fifty Shades squirreled away in the back where the customers aren’t allowed to go, did you?”

“I most certainly did not!” Aziraphale blustered, looking affronted at the very idea, “I would never have anything so crude in my collection, thank you very much.”

“Too much of a prude, are we angel?” Crowley said, tilting his head to one side and favouring Aziraphale with an angelic smile on the lips of a demon.

“Certainly not!” Aziraphale said, looking surprised, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with sex in literature, or in life, when it’s well done.” Crowley choked on his milkshake. “That book however, not that it rates the name, is both atrociously written, grossly misogynistic, and woefully inaccurate on all of its subject matter.” He sniffed, delicately, apparently oblivious to Crowley’s bug-eyed scare of amazement, “Immortal I may be, but I don’t have time for such things.”

Crowley was still trying to recover from the shock of....All of that when Aziraphale turned to him, rather sharply, and said, “Why? You haven’t read it, have you?”

“Nope,” said Crowley quickly, and truthfully. He’d been vaguely curious about all the fuss, but it had never appealed to him.

His building appeared a second later, fortunately. As they stepped inside, he casually tossed the little bag of uneaten extras he’d brought with them from lunch into the alleyway over his shoulder.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, shocked, eyes boggling as though he’d just tossed the second antichrist into the side street.

“What?” he said vaguely, holding the door opening and trying to gesture the angel inside, to no avail.

Aziraphale remained rooted to the spot, staring at him with shock written across his face.

“You can’t just throw your litter in the street like that!” the angel chided him.

Crowley made a show of peering around the angel to the dropped bag, “Huh, look at that. I did! Okay, now that’s settled can we-“ he tried to usher them inside again but Aziraphale refused to budge.

“You see, it’s people-“

“Demons,” he corrected.

Aziraphale gave him the kind of look that left him with frostbite for the next week and continued, “It’s demons like you that make this world a worse place to live in for everyone!”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, angel, but that’s kinda my job description,” Crowley replied with typical snark, “Now can we-“ he swept his hands with something close to desperation towards the door of the building.

“No! We certainly cannot!” Aziraphale said, and Crowley deflated with exasperated irritation. “Not while your litter is lying in the streets, polluting the environment.”

He strode pompously forwards and bent to pick up the papers. Crowley grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back, “Okay, okay! I give up, you win,” he dragged a hand through his hair, which was starting to get a little length to it again, “I’m feeding a cat-thing,” he mumbled, all in a rush.

“Pardon?” Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow.

“There’s some little cat thing that lives there,” he said, jerking his head towards the alley, “If I have food wrappers when I come home,” which, of late, had been every time he came home, “I just sort of,” he gestured vaguely towards the dropped papers.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, in that excruciating way that told him he’d just done something the angel approved of, “That’s really rather sweet of you, you know,” he said, smiling.

“Ugh,” Crowley groaned, taking Aziraphale by the shoulders and attempting to steer him into the building to escape the agony of this conversation, “Okay, okay, I’m a terrible demon, you knew there was good in me all along, blah, blah, blah. Let’s go! Wine! Now!”

Aziraphale, with surprising strength, resisted him, still peering into the alley, “Where is the little creature?” he said.

“How should I know?” Crowley growled. You better fucking enjoy this, you little beast, given how much I’ve suffered for it. “I’m not its minder!”

He finally succeeded in shunting Aziraphale bodily through the door.

“I didn’t even think you liked animals,” Crowley said, as he used a miracle to cause the lift to simply be there on the ground floor waiting for them.

“Well ordinarily I’m not too fussed, I will admit. All God’s creatures are beautiful and worthy of love, of course, but that doesn’t necessarily mean by me at all times,” Aziraphale said, stepping neatly into the lift and holding the doors open for Crowley. “But I rather wanted to take a look at this one, since it’s managed to capture your eye.”

“It hasn’t captured anything,” Crowley growled.

Aziraphale just twinkled knowingly.

Blessed angel was insufferable.

“I do have one question, though,” Aziraphale said, shrugging off his coat as they stepped into Crowley’s flat.

Crowley made an exaggerated motion of hanging himself behind Aziraphale’s back then replaced it with a sickeningly saccharine smile when he turned to face him again.

“Just the one?” he drawled.

“Why don’t you just feed it tins of fish, rather than this convoluted sharing of your supper?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“First of all,” Crowley said, raising a long finger, irritably, “I’m not sharing with it. I’m throwing my fully completed, finished, and done wrappings in its general direction, and it’s scavenging from them. Secondly, I’m not doing that.”

Because then I’d have to acknowledge I’m actively looking after this thing and that is definitely not what’s happening here. I’m littering. ‘S not my fault it wants to tidy up after me.

Aziraphale just gave him another one of his knowing looks.

Crowley wondered two things simultaneously in that moment. The first was why he kept associating with this blessed idiot after all these years. The second was, if he threw Aziraphale out of the window in the plant room, would he be able to snap his wings into being fast enough to save himself from discorporation?

Rather than attempting to divine the answer to either of these questions, Crowley instead opened the first of many bottles of wine.

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

Supermarkets were definitely one of Crowley’s finer ideas.

Not only did they work to damage the souls of most of the population of the world over time with a slowly forming layer of plaque-like bitterness and irritation with the state of the universe, they functioned as an excellent microcosm of said universe.

Humans all reacted in a variety of strange but intriguing ways to supermarkets.

Some of them drifted around them like ghosts in a cemetery, part of them, but not really, without any idea of what they were doing, or why, they just did.

Some of them treated a trip to the supermarket like a military operation, complete with their lists, and pens, and dedicated ‘search and destroy’ method.

Some of them, meanwhile, took out their general anger and frustration with the state of their miserable lives on the rest of humanity that could be found on the unwashed aisles of Asda with an excellent display of yelling, gesticulating, and requests to speak with managers.

Then there were the poor sods that actually had to work there and deal with all this nonsense. Them Crowley almost felt sorry for. In fact, on more than one occasion, he’d slipped them the odd miracle, to help drag them through the day...And further infuriate those who saw the chilled section as their own person battleground against humanity.

Every now and then, there was an extra, hidden category of shopper in a supermarket: Crowley.

Technically he didn’t need to visit them. He didn’t have to buy anything, and generally didn’t bother to, either. Every now and then, though, he liked to grab a basket, wander up and down the aisles, soak in his terrible, terrible work, and see what interesting new things toppled into it along the way.

As When he returned home today, bags sitting neatly on the shelf in his kitchen with all the things that had dropped into his basket[3] he discovered something rather unwelcome.

As Cursing Aziraphale seven ways to Heaven and back, he realised there were several tins of sardines sitting innocently amongst the mix of old favourites[4]and strange new highly processed, deeply unhealthy, too cheap to be acceptable, things since last he’d been there.

Crowley couldn’t stand sardines. Aziraphale had put them on everything a few decades back, and it had driven him to distraction. For one thing the smell was disgusting. For another, there was just something distinctly...Unnatural about them. Squashed together, with their heads cut off, and their organs removed, but a variety of bones still in their bodies when they had no right to be there anymore.

“They’re soft, dear boy, you won’t even notice them!” Azirapahle had insisted, airily.

Crowley had.

 It had put him off eating anything for almost a year afterwards, much to Aziraphale’s chagrin.

No. No part of his subconscious had bought this for him. That meant it must have bought it for...

“Fuck, shit, balls, no,” he growled at thin air, snatching up the tins and striding over the bin, with the full intention of throwing them out and pretending they’d never existed.

But. No. He couldn’t bring himself to do that either.

He almost hurled the tin through the window in the plant room, then, thought better of it.

Gnashing his teeth with every step, he stormed downstairs, wrenched open the door, peeled the lid from the can with the sheer force of his irritation, and dumped it into the alley without looking at it.

As the door closed behind him, he heard a purring as loud as the Bentley’s engine when she greeted him first thing in the morning, and had to work hard to keep the smile from tugging at the corners of his lips.

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

Humans were terrible.

Crowley had long since decided on this.

Or, to be fair, (damn Aziraphale was bad fucking influence, no doubt about that), humans had the immense capacity to be terrible. More so than any other being he had ever come across.

As of Sunday the 6th of January 2019, at precisely 5.46pm, in London, he decided they’d officially outdone themselves on the terrible scale.

Crowley had seen some shit in his time on Earth. He’d seen, and been credited for, the Spanish Inquisition. He’d seen the world war. Both of them. He’d seen every war that had ever taken place in this world.

But this, this surpassed it all. Because in all those cases, he’d seen humans taking out their cruelty and twisted imagination on each other. That was one thing. This was something else. Something utterly unforgivable.

He’d gone to the flower show, as usual, though he hadn’t picked anything up. A truly shocking display of leaf spots, white fly, and a combination of over and under-watering, had put him off making any purchases.

He had stopped off at his usual fish and chip vendor, though, because the fish and chips was always top quality.

Then he’d sauntered back home. Since losing her, he’d found himself much more appreciative of the Bentley, and so he let her rest on Sundays, and walked to and from the market.

Reflexively, as he reached the alleyway, he tossed the remnants of his fish supper into the usual spot before moving automatically towards the door.

Then he stopped.

From down the alley came the sound of loud, high-pitched yowling, and drunken shouts and laughter.

His eyesight easily pierced the puddle of darkness down the alley and saw a group of three large, drunk, twenty-something guys with hand-held fireworks they were throwing against the wall, terrifying the small cat-shaped-lump he’d been covertly feeding for the past couple of months.

With a low growl starting in the pit of his chest, quickly rising to his throat, he transformed himself into a snarling, black-scaled beast that truly deserved the title of demon.

Crowley was typically quite reserved. He preferred his human form, went out of his way to cover his serpent’s eyes to prevent alarming anyone. He disliked taking any other form, felt unlike himself, and afraid he might get stuck like that, which would be the worst.

But sometimes, sometimes, he relished it. Sometimes he sank into this form and relished every inch of it.

This was one of those times.

Stalking down the alley, he let the growl in his chest rise until it resembled thunder. His eyes glowed an evil red, and he licked his curved fangs as he advanced.

The guys took one look at him, screamed, and then, as one, bolted down the alley. To be quite sure, and also for a bit of devilish fun, he sent the remainder of the fireworks after them, smacking into them as they ran.

He cracked his neck out as he returned to his human form and crouched down to check on the kittenish-thing. There was a slight burn on its side, which he healed with a quick miracle. Other than that it seemed okay, just scared shitless. The little thing was still trembling, sides heaving, eyes bulging.

“’S’alright,” he mumbled to it.

It seemed too panicked to let him touch it, skittering away from him each time he tried, which he figured was fair. “Here,” he said, nudging his leftovers towards it, using a miracle to increase the quantity just a bit.  “Those shits won’t bother you again. Promise,” he told it firmly.

It tentatively started poking at the newspapers, and he decided that was good enough, and slouched upstairs, cursing humanity as he went.

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

Crowley stretched and decided that he’d earned his monthly nap with all the evil he’d combated today.

Not that he was in the business of thwarting evil, kind of went against his whole thing as a demon, but, well, sometimes the humans went to places even a demon couldn’t condone. On these occasions, he figured it was his duty to step in, show them there were right kinds of evil, and wrong kinds of evil, and remind them of their place.

As He expected himself to be dressed in his black silk pyjamas[5]when he entered the bedroom for his nap, and so he was.

Yawning, he collapsed down onto the bedsheets which, by demonic miracle, were freshly washed and tumble dried, and smelled of jasmine and...Something else he couldn’t remember the name of but liked a lot.

As he settled himself down to sleep, there was a loud rumble of thunder in the distance, and the rain started outside, lashing against the walls of the flat.

Perfect.

A quarter of an hour passed and Crowley remained awake.

Half an hour passed, and still he hadn’t found himself in the comfortable embrace of sleep.

With nearly an hour gone into his attempt at sleeping, he sat up, frowning, and decided he needed to probe his feelings to understand why the fuck he was still conscious.

After a painful five minutes spent examining his own emotions, Crowley realised, to his mild horror and disgust, that he was feeling concern and something that felt an awful lot like guilt.

Groaning, the vague cocktail in his brain solidified into the image of a single scrawny, scrappy, dumb-coloured kitten shaped thing, soaked to the skin, cowering in some corner at the deafening rolls of thunder that were sweeping through the sky beyond.

No he told himself, firmly, he had already gone too far with the stupid thing. Scraps had turned into routine, had turned into tins of tuna, had turned into fully transforming himself in order to protect it. This was a line he wasn’t going to cross. Absolutely not. Under no circumstances, and for no reason would he ever-

He was already halfway to his bedroom door.

You he chided himself, as he miracled some shoes onto his feet, and a coat to protect his favourite pyjamas from the near-hurricane outside, are a pathetic excuse for a demon. The absolute worst demon that this planet, or any planet, for that matter, has ever seen.

He nudged his way out of the door of his flat, and took the stairs instead of the lift to punish himself for this hideous act of charity. Ugh. The word felt foul in his brain.

Turn around. Go back upstairs. Be worse than this. You can be worse than this. You should be worse than this. Stop this now before you do something that can’t be undone.

The door nearly threw him into the middle of next week with the force of it battering from his hand as he opened it.

He stumbled vaguely outside, instantly hissing in irritation as the wind slapped a wall of rain against his face.

Fortunately, within seconds, the cat-shaped thing had enough sense to emerge from its corner and trot as quickly as possible towards him.

If it hadn’t been quite so wet, and windy, and blessedly miserable, he might have paused to note how strange it was that this tiny, vulnerable, near helpless little scrap of life immediately associated him with safety. To the point that it ventured out in the middle of a brutal thunderstorm to run to him.

But it was wet, and windy, and blessedly miserable, so all he did was scoop it up and carry it inside.

The lift was waiting for them, and the doors opened as soon as he approached them. On the way up, he used another miracle to dry the vaguely kitten-like thing, because it was sodden, and disgusting, and he didn’t want it touching him like that, thank you very much.

Once they were inside the flat, he dumped it on the countertop in the kitchen and stared down at it. It stared right back at him.

It also looked as though he’d just stuffed it into an active socket. All its fur was standing on end, thanks to its miracle drying, which it didn’t seem too concerned by.

Frowning down at it, he miracled up a small box in the corner where it could go to relieve itself, then dumped two bowls on the counter. One he filled with water, the other he poured some more blessed sardines into.

The now much more cat-like thing stared at him with big yellow eyes, that were starting to look more and more like this own, as though it couldn’t quite fathom what was happening in this moment.

“Me neither,” he told it, flatly. 

It crawled forwards and began to lap noisily at the water, sneezing a few times as it inhaled it up its nose. Apparently it hadn’t quite gotten the hang of drinking out of bowls.

Stupid little creature he thought, vaguely, patting it on the head.

It purred at him.

“Don’t get used to this,” he told it sternly, waggling a finger in its face, “This is not a permanent arrangement. One night only, so you don’t drown in that storm and that’s it, understand?”

 It continued to drink, placidly.

Crowley was fairly certain that no other creature on Earth had half the disdain built in to its DNA as a natural fact of its existence quite like the cat.

He could have transformed himself into the demonic equivalent of Medusa and cursed its family for the next nine generations and he doubted whether it would so much as flick its tail at him.

All the same, he went on with setting his ground rules, “You eat, and drink, and shit, and sleep, and stay here,” he instructed, “You don’t go anywhere else in the flat. You so much as look at any of my plants, and I’ll drown you in the sink myself, save the thunderstorm the trouble. You stay here. All night. No exceptions.”

He considered for a moment, then miracle up a small folded blanket onto the countertop beside its bowls.

“Right here,” he said, pointing. Then, for good measure, he picked it up and placed it on the blanket to illustrate his point, “You got me?”

It blinked at him.

“Good,” he said, thinking he was doing pretty well at this whole one-night pet owner thing. “I’ll see you in the morning when I wake up and you’ve followed all those rules to a t. Make the most of this night, cat, you’re not getting another one.”

With that, he turned and sloped off to bed again, thinking that if he couldn’t sleep now he might scream.

Less than five minutes later, there was a small squeaking sound, followed by a soft flump, then loud purring.

The kitten, smelling faintly of sardines, crawled from the foot of his bed to the empty pillow beside him and curled up, the noise of its purrs now rivalling the thunderstorm outside.

Mashing his hand around vaguely, like a man who’s slept for a century and is trying to find the alarm clock that’s just woken him in the haze of grief, confusion, and deep hatred for the world and everything in it in that moment, Crowley found its small fuzzy body and patted it.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to call up the roiling fires of Hell to damn you for disobedience right now,” he muttered thickly to it.

The cat head-butted his hand and increased the intensity of its purrs.

“You’re leaving in the morning,” he told it, firmly.

He almost managed to convince himself of that.

He was certain he didn’t manage to convince the cat for a second.

Blessed creature, he thought irritably, before he passed out at last.

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

Crowley’s flat had a kitchen because it had come with one, and because he’d never bothered to get rid of it.

A few months ago, though, he had accidentally sauntered into a cookery class at a local university. He’d found he’d enjoyed it, and had since accidentally sauntered into a few more.

Ever since, Aziraphale had been sceptical in the extreme that Crowley would cook, and then, even more so, that he could.

So, striving as ever to combat any and all notions of the adversary on Earth, Crowley had invited him over for lasagne followed by an Eton mess, all homemade by him.

As Going out of his way to look professional, he had invested in a new apron for the occasion[6]and had sat Aziraphale down in the dining room with a cup of tea and a new book he’d picked up at a Camden market to encourage him to stay out of the way. Crowley couldn’t work his magic with an audience, bless it.

He had just started rolling out the pasta sheets, when there was an interruption from next door.

“Ah, Crowley?” Aziraphale’s uncertain voice drifted through to him.

As “What, angel?” he replied, tersely, not pausing what he was doing, “If there’s a typo on your book, it wasn’t me this time, I swear[7].”

“No, no, it’s not that, the book is excellent, I do actually admire your taste on this one, it’s-” the angel babbled.

“Then what is it?” Crowley interrupted, exasperated.

“Well, it’s just that there’s something drinking my tea that isn’t me.”

Crowley cursed, abandoned his pasta, and strode out of the kitchen, hissing softly.

Aziraphale was sitting primly up in his seat, staring down at a small, furry creature, whose adorable little pink tongue was currently dipping in and out of his teacup.

Crowley marched forwards, scooped the offending little beast up and said, threateningly, “I will feed you to a hellhound.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, indignant.

“Not a big one, either, a little runty one, that’ll take its time with you,” he added.

It had the audacity to purr at him.

“So it’s supposed to be here?” Aziraphale said, peering interestedly at the little bundle in his arms, “I thought perhaps it had sneaked in without you noticing.” He awkwardly patted its head. It purred more loudly. “Oh!” he said, obviously charmed, “Sweet little thing, isn’t she?”

“D’you want it?” Crowley demanded, thrusting it at him.

“Oh no, no,” Aziraphale said, a soft little smile on his face, “I think she belongs here. So you took her in, then?” he said.

“No I didn’t,” Crowley growled, “I took pity on it, stopped it drowning in a thunderstorm one night, and the ungrateful little shit has refused to leave ever since.”

“Oddly enough,” Aziraphale said, using a quick miracle to clean the essence of cat from his tea and take a prim sip, surveying Crowley over the rim, “That’s rather how I feel about you after all these years, dear boy.”

The angel looked rather pleased with himself at this little bit of verbal sparring. Crowley just glowered.

“You need to be punished,” he informed it darkly.

“Oh no, please!” Aziraphale protested at once, “Not on my account. The poor little creature didn’t do any harm.”

“No,” Crowley interrupted, “It has to learn its place.”

He carried it out of the kitchen and dumped it into a cot with high barred sides, meant for small human children. The conversation he’d had when purchasing it (since the one’s he’d miracled into existence himself hadn’t held it for more than the time it took to sneeze) had been truly nauseating.

Pointing a finger threateningly down at it he commanded, “You stay there and think about what you’ve done.”

It mewed softly at him.

Crowley returned to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, it had escaped its plastic prison, and climbed onto his shoulder to peer interestedly at the sauce he was making.

“You’re a demon,” he told it, conversationally, as it head-butted his ear in a gesture he’d come to interpret as affection.

Crowley checked his watch, “Huh, faster than last time,” he observed, feeding it scraps of meat from the pot in front of him, “Going to need to reinforce Alcatraz.”

It purred and nibbled his ear in a gesture he’d interpreted as ‘give me more food, I’m always hungry, if you were mortal I’d have no qualms whatsoever about eating your corpse if you died before me. If you don’t feed me right now, that will happen’. He kinda appreciated its moral outlook on life.

He gave it another scrap of meat.

As “Not a word to the angel,” he growled, “Got a reputation to uphold,” he said, starting to chop onions, “Can’t have it getting back to Heaven I’ve gone soft in my old age,” he sniffled[8].  

“Ah, hello there little one,” Crowley jumped, and four sets of claws dug deeply into his shoulder to prevent their lasagne becoming distinctly more cat-flavoured.

Aziraphale had apparently drifted in from the dining area and was now tickling the little creature under the chin. It was uncertain, but not fleeing or trying to gnaw the angel’s fingers off, so that was an improvement.

“So what have you decided to name the little thing?” he asked evenly.

“It doesn’t have a name,” Crowley insisted, dumping his shredded onions into the pot and miracling his eyes back to normal, “I just call it ‘cat’ if I have to call it anything.”

“Cat is a very nice name,” Aziraphale said, blandly, plainly not listening to a word Crowley was saying.

“No, not ‘Cat’,” Crowley said, irritably, emphasising the first letter, “Just ‘cat’. No capital.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, in a tone of voice that meant he was agreeing with Crowley to avoid an argument but was going to carry on believing his stupid, wrong, angelic opinion anyway.

Crowley glared at him.

“First day of Spring on Wednesday,” he said, now hacking tomatoes into bloody red chunks, “Soon as that comes, it’s gone. That means you,” he added firmly to cat, still perched on his shoulder, poking it in its little furry chest to make sure it got the message.

“Just so,” Aziraphale said. Then he sighed and added, in a very long-suffering tone, which Crowley thought was pretty rich for someone about to eat the best thing they’d ever tasted, “Crowley, would it be so terrible to just admit that you’ve adopted this cat? It’s not the end of the world if you have, you know.”

“Yes, it would be,” Crowley said, scraping the tomatoes into the pot with unnecessary violence, “Because I haven’t.”

“Clearly,” Aziraphale deadpanned, watching the cat eagerly licking the juice from his fingers.

“Shut up and make yourself useful, angel,” Crowley growled, impatiently, “Set the table.”

“I’m your guest, Crowley,” Aziraphale reminded him, primly, “I think that means you’re supposed to-“

Crowley flicked his hand towards a drawer that shot open, nudging the angel smartly on the hip, “Cutlery’s in there.” Azirapahle opened his mouth to protest, but a cabinet door nearly hit him on the head and cut him off. Crowley snickered. “Glasses are in there. Figure you know where the wine is by now.”

Grumbling under his breath, Aziraphale trotted off to set the table.  

Two stunning courses and a lot of wine later, Crowley and Aziraphale were sprawled on the couch. Crowley was sprawled properly¸ lanky body spread across two chairs, foot dangling off the end, jiggling vaguely in time to the music. Aziraphale was sprawled Aziraphale-y, slouching in an armchair the way Queen Elizabeth I with an over-tightened corset might have sprawled in it.

Cat was curled on Crowley’s chest, rising up and down gently in time with his breathing.

“Well, I suppose I’d best- Oh” Aziraphale hiccupped and broke off, “Excuse me. I’d best get back to the bookshop.”

“Want me to sober up and drive you?” Crowley asked, vaguely, making no move to begin the process of doing either.

“No, no, don’t worry yourself, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, waving a hand, “The walk will do me good.”

As “You’re going to walk to the end of the street then miracle yourself right back into the shop, aren’t you?” Crowley said, shrewdly[9].

“Of course I am. Who do you take me for?”

Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale tottered, a little unsteadily, but impressively so, over to Crowley, and patted cat on the head. “Now you be good,” he told it, in his best approximation of drunken sternness, “And look after Crowley for me, alright?” She blinked at him. Crowley glared at her, since she never got anything like that level of acceptance from his requests.

Aziraphale patted her on the head again then, for good measure, patted Crowley’s head too, and bobbed towards the door.

Cat yawned, stretched, flexed her claws, then comfortably began to knead at Crowley’s apron. He hadn’t taken it off all night, feeling it was only right he have a constant reminder to Aziraphale just where his dinner had come from.

“Wednesday,” he told it, sleepily, “You’re gone. Enjoy this while you’ve got it, it won’t last.”

Cat purred, somehow insolently.

Crowley stroked her vaguely behind the ear in that place she liked, and fell asleep.

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

Cat did not leave on Wednesday.

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

    Footnotes:

11- Crowley did not, as a rule, make a habit of holding the door open for people. He figured that he had to at least try to be demonic some of the time, and he did this, by and large, by refraining from the many little trappings that contributed to what society deemed ‘polite’. In doing so, he raised the general irritation levels wherever he happened to be.

An exception was made for Mrs Coal.

For a start she was ancient, Crowley was at a 50/50 toss up right now that she pre-dated him. And she’d been ancient when he moved into the building.

For another thing, he was almost certain that if he ever let the door close on her face, something would smite his existence from the face of the Earth faster than he could blink.

And finally, demon he might be, but he had some standards, contrary to Aziraphale’s typical belief. Even demons like Hastur or Ligur would have flinched at the idea of closing the door on Mrs Coal.

There was a power to little old ladies Crowley had long ago decided not to trifle with.[return to text]

2- On the strict condition that Aziraphale said nothing to his plants, since it had been proven with time he couldn’t limit himself to simply saying nothing nice. [return to text]

3- Except for the small bag of groceries sitting on Mrs Coal’s doorstep. [return to text]

4- Tetley teabags, Digestive biscuits, and a six pack of irn bru. This is not typically found in supermarkets in England, but present with his shopping all the same. [return to text]

5- They were trimmed with a fine edge of red lace, and had been a Christmas present from Mrs Coal some years ago. Crowley had never, in his life, received a gift and felt the compulsion to buy the other person something in return. He figured if they wanted to buy him a gift, good for them, didn’t mean he wanted to buy them something in return. Mrs Coal had found new slippers, a thick woollen blanket, and a hand-knitted hot water bottle under her tree from him that year, however. [return to text]

6- It was black with fire licking up the edges, and had ‘Hot as Hell’ printed on the front, which Crowley had found amusing. [return to text]

7- There had been a time when Aziraphale had refused to accept books from Crowley, owing to the frequency of, typically inappropriate, typos that didn’t exist in any copy the demon hadn’t gotten his hands on. [return to text]

8- Crowley had been distinctly aggrieved to discover that being a demon did not mean he was immune to the plague of onion tears that he had unleashed upon humanity several centuries earlier. He’d thought it would be really funny to give humans a foodstuff they couldn’t prepare without crying all over it. He’d thought right. Until he had to prepare it himself. Onions were in fucking everything, there was no escaping the little buggers. [return to text]

9- As shrewd as one could be after three bottles of wine. [return to text]

[flyingcookierambles]

so i finished reading the northern caves

hey its a book ramble! after uuhhhhhh.. a year. anyways the northern caves! (https://archiveofourown.org/works/3659997/chapters/8088522)

i binged it in a whole day. and i have feelings. i think?

so ppl hyped it as a lovecraft-ish/otherworldly horror story and i think i got a bit sucked into that and let down a bit because to me the horror story wasn’t the implied dark magic connections the author had with uh. the Mundum. it was the unreliable narration and betrayal of friends. spoilers below!

so, if you’ve read the northern caves, you know what the Mundum is. it was just kinda introduced as some mystical thing in the universe that the author believed in. whether or not it was real was kinda left open ended i think.

if you for some reason haven’t read the northern caves (which will just be either the caves or tnc for typing speed’s sake), it’s about a group of online friends in a 2004 internet forum dedicated to a children’s book series called Chesscourt by Leonard Selby. the author died before he could publish his final book, The Northern Caves. thankfully, one of the ppl in the forums, metamarsh, is actually distantly related to the author, and in the event of leonard selby’s death and then marsh’s aunt’s death (i think she was selby’s sister or something), marsh’s family got all the belongings of leonard selby. all his journals, notes, and unpublished works left behind. TNC was one of them. marsh (or his aunt or some other relative) scanned the pages and released it online ig sometime before the story. and so the events of Spelunk 04! starts, in which the friend group of this forum plans an irl meet up at marsh’s house so they can go over the author’s belongings and try to make sense of tnc. tnc is, to put simply, a mess. there’s lucid parts and non-lucid parts, by which i mean that there’s entire pages of nonsense and also it’s mentioned that there are 3 entire pages that are just the letter “a.” this can easily be dismissed as the writings of a senile old man, until the revelation of the Mundum (mentioned above) comes up. 

then things so super wrong. 

so, the entire story is a “report” by a man on the forums named Paul. his handle is GlassWave. he is a person who went to Spelunk 04! and is part of the reason why the meeting went so wrong. around the part where the journals abt the Mundum come up, he totally gets into it. the narration around this part gets uh. kinda creepy. it also definitely doesnt help that there were drugs involved - adderall.

so uh. basically. paul and another guy, Arron/Errent Knight, get the Mundum. they dont understand why their friends dont understand it. the solution according to paul? put adderall into the coffee and stay up for 60 hours straight reading tnc in a group circle.

yeahhhhh.

so i personally wasnt super scared abt the entire lovecraft-ish/other worldly implications of mundum being real or not. it was the paul’s state of mind when he spiked the coffee with drugs. it was the entire betrayal thing. 

i personally haven’t really had the entire internet friends experience bc im p shy irl and online. i dont usually go talk to strangers in chatrooms/discord or anything. also stranger danger lol.

but i hear a bunch of stories abt that kind of stuff, the early 2000′s internet experience before ppl had more awareness of internet stranger danger. also i’ve been watching and reading abt a lot of internet drama thru commentary channels i watch nowadays (therightopinion is p good), and uh the whole parasocial relationship thing (so ive seen it be described as) is on my mind a lot now. since we view ppl as relatable and feel like we know them. now, of course, there’s a difference in the personal experience one can have between a youtuber or internet celeb and a person on an interactive forum/social media platform. i would think that more interactive platforms like forums or discourd would feel more personal to some than a celebrity but still. 

the entire narration of paul’s during the spiking the coffee scene was so rational-seeming to him. and then the betrayal that his friends, the ones at Spelunk 04! and online felt hit me. like, i’ve never personally experienced that kind of betrayal since i dont have internet/stranger friends, but still i think it’s really relevant now. on the 26th chapter (2nd to last), the forum comments of JimWind and Sally’s Lil Sis hit especially hard. 

JimWind:

Wow. Wowwowow. I just finished reading the whole thing through the latest bit GW's posted. I had heard things about Spelunk 04 having something to do with restaurant workers dying, but I just figured that was a baseless rumor because it seemed so hard to understand how that could have happened. But what really shocks me here isn't even that, it's the fact that GlassWave dosed his/our friends with hard drugs. (Adderall is just prescription amphetamine, AKA speed! WTF!!!) "GlassHole" indeed! TBH it really makes me uncomfortable with GW and getting this whole story from him. Of course when I first read this

“maybe not even the other forum members, not even the best among them, not even Jim, say”

I was flattered, especially cause GW's always seemed like one of the sharpest and nicest posters around these parts (until now!!). But now it kinda makes me sick to my stomach. I don't want this guy to think I'm one of the "best" Cafe people. And I'm holding back judgment on all this Spelunk nonsense until I hear about it from someone WHO ISN'T GLASSWAVE. (Plus, this is stupid, but there's something that makes it even worse about the fact that the diner has my name :P) No matter how you slice it, it's a sad day for the Cafe. D:

Sally:

Yeah me too JimWind. I'm literally crying rn. First Spelunk went wrong, then we have to wait to hear about what happened, then we finally get the report but it's from this jerk! I'm really sad bc this forum has meant a lot to me over the last year (its been a really tough year for me) and now I'm worried that everyone here might be some sort of drug-pushing creep :( :( :(

before this, everyone felt connected in some way w/ chesscourt and safe. and paul/glasswave was a decent person in the community! he talked to other ppl. ppl trusted him enough to invite him to this thing and meet up irl. and then he just. spikes coffee with adderall.

idk, maybe its just me since i was too young to be on fandom spaces in 2004 and be on chatrooms and stuff, but i feel like when the internet first came out everyone felt safe on it to some degree and the internet and real life were seperate spaces. now, esp with social media like facebook, real life and the internet are super connected. 

the fact that paul caused harm to his friends by spiking their drinks without consent is horrible. but like i feel like to ppl from 2004 who might not have experienced this kind of closely tied internet/real life drama before and also might not have the same sense of internet stranger danger that ppl have today, the idea of a person from the internet harming you in real life could be terrifying. today, i think that horror stories of ppl meeting online and then things going wrong is so common and in the news that we don’t bat an eye to it. but i guess maybe to 2004 ppl, this is like the ultimate nightmare.

when i finished the book, i felt a bit let down by the ending and stuff. it felt a bit anti-climatic. but after thinking about this from (what i think is) a 2004 person’s perspective, this is p awful. and the whole unreliable narration thing was very good.

i thought of midsommar a bit when i was thinking abt the ending. like, sure a bunch of horrible gory stuff happened and ppl died. but the real horror sets in afterwards when you realize that the movie is abt a vulnerable lonely woman in a neglectful relationship being indoctrinated into a cult thru drugs, isolation, and love bombing, and it was kinda shown as a “good thing” bc the protag finally found a place she belonged. when really, she was being further trapped in life, this time in a cult.

idk, but i guess that’s my ramble on the northern caves.

tl;dr - i read an original story from AO3 that was kinda hyped up for a lovecraft-ish horror, but i ended up interpreting the horror aspect differently and didn’t really get the mundum/lovecraft-ish part i think?

[isitoctober212015yet]

So, no spoiler review of IT chapter 2: I liked it, it was well put together and i feel like it built on and expanded the first movie very well

some of my other thoughts chock full of spoilers are below the cut

– the opening scene with adrien mellon is easily the most brutal one i dig my nails into my skin when i get nervous and i was bleeding pretty bad by the end of those first 10 mins. its probably the worst and most visceral scare of the whole movie, everything after that’s manageable. I’m a little annoyed they included that one like...of all the parts of the book to stay faithful to thats the one you pick??? I was so annoyed when they announced they were makin that

– where was the scene from the trailer when pennydumbass jumped out of that hole that was in the wall like 10 feet up? Did I miss that or something i feel like it was absent

– I really loved the adult losers they were all so good. I really had no trouble beliving they were the grown versions of the kids from chapter 1

– however i feel they could have sassed back at pennywise more

– I appreciated that this one was darker more often than not but that there were still a couple moments of levity. Watching everyone run around screaming while Mike is smashing the table in the chinese restaurant after the scene with the blood (or perhaps that was just miscellaneous sewer ooze?) and screaming infant bugs was really funny to me. I’m also glad this movie didnt go the miniseries route and just put some live ass cockroaches on the table i hated that. The whole scene was very loud though. I feel like I’m too old but every scary scene i’m always just thinking “oh boy here comes some more noise...good :/”

– Mike was easily my favorite character this time around im glad he got more screentime because gotdamn was he robbed last time

– I love!! new kids content!!! I loved those kids so much so i was really glad that they came back

– goddamn the transitions between some of these scenes was fucking stunning i like said very loudly without realizing “Oh wow that transition” somebody nearby laughed at me

–  I for no reason really want to draw a pomeranian with pennywise markings now

– How did nobody else ever figure out you can just beat It by pointing and laughing and calling it a sloppy bitch. it really took the people of derry five million years to workshop that one huh?

– I was so worried theyd try and force Bill and Bev together and they did not

– If you thought I was paying attention to anything other than that Michael J Fox poster in the background of the scenes in the fort. You would be INCORRECT I really need to finish that IT/BttF crossover huh?

– so???? one of the last things Richie does before leaving town is go to the lover's bridge and re-make the mark he made as a kid that said E + R (while Stan is saying “be proud of who you are” in a vo) are they saying hes gay??? also some kids call him gay and he doesnt like..adamantly deny it like he does other stuff, he just runs off. so??? kinda got gay vibes. it could just be me reading into it as a gay buuuuuuut idk Also Bill and Mike say “I love you” to each other and theyre like the only ones in either movie that even utter the words i love you that i recall, that and Bill wasn’t wearing a ring at the end???? Honestly was anyone else kinda feeling those 2 the whole movie? i was. is there any ship content for that? i feel like theres untapped potential there. gonna be bummed if theres nothing on AO3 tbh

– I can’t tell if I’m immune to horror or if this movie actually wasnt scary. It feels like Penboy only has one scare tactic and thats shake ur head real quick-like. And i do that when i mess up sentences to get my thoughts back on track u aint special bitch

– while nothing other than adrien mellon’s death really scared me I do think the scare scenes were a lot better this time around. better executed and all that. more thought was put into em

– I noticed a lot of really wonky edits esp in the antique shop scene and it kinda makes me wonder if they didnt get too many takes because stephen king didnt want to be there or what but like...every time they cut from Bill to that wide of stephen at the counter his coffee cup is moved and the book is at a different angle did y’all really only do like 1 fucking take of this shit???? I’d get a gotdamn F if I tried pulling something like that. I would get fuckin fired. And this movie with a billion dollar budget just let that slip on by???? I thought that this was gonna be a scene where oh no something spooky happens and the inconsistancies were supposed to be there to clue u in but no. its just bad editing.

– there was a lot of continuity errors in who was standing where or holding items in the deadlights pit where they did the ritual of chud. ignoring for a second that the losers pulled half their damn tokens out of nowhere when only a couple even had pockets on their person, that lampshade/demon container thing just kinda...appeared. Mike was not carrying that the whole time they were going through Neibolt and down. he also pulls a bag off his shoulder one second when hed never had one previously and then next shot theres no bag. my friend suggested that maybe this was like...to disorient you as the viewer and i think it was just like...somebody who fucked up real bad. It made it hard to track where anyone was in that space. but maybe im going to be the only person who notices that shit since im an editor so i have to always be looking for that, anyways this is why a script sup is so important 

– also as a film student who once (and only once, i aint ever doing that shit again) was producer for a short film I was literally screaming at the scene on the movie set. Like???? thats not how movies work!!!!!!!!!!!!!! theyre filming the ending that night!??!?!?! The ending they are still waiting for Bill to write?!??!?!? How did you build a set??? How did you cast for that??? If ur at into a physical location not in the studio how did u get location permits for that day????? WHO STARTS PRODUCTION OF A MOVIE BEFORE ITS WRITTEN WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!?!?!?

– When Bill punches Richie in that recap of their chapter 1 fight there was a random red filter on the shot for 2 seconds who allowed that?? there was also this godawful blue food dye ass filter over one shot of the losers walking down the street. that shot was clearly filmed midday idk who they thought they were foolin with that. Just wait until night man. Again, i would be killed if i did that shit in a student film. but the brothers warn just let this happen????? WHY

[jennycalendar]

imperfections (56/?)

read it on ao3!

iiiiii don’t know how to add a footnote w/o making it Extremely spoilery. love u all. writing this fic is such a trip and i am so glad to have an audience for this scooby family nonsense, esp. as it gets closer and closer to being finished

“That was some nice stuff you said to Buffy,” said Jen as they walked to the car.

Faith’s stomach flipped over. “Yeah,” she said uncertainly. “Yeah, it was—she means a lot to me, y’know?”

“I’ve noticed,” said Jen, and maybe it was just wishful thinking on Faith’s part, but there was an almost purposeful lightness to her tone. Like she knew Faith was holding shit back. “I’m really glad you two have hit it off.”

Faith bit the bullet. “I might ask her out,” she said. “Like, on a date. To prom, maybe. I don’t know. Haven’t really thought it through all that much.” She was doing her best not to look at Jen, continuing to talk so that she wouldn’t have to hear what Jen had to say to that. “I mean, she’s still gettin’ over Angel, she says she wants to take things slow, but if she’s not going with Angel she might as well go with me—”

“Faith?”

“I’m into girls,” Faith blurted out, refusing to look at Jen. “Which you should probably know, ‘cause B’s gonna be coming round sometimes, maybe. I don’t know. But that’s why she means a lot to me and we haven’t just hit it off in a friendly way—”

“Breathe,” said Jen, tugging on Faith’s leather jacket until Faith stopped walking. When Faith finally mustered the courage to look over at Jen, she saw that Jen was looking at her the same way that Jen always looked at her, and the relief at that realization was dizzying. But then Jen spoke again. “You’re not the only one who’s had crushes on girls.”

“Don’t try and tell me that every straight girl feels this kinda thing—” Faith began, outraged.

“Operating on some faulty intel there, kid,” said Jen, a broad smile beginning. “Whoever said I was a straight girl?”

Faith stared. Then she said, “You suck face with Giles in the kitchen on a daily basis.”

“You kids really need a crash course on bisexuality,” said Jen, who was now grinning fit to burst.

Faith didn’t really know what to say to that. Slowly, she managed, “So all that time you’ve been giving me looks every time me and Buffy talk—”

“I know the signs,” said Jen, knocking Faith’s shoulder. “You were making the same face I did around Marian Hall back in college, and somehow you managed to be even more obvious about it than me.”

“I was so not obvious!” Faith objected, indignant. “B didn’t catch a thing, and Giles didn’t either—”

“I love the kid, but Buffy probably wouldn’t have figured your crush out if you waved a sign saying DATE ME,” said Jen matter-of-factly. “And Rupert spent the better part of last year trying to figure out whether or not I liked him, most of that time while we were actively dating.”

Faith snickered. “Fair point,” she said, and reached down, quietly gripping the hem of Jen’s sleeve as they started to walk again. Her heart was pounding. “So I kinda just came out to you, huh?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Jen agreed, her voice softening. “I’m very proud of you.”

Faith made a gagging noise to try and hide her dumb grin.

Willow apparently still hadn’t reconciled with her mom, who had somehow forgotten the stake-burning but remembered that Willow had run away after being grounded. Joyce was still trying to talk Mrs. Rosenberg through that one, but for the time being, Willow was staying in the Calendar-Giles attic/guest room, which was A-okay in her book.

Ms. Calendar made Willow some hot chocolate again, this time with half-melty marshmallows and a dollop of whipped cream. “Does your mom tuck you in?” she asked, crossing the room to sit down on Willow’s bed (no, the guest room bed, Willow reminded herself). “If I recall correctly, you’re the kind of kid who really appreciates that.”

“You could tuck me in again,” said Willow. Ms. Calendar had done that a couple of times over the summer, back when things were a total mess and Willow stayed in Ms. Calendar’s bedroom pretty much every other night.

Ms. Calendar stood up, then bent down again, tucking the covers more snugly around Willow from the waist down. “You can just leave your mug on the nightstand when you’re done,” she said, leaning around Willow to fluff up one of the pillows. She smelled like a mixture of old books and floral perfume. “And get some sleep, okay? Don’t do that thing you do where you nap for two hours and get up to read books from Rupert’s study.”

“Giles has a study?” Willow grinned. “This is a nice house.”

“Yeah, I like it too.” Ms. Calendar gave Willow a little kiss on the cheek. Willow thought she felt a waxy smudge of lipstick, and kind of liked the thought of it lingering. “Night, Willow.”

“Goodnight, Ms. Calendar,” said Willow with a yawn.

Ms. Calendar wavered. Then she said, “You know, if you wanted, you could call me Jenny outside of school. You’re not just my student, Willow.”

Willow felt a kind of rush and had to blink really fast to hide potential tears. “Um, yeah,” she sad, swallowing hard. “Maybe. But, but maybe not yet?” The thought of Ms. Calendar as Jenny felt weird and informal, especially since Giles was the only one who called her that. Faith called her Jen, but that was a name that Willow personally thought didn’t really fit Ms. Calendar. “I like Ms. Calendar,” she clarified. “It used to feel kinda formal, but now it feels…”

Even though Willow wasn’t quite sure how to finish her sentence, Ms. Calendar smiled slightly, like she got it anyway. “Yeah,” she said. “That name didn’t really mean a lot to me until I came to Sunnydale, but now…”

She squeezed Willow’s shoulder, then leaned down again, enfolding her in a soft, floral-perfume hug. Willow closed her eyes, smiling.

Giles was still sitting in the kitchen by the time Jenny came down from putting the children to bed. Upon seeing her, he stood, feeling a sense of profound sadness and exhaustion. “Moment’s come, hasn’t it?” he said quietly.

“Come here,” said Jenny.

Giles obliged, stepping into her arms and closing his eyes. “You are so remarkably resilient tonight,” he murmured.

“Yeah, well, next apocalypse it’s my turn to freak out,” Jenny informed him, turning her head to rest her cheek on his chest. “Listen—this is gonna be hard, I know. But it’s the right thing to do for all involved.”

“They’re going to come here in person, you know,” said Giles quietly. “They’re going to demand to speak to Buffy, and I don’t know what they might convince her to do—”

“In a few days she’s turning eighteen,” Jenny replied simply.

“I was twenty-one when I raised Eyghon,” said Giles.

Jenny pulled away, looking up at him with a resigned, loving expression. “Rupert Giles,” she said, “idiot of my heart, you are gonna have to let that girl make her own choices. There’s only so much a parent can do to protect his kid, and after you make this call, you will have done everything you can.”

One word in particular stood out to Giles. “Parent?”

Jenny’s smile fluttered; she looked suddenly nervous. “Was that—I mean, was I off base?”

“Quite the opposite, I think,” said Giles unsteadily. “It’s simply that I worry my attachments mean I have failed her as a Watcher.”

“We have already established,” said Jenny firmly, “that the system you were raised in is bullshit. I know it is going to be so hard to let go of all that stuff, but holding onto it only hurts you.”

There was a level of understanding in her eyes that went well beyond her knowledge of the Council alone. “Jenny,” said Giles quietly, “you came to Sunnydale to carry out a mission of vengeance.”

“Yeah,” said Jenny, and gave him a wobbly, crooked smile. “Yeah. Because my family told me that that was all I would ever be good for.”

Something twisted in Giles’s chest. Not once had he thought about what might have brought Jenny here—in part, he supposed, because he knew it must have been painful for her. “You’re good for—” he began.

“I’m not a witch, remember?” said Jenny, who seemed to be doing her best to keep her smile steady. It wasn’t really working. “I came from a long line of seers and witches and warlocks and people in tune with the earth, and I was never, ever that. So they sent me off to watch Angelus, because that was the only way I would ever be of use, and…” She trailed off, raising her hands to his face. “I know,” she said. “I know for a fact that you’re making the right choice, Rupert, because you’re making the same one I did a year ago. I don’t regret a single thing I did last year, not one, because it led me to a home and a family and one of the best hot librarians I know.”

Giles stared at her, eyes wet, and then he kissed her, and…how, he thought, was he this lucky? Watchers lived a painful, lonely life; nearly everyone they dared to love ended up dead, and here was beautiful, compassionate, resilient Jenny, changing the rules because she could. “I love you ceaselessly,” he said clumsily as they broke apart, then kissed her again, an awkward kiss that was more of a collision than anything. Both of them were a bit too emotional for finesse. “Unendingly.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” said Jenny with a nervous laugh.

“You know I would never do that to you again,” Giles persisted.

Her expression didn’t change, but Giles felt Jenny press herself closer against him. “Yeah,” she said. “Ditto.”

“The promise thing or the flowery-love thing?”

“Don’t make me say it,” said Jenny, giving him a small, watery smile.

Giles kissed her one last time. Then, with no small amount of reluctance, he let go of her, stepping back and picking up the phone. Eyes locked on Jenny’s, he dialed the extension, waiting for Travers to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Travers, it’s Giles,” said Giles, and Jenny took two steps forward, winding her arms around his waist. Grounding him.

Faith was hanging around the general area of Buffy’s locker, looking somewhat tense. Even after the emotional mess of the night before, Buffy’s heart did a funny little flip thing upon seeing her, and she couldn’t hide her smile. “Hi,” she said bashfully, stepping up to Faith.

“Yeah, B, I got some bad news,” said Faith shortly. “You were gonna find it out when you got to the library, but Jen said I should run and tell you beforehand.”

Buffy felt the crush-related jitters fade, replaced by some more general jitters that she didn’t really like. “What’s going on?”

“So, uh, Giles and Jen tried to call the Council yesterday night,” said Faith, falling into step with Buffy as they headed towards the library. “Didn’t really go over well.”

“How did it not go over well?” Buffy asked, pushing the door open with her shoulder. Then she stopped.

“Ms. Summers?” said an old guy in a tweed suit, flanked by a whole bunch of other business-formal people that Buffy didn’t know. “My name is Quentin Travers, and I am the head of the Watchers’ Council. I believe you and I need to talk.”

[clary-jace]

it was enchanting to meet you

summary: the mark appears the day after mike's twelfth birthday, and on november seventh, the day after his best friend disappears in the middle of the woods, it burns. soulmate au.  pairing: mike wheeler x eleven  word count: 7,429 notes: ok so this is my first try at writing a mike/eleven fic and i’m very pleased with the outcome of it!!! in all my years of writing fic i’ve never ventured into the soulmate au variety of fic, but yknow mike and eleven are literal soulmates, so it almost doesn’t feel like an au. please let me know what you think!! thank you for reading, friends!!

(read on ao3) 

The mark appears the day after his twelfth birthday.

He doesn’t notice it at first, his eyes still foggy with sleep when he spots it. Barely registering it, he absentmindedly brushed the mark, assuming it was just a smudge that had appeared overnight, or maybe was left over from the day before, he paid no mind to it as he pulled his shirt over his head, the mark covered by the soft fabric of his long sleeved polo.

The mark is completely forgotten by the time Mike is sitting at the breakfast table, his mom dishing out eggs and bacon for him and his sisters and his dad hidden behind his newspaper, the soft noise of that day’s weather playing from the living room television. It’s almost amazing how, average, the whole thing is. Him and Nancy bicker as they usually do and their father scolds them for their language, and thirty minutes later their mother hurries them out the door.

Years later, Mike will reflect on completely menial the whole day was. How he just went to school and didn’t pay any mind to the curve his life was starting to take.  How it took him nearly three days to properly notice the mark on his arm and what it symbolized.

It was a Saturday when Mike finally took real notice to the now permanent blemish on his skin.

He was rolling up his sleeves as got to a particularly riveting part in the campaign that he had spent a week planning, Dustin was shoving trail mix into his mouth in antipatiation and Will looked like he was going to pass out he was so on edge. Lucas, however, was paying significantly less attention to the campaign, complaining of a headache and sore throat, and was the one who noticed the mark on Mike’s forearm.

“And then…” Mike pauses, allowing the anticipation to hang in the air, Dustin and Will both leaning forward in their chairs.

“Dude, what the hell is that?” Lucas’ voice broke through the silence, his hand reaching out and wrapping itself around Mike’s wrist.

Will slumped back in seat, the moment gone, taking a deep breath while Dustin rolled his eyes and looked like he wanted to punch Lucas in the face for interrupting. Mike was just confused, his eyebrows knitting together as he looked to where Lucas’ hand was grabbing him.

“What’s what?”

“This, on your wrist.” Lucas pointing out, his thumb brushing over the mark.

Dustin and Will both leaned forward in their seats, both of them forgoing their earlier annoyance at the interruption, their curiosity peaked. Lucas pulled Mike’s arm towards the center of the table, bringing it into the dim overhead light of the Wheeler basement.

“Is that a…?” Will asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair as he got a good look at the mark.

“Soulmate mark.” Dustin finished, a satisfied smirk falling onto his face. Mike paled, pulling his arm away from Lucas’ and examining the mark for himself. Will and Lucas were now sporting equally as satisfied smirks, almost like they were thrilled that they got to be here for the discovery of it.

There, as clear as day on Mike’s right wrist was the word ‘no’ the word small, but clear. It was settled right below his pulse point, the letters curving over the stretch of his skin. Grazing the mark lightly with his finger, Mike gulped as the mark moved with the pull of his skin, not peeling as he picked at his slightly with his fingernail.

“Dude.” Dustin breathed lightly, snapping Mike from his daze and reminding him that all of his friends were still sitting around the table watching him. “Do you know what this means?”

That he did. He knew exactly what it meant.

It meant that he was one of the few people in the world who had a soulmate.

They had all learned the story back in fourth grade. About how the first word that your soulmate ever speaks to you appears on your forearm when you turn the age that you are when you meet them for the first time and how the mark burns when they speak them. However, he also knew that this wasn’t a normal occurrence. In fact, the whole story had been taught to them as a myth, a story, something that supposedly had happened to a couple people in the history of the world, but there wasn’t any scientific evidence or enough occurrences in the world to prove that it actually happened.

“What do you think hers says?” Dustin asked, his voice gleeful and bright. “Who do you think it is? Do you think it’s a girl at school? There are a bunch of girls at school that you’ve never spoken to before, do you think one of them is your soulmate?”

Lucas rolled his eyes as Dustin rambled off question after question, clearly resisting the urge to reach across the table and swat his trademark hat clean off his head. Dustin hardly noticed though, his eyes wide as he looked at Mike, desperate for any kind of answer. Unfortunately for them though, Mike was just as confused as they were.

“Doesn’t it have to be someone he hasn’t met yet?” Will questioned, drawing his eyebrows together.

“No, it’s the first word that his soulmate speaks to him, doesn’t matter how long they’ve known each other, at least that’s how I remember the story. And, objectively, I have the best memory of anyone sitting at this table, so chances are, I’m right.”

“Dustin, for the love of God, please shut the hell up.” Lucas groaned, putting his head in his hands.

“Excuse me Lucas, I’m just trying to help. I’m sure now that Mike knows he has a soulmate out there, he wants to find her. Don’t you want Mike to be happy, jeez.” Mike could see Lucas open his mouth, no doubt to fire back his own response, which would probably lead to an argument that he certainly wasn’t in the mood to listen to.

“Both of you please stop.” Mike interrupted. “As much as I appreciate you guys trying to help, I don’t know anything, so bickering about the whole thing isn’t gonna help much.” Dustin and Lucas have the decency to look a little ashamed of their actions, but it’s Will who replies.

“I think it’s really cool that you have a soulmate.” He says in a soft voice, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “But, if you don’t want us to talk about it, or tell us anything about it, then we totally understand, right guys?”

Dustin and Lucas both looked down at the table, Dustin running his finger along the edge of the game board, while Lucas began rolling his game piece between his fingers before placing it back on the board.

“Right.”

“Yeah, totally. Sorry.”

Mike merely nods, desperate to change the subject and get back into the game. He wasn’t really sure what to make the whole thing, his heart clenching in his chest uncomfortable when he thought about it for more than five seconds at a time and he was itching for his friends to drop it so he could focus on something else.

The four were silent as they readjusted around the table, Lucas sitting up from his slouched position, his previous headache seemingly forgotten. Will started to get that look on his face that he got when things were about to happen in the game. Even though Mike was the dungeon master, Will seemed to be able to sense when something major was about to happen. Dustin, however, while silent, didn’t look like he was one hundred percent back in game mood.

“Wait since your tattoo says no, do you think the first thing that’s going to happen is that she turns you down when you ask her out? That’s rough, dude.”

“Dustin.”

“Dude!”

“Shut up, please.”

“Yeah, okay, that was a low blow. Sorry.”

As spring began to shift into summer, the tattoo on Mike’s wrist became a thing that just sat in the back of his mind. He noticed it sometimes, and would press his fingers against it, to remind himself that yes it was definitely real and not going away anytime soon. But, he found that if he focused on it for too long, he would become itchy all over his body.

It was uncomfortable to say the least.

He still hadn’t told anyone else about it, hell, he probably wouldn’t even told the guys if they hadn’t seen it. Dustin liked to rib him about it when they were sitting around the lunch table and Lucas raised his eyebrows nearly every day when Mike showed up to school in a long sleeve shirts, even as the temperatures began to raise to summer like heights.

It was just that, Mike already felt weird enough at school. Him and his friends constantly being used as punching bags by Troy and the other bullies, he didn’t really want to give anyone more ammunition to make him feel like an outsider. Besides, it’s not like it was anyone else’s business.

He definitely did not want to tell his parents.

His mom would probably get really excited and overly invested in the whole thing. Mike knew that she sometimes worried that he was never going to find anyone interested in him. It wasn’t like his parents were particularly subtle when they talked about how his passion for D and D and comic books weren’t helping him socially. So, no doubt, if his mom found out that the universe had perfectly aligned him with another human being, she would do everything in her Karen Wheeler power to help him find her, which he was just not ready for.

Nancy would no doubt tease him mercilessly. That was just in the nature of their relationship to begin with, but Nancy always loved poking fun at him whenever she found out that he was talking to a girl. Last year when he had mentioned that he had to work with Shelby Thompson on a history project at the dinner table, she had teased him about it for weeks. No, telling Nancy was definitely off the table. Especially because he also thought she might be a little jealous, she had always loved the soulmate myth and he knew when she was younger she had always wished she would get one.

And honestly, he would rather die than mention anything like this to his father.

He could always tell Holly, but then again he didn’t know if his three year old sister was the person he wanted to trust with this information.

Summer hit Hawkins, Indiana that year with gusto, the temperatures never getting much lower than the high seventies and clouds hardly ever tainting the blue skies. It became increasingly harder for Mike to cover up his mark with long sleeves on a day to day basis. Luckily, it was easy enough for him to leave the mark free around his friends, their teasing still present, but less frequent than in the immediate aftermath of the discover.

Hiding it from his parents, however, was a monster all on it’s own.

During the day he would disappear from the house with his friends before either of his parents could bat an eyelash, always skipping breakfast and returning long after his mother and father have sat down to eat. Sure, about a month into summer vacation and he was seriously missing his mom’s cooking (not so much the awkward dinner conversations, but his mom’s cooking usually made up for it), but he was pretty desperate to keep his secret.

And it worked, at least for a while. About halfway into July his mom had it, turns out that both Mike and Nancy were skipping out on dinner almost every night, Mike staying out with his friends, running around in the woods and hanging out at Castle Byers until the sun went down and Nancy spending almost every night at Barb’s house, so she started forcing them to come home for dinner at least three days a week.

“I have no idea if you two are even eating, so I need to have some peace of mind and know that at least a couple days a week you are eating something besides pizza and soda.” She had said one evening when Nancy and Mike had both slipped in well after dinner.

Nancy had looked like she wanted to argue, something no doubt about how she was a teenager and it was embarrassing to have to leave her friends just so she could come home for dinner, but their mom had cut any argument off with a simple look. Mike simply nodded, before taking off up the stairs and into his room.

The rule was enforced the next day and was quite possibly the most awkward meal the Wheeler family has ever had, which was saying something. It also happened to be the hottest day of the summer so far, so Mike spent the entire meal with his right arm under the table, eating his dinner exclusively with his left hand.

“Michael, why are you eating with your left hand? You’re spilling food all over the table.” His mom finally questioned after he had knocked a considerably large spoonful of peas into his lap and onto the table.

“Uhh...just an bet my friends and I are doing.” He could see the look Nancy was giving him out of the corner of his eye, but refused to meet her glance. One look at her and the whole lie would come crashing down. “We’re trying to see who can do the most everyday activities with their non dominant hand, so I’m doing everything with my left hand.”

He has to admit that he pats himself on the back a little bit for that lie. It definitely doesn’t sound like something out of the realm of possibility when it comes to the bets that him and his friends would do, it would one hundred percent be something Dustin would come up with, but still.

“Well, your friends aren’t here right now Michael, and I doubt any of them will know if you ate your dinner with your right hand instead of your left hand.” His mom says, using that familiar tone, the I’m not arguing with you anymore on this, so either you can listen to me or be punished tone.

“But mom, we have to make sure all of our information is accurate, we all promised that we would do everything with our left hands. I can’t break a promise.”

That seems to get his mom to listen to him, and he smiles in relief when she seems to give up arguing. She merely sighs and goes back to her own meal. Nancy is still eyeing him weirdly, but he ignores her too, focusing instead on the weird tingle that had spread across his skin when he had mentioned never breaking a promise. At first he thought it was maybe just a chill, but the air is still outside, and the tingle seemed to originate from the mark.

He ultimately shakes it off, desperate to finish his dinner and get away from the table. He rebuffs his mom’s offer of desert, not really feeling like dripping ice cream all over her fancy table cloth and getting an ear full of a lecture after the fact.

However, he doesn’t make it very far once departing the dinner table, as Nancy is hot on his heels, obviously still weirded out by his actions during dinner.

“What?” Mike all but growls, spinning around to look at her when he’s in the doorway of his bedroom. She recoils slightly, taking a small step back but hardly backs down, only crossing her arms to glare at him.

“Geez, I’m just wondering what the hell has gotten into you. You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“Well, I appreciate the observation, but nothing’s going on. Like I said, my friends and I are doing an experiment. Didn’t think it would be this much of a conversation starter.” Mike notes, raising one eyebrow. He turns to go into his room, desperate to end the conversation, only Nancy reaches out and grabs him by the wrist, causing his blood to run cold.

“Mike, wait -,” she pauses, and Mike can practically himself go still under her touch. He doesn’t turn, not wanting to see her face, feeling far too embarrassed and flustered. “Have you been drawing on yourself or something? Is that why you didn’t want mom to see your arm? She does get really weird about that kind of stuff.”

Mike didn’t realize just how much breath he was holding in until he lets out a sigh of relief, turning slightly to give her an embarrassed smile.

“Yeah, Dustin and Lucas were writing things on their arms in permanent marker and I ended up getting hit with some of it.” He easily lies, shaking his head. “I knew mom would be pissed at me, so I lied about the experiment thing, her and dad usually check out whenever I bring up science.”

Nancy hummed, clearly only half listening as she continued to inspect the mark on his wrist. He could hear his blood pounding, loudly, in his ears, the longer she looked at it, the more anxious he was becoming that she would realize what it really was.

“Wait, this doesn’t look like it was written in marker, or pen, or written in anything for that matter.” Her eyebrows were crinkled together and Mike could feel beads of sweat forming in his hairline. “This looks like a tattoo…”

He yanked his arm from his sister’s hands, pulling it into his body. “It’s not a tattoo, Nancy.”

“Yeah, of course it isn’t. It’s a soulmate mark!” She exclaimed, trying to grab his arm again. He resisted, taking a step into his room and folding his arms across his chest.

“Shut up! I don’t want mom and dad to hear, just leave it alone.” Nancy nodded, seemingly understanding why he didn’t want their parents hearing. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not a big deal? Of course it’s a big deal, Mike.”

Mike scoffed, desperate to drop the conversation. He was already uncomfortable enough with someone else knowing, especially that someone being his older sister, the last thing he wanted to do was actually talk about it.

“Ok fine, maybe it is. But I don’t want to talk about it alright, so can we just drop it.” He sighed, dropping his arms from their cross position across his chest, his left index finger absentmindedly scratching at the mark. “Sorry, I just don’t wanna make a big deal about it so can you just not say anything about it to anyone?”

Mike hardly ever pleads with his sister for anything. Hell, he hardly ever has any reason to, but now he’s willing to do pretty much anything to keep her from revealing his secret to anyone.

Nancy considers his words for a second, before sighing and nodding. “Yeah, Mike. I won’t tell anyone. On one condition though.” He groans. He should have seen that one coming.

“What?”

Her entire face lights up, Mike is pretty sure she could light their Christmas tree next year. That does little to calm the nerves that are bundling in knots in the pit of his stomach.

“You have to tell me when you meet her.”

Mike’s pretty sure he lets out an audible sigh of relief, not because he wants his older sister to be privy to his private life, but because he was pretty sure she was going to ask him to do something for her.

“Fine, yeah. Whatever.” As non committable and bored as Mike’s response is, it seems to be enough for Nancy as she smiles and nods at him before retreating from his doorway into the direction of her own room.

Mike reads that as the end of the conversation and directs his attention elsewhere before his sister’s voice calls out to him again.  

“Hey, Mike.”

“Yeah?”

There’s a moment between them, one that rarely occurs between them, where Nancy smiles at him and he feels a weird affection for his older sister that always kind of makes him want to throw up after he experiences it.

“I’m happy for you.”

She disappears before he can formulate any kind of response, but he still smiles nevertheless.

Sometimes when he lays awake at night, he thinks about what his soulmate might be doing.

He tries to avoid the subject of who is soulmate might be, or what they look like, mainly just because then he gets overwhelmed with pictures and images and weird sensations that cause him to feel like he needs to stick his head out his window to calm down.

So, as summer begins to bleed into early fall, Mike spends night after night staring at the mark on his skin and just, wondering. He’s always prided himself on having an active imagination, it’s the reason he was unanimously voted as the dungeon master back in fifth grade when they started playing D and D, so his mind runs wild wondering what his soulmate might be doing.

He wonders if his soulmate is trying to find him. This thought tends to bring him a lot of guilt because, all things considered, he really hasn’t done anything to try to find his soulmate. Mainly because he would have no idea where to start, but it does make him feel like a pretty shitty soulmate to think that she, or he, might be out there searching for him while he sits around and does nothing.

He hopes that’s not the case, he doesn’t want to feel like he’s failing his soulmate before they’ve even met. But he’s a twelve year old kid, it’s not like he knows how to look for people, his soulmate would understand that, right?

Since that train of thought brings him almost as much anxiety as the big who? question, Mike typically just likes to imagine that his soulmate is doing the same thing that he is. Laying in bed, looking at the words on his or her wrist and hey, maybe they’re thinking about him.

When that’s the image that’s flooding his brain, he finds that it’s pretty easy to fall asleep with a smile on his face.

Things get interesting when school starts up again and a new girl joins their class at Hawkins Middle. Her name is Abigail and according to Dustin, she’s the prettiest girl that’s ever he’s ever seen in his entire life, and he’s convinced that she’s Mike’s soulmate.

Mike has never hoped that Dustin has been wrong more in his entire life. (That’s a slight overreaction, Mike definitely wanted Dustin to be wrong more when he told them he was pretty sure they were all going to get radioactive poisoning after swimming in the lake the summer before sixth grade, but this time is definitely high up on the list.)

It’s not that he doesn’t think Abigail is pretty, it’s just, if she was his soulmate, it would be a huge letdown. Mike wasn’t exactly expecting fireworks to explode in the sky and for the world to tilt or anything, but when Mike sees her for the first time, nothing about him feels any different. His heart doesn’t race, he doesn’t get goosebumps. In fact, if Dustin hadn’t pointed her out across the cafeteria, Mike wouldn’t have even noticed her.

“You’re just being negative, because you don’t want to admit that one, I could be right, and two, that your soulmate could be sitting over there.” Dustin retorts when Mike denies his initial claims that Abigail could be his soulmate.

“I’m not being negative, I really just don’t think it’s her.” Mike replies with a sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Besides, I figured you’d be happy about it considering you can’t stop staring at you, now she’s all yours.”

Dustin pretends he doesn’t hear Mike, shoveling a bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“Mike’s right, she was in my math class and I happened to sit next to her and I didn’t see any kind of tattoo on her wrist.” Will adds from Mike’s side.

“It could have just been really small or something, we all know Mike stumbles through his words maybe the first thing he says to her “um” or something just as short and dumb.”

Lucas snorts at that one, adding his first contribution to the conversation, but doesn’t add anything additional, too focused on the chocolate chip cookie in his hand.

“The mark on my wrist is literally the word “no” and it’s perfectly visible, hell that’s how you guys found out about it. If Will was sitting next to her and couldn’t see a mark, it’s probably because she doesn’t have one.”

At the mention of his own mark, all three of his friends glanced to his right wrist, which was adorned with the new calculator watch he had bought himself with a good chunk his summer allowance that he had saved. He had always kind of wanted one, and when he realized that school was starting again soon and it was still a little too warm in Hawkins to pull out long sleeve shirts and sweatshirts, he knew he needed something to cover the mark with.

“I hope you realize that none of this deteers me from thinking that she is your soulmate. Just accept your fate, Michael. The pretty blonde girl with the most adorable blue eyes is the girl that you are destined to spend the rest of your life with.”

Mike is pretty sure that Dustin actually sighs when talking about this girl, and he can see Lucas and Will exchange an amused glance, while Mike can only sigh and try and drop the conversation.

“I don’t really understand why you want her to be my soulmate so badly consider you talk about her like you’re in love with you. Besides, I really don’t think that she is.” Dustin opens his mouth, no doubt to argue but Mike doesn’t let him. “And no, I’m not just saying that.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me. But at least go up and talk to her, you won’t know for sure until you actually say something to her.”

Mike glances over to where Abigail is sitting and quickly shakes his head. Yeah, going over and talking to her is so not happening.

“I am not going over there and talking to her.”

Will and Lucas also look over to Abigail’s table and seem to understand Mike’s logic almost immediately, but Dustin, always determined to argue his way through situation, isn’t hearing it.

“Why? Scared I might be right?”

“No, she’s just sitting with Stacey and her annoying posse and I’m really not in the mood for getting laughed at right now.”

“Fine. But you have to talk to her by the end of the day.” Dustin counters, pointing his spoon at Mike, who only narrowly avoids getting splattered with chocolate pudding in the process. “Swear to me, Michael. You have to swear it.”

Mike knows that it’s nearly impossible to avoid swearing out of anything when Dustin is the one asking, he really only pulls out that big of a gun when it’s something he really cares about. Despite the fact that Mike knows he’s completely right in this case, he supposes it won’t hurt too much to humor Dustin’s theory.

“Alright, yeah, I swear it.”

And Dustin doesn’t let him forget it either. He’s on Mike’s heels all day long, fortunately for Dustin (and somewhat unfortunately in this case for Mike), the two of them share all of the rest of their classes of the day together, so Dustin is able to follow Mike around for the rest of the day.

However, Dustin’s wish doesn’t come into fruition until the final period of the day, English, when they walk in and Abigail is sitting there. Her blonde hair, which was previously down the last time Mike saw her, now tied up into a ponytail, “maybe she had gym class or something” he thinks absentmindedly, not caring all that much one way or another.

What he does care about, though, is the strength in which Dustin’s elbow is nailing itself into his ribs repeatedly when he sees that she too is in this class with them. Neither Lucas nor Will are here, the former in history and the latter in his art elective, and Mike can’t help but curse them, lucky bastards.

“Dude, go ask if you can sit next to her.” Dustin stage whispers, really not all that quietly, moving out of the way as more kids come into the classroom. They’re still standing near the doorway and quite a few of their classmates are glaring at them for standing in the way. “Even if she says no, which she very well might, that means she could be your soulmate.”

“First of all, do not say that word with other people around like this, I don’t need anyone else knowing, and secondly, I don’t want to sit next to her, what if she says yes.”

“Then, Michael, she’s not your soulmate and tomorrow you and I can sit next to each other. Just do it, you swore you would and the party doesn’t break swears, so go.” Mike doesn’t  have any opportunity to argue before Dustin quite literally pushes him in the direction of Abigail and Mike has to actively make sure he doesn’t run into any of the desks that Dustin hadn’t been accounting for.

He watches with a sigh as Dustin makes his way to the front and sits in a seat near the blackboard while Mike is forced to sit over by the window, a place he usually avoids as the light typically glares off the blackboard weirdly for him and makes it hard for him to see. But, Dustin’s right, he swore he would do this and party members don’t break swears.

The closer and closer he gets to her, the more nervous he becomes. He still doesn’t think she’s his soulmate or anything, but she’s still a girl and Mike Wheeler doesn’t talk to girls, especially ones he doesn’t know, hell, he barely even talks to girls he’s related to. So, he’s kind of out here in uncharted territory.

“Um, hi.” Mike manages to say when he’s standing right next to her. She looks surprised when she directs her attention to him, a small smile on her face. “Is anyone sitting here? I mean, do you mind if I sit here?”

She considers him for a moment, before letting out a small laugh. “No, go ahead. I’m Abigail, but you can call me Abby.”

Mike nods once he’s taken his seat, not wanting to look too relieved. The mark on his wrist was as cool as ever and he’s still as soulmate-less as ever.

“I’m Mike.” He replies, letting himself smile a little. Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry too much about holding any kind of conversation with her, as the teacher makes a move to stand in front of the class and Mike isn’t one to talk when the teacher is trying to get the attention of the class.

Mike can only flip Dustin off when he turns around halfway through the class.

As fall drags on, Mike starts to get worried.

It’s not like he still doesn’t have plenty of time, his birthday isn't until March, so he still has almost six whole months left to meet his soulmate, he’s just anxious and anxiety leads to worry.

He still hasn’t told anyone else, his sister keeping her promise to not tell their parents and with his watch, it’s getting a lot easier to hide the mark both at home and at school. In fact, all things considered, things are going as well as they could. Which is another reason he’s worried.

Basically, everything about having a soulmate makes him even more anxious than he already is on a day to day basis. Between worrying that the whole thing might be some kind of fluke and he doesn’t even have a soulmate (after he’s gotten, so used to and almost, happy about the whole thing) and he’s destined to end up alone and never have anyone love him, ever, and worrying that someone is going to find out, whether it be his parents or Troy fucking Harrington, he spends a lot of time worrying.

“Mike, you know everything's gonna be fine, right?” Will asks one day when Mike is particularly on edge. It’s a few days after Halloween and the two of them are doing homework in Mike’s basement.

“Do I give off the impression that I’m worried about something?” Mike asks, his pencil tapping loudly off the corner of his notebook. Will merely raises his eyebrows in response. “Fine, it’s just weird, I don’t even know what I’m so worried about.”

“You’re worried that the universe made a mistake and that you don’t actually have a soulmate because you haven’t met them yet and you’re worried that someone is gonna find out you have one and you don’t want anyone outside of us and Nancy to know.” Will says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, barely looking up from the homework he was doing and Mike’s jaw actually falls open.

“Are you a mind reader and you just never bothered to tell me?” Mike asks after a couple seconds once he gets over the shock that somehow Will seemed to know exactly what it was that was bothering him.

Will laughs softly, shaking his head. “I’m not a mind reader, Mike. I just observe people and you’re pretty easy to read. Besides, you’re one of my best friends, I like to think I know you pretty well.”

Mike considers all this for a second before giving his friend a grateful smile. “You really think everything’s gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, I really do.” Will says, a small smile on his face. “Unlike Dustin and Lucas who seem to like that you have a soulmate just to tease you over it, I actually think it’s really cool and I’m really happy that you have someone out there that’s made for you, because you’re a good guy and you deserve that.”

Mike smiles and he’s pretty sure that he’s never been more grateful to have Will Byers as one of his best friends as he does right at this very moment.

“Thank, Will.” Mike says, his voice uncharacteristic a little thick with emotion. “That really means a lot.”

“Don’t need to thank me for telling the truth.” Will replies with a shrug, directing his attention back to his homework. “But, you’re welcome.”

The two share a small smile and Mike feels the worry melt away from him a little bit, Will was right, everything was going to be fine.

Except everything is totally not fine because three days later Will does missing and it sets Mike’s entire world on an axis. When Will doesn’t show up at school it sets a panic into Mike that he’s never felt before and he realizes he’s never been more anxious than he is to go out and find his best friend.

Everything that day seems to drag on and the only thing on Mike’s mind is going out and looking for Will, so when night finally comes and him, Lucas and Dustin prepare themselves for their journey, Mike’s on edge and practically jumping around his basement.

“Mike, dude, calm down. We’re gonna find him.” Lucas says, throwing his flashlight into his backpack.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I know. I feel like something else is going to happen while we’re out there though, but I don’t know what. Like I’m worried about something that isn’t even there.” Mike says, and he means it. He knows that most of his current nerves have to do with Will, but there’s something else, something stirring in him that is worried about something else entirely.

“Well, everything’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna find Will and then we’re gonna all go home and tomorrow will be a new day.” Lucas says, clapping Mike on the shoulder and Dustin nods his encouragement from the corner.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Mike says, giving his friends tight smiles. “Let’s go.”

It’s raining harder than they all expected by the time they finally arrive at Mirkwood about twenty minutes later, none of them wearing quite the right protection, but none of them wanting to turn back. They came out to find Will and that’s what they’re going to do.

As they make their way through the woods, the weird feeling that Mike had felt earlier only grows stronger. It starts in his stomach and spreads throughout his entire body and soon he can barely hear himself think. The sounds of Dustin and Lucas bickering sound far off and distant, despite the fact that they’re right next to him. Then, he hears a snapping noise in the actual distance, which stops him in his tracks.

Shushing and stopping his friends, he shines the flashlight in his hand in the direction of the noise before turning, nearly jumping out of his skin when there’s suddenly a person in front of him. Not just any person, a girl.

Holy shit.

Mike’s entire body feels like it’s on fire as he looks at her. It’s hard to tell at first that she’s a girl, a short buzzed haircut in place of what’s usually long hair, but her soft features give her away and also make Mike’s heart feel like it’s going to burst out of his chest and he has no idea why.

Immediately, Dustin and Lucas start asking her a million questions, who are you? have you seen anyone else around here? where did you come from? can you hear me? But, Mike barely hears them. He hasn’t been able to stop looking at her, and it’s almost like she feels the same way because her eyes have been on his just as long as his have been on hers. Mike swears that the world could explode around them and he wouldn’t even notice.

“Mike? Man, are you alright?” Lucas asks, snapping Mike out of his daze. He tears his eyes away from the girl’s, ignoring the way his skin tingles and his heart immediately longs to look at her again. He doesn’t reply to Lucas with words though, only giving him a small nod.

“Can we get the hell out of this rain? It’s obvious that he’s not out here and I’m completely soaked.” Dustin complains from his other side. Mike has already directed his attention back to the girl and is already starting to think about what they’re going to do with her, it’s not like they can leave her out here.

“Yeah, let’s go. C’mon Mike.” Lucas says, tugging on Mike’s arm, trying to pull him away. Were they crazy? They just wanted to leave her here? In the rain, when all she had on was a t-shirt, she didn’t even have shoes on. He gave them both a look, trying to tell them what he was thinking before taking a couple of hesitant steps towards the girl.

She looked nervous as he approached her, but didn’t step back. That weird feeling was back and it was stronger than before and suddenly it all seemed to click into place. Was she his soulmate?

“Do you need any help?” He asked her softly, trying his best to keep his voice as even and calm as possible. He didn’t want to freak her out, even though his heart was beating wildly in his chest and his entire body felt like someone had set fire to it.

The girl didn’t respond at all at first and Mike momentarily wondered if maybe she didn’t hear him, or didn’t understand English, but eventually she gave him a small nod. Wordlessly, Mike smiled, removing his jacket and putting it around her shoulders, he hardly needed it, she looked like she was going to die of hypothermia if she was out here any longer.

“I’ll take you back to my house and then we’ll figure out what to do from there, okay?” The girl was still looking at him with a wide eyed expression, and had yet to say anything to any of them, but she nodded again, seemingly willing to follow him home. Dustin and Lucas on the other hand were looking at him like he had three heads.

“It’s the right thing to do.” He said to them as he led the girl back up towards the road, where they had left their bikes, not leaving his friends any room to argue with him.

This girl, this girl who might be his soulmate, needed help and he was going to give it to her.

Twenty minutes later, they’re back in Mike’s basement, the girl on his couch, with his jacket still around her shoulders, her body still shaking, while the three of them stand in front of her. Mike can tell that she’s nervous by the way she’s looking at them, and Mike almost wishes that Lucas and Dustin weren’t here, that maybe she would be less on edge if it were just the two of them.

He wonders if she’s feeling all the same weird feelings that he is.

As the seconds begin to tick on, Mike’s entire body continues to tingle and he’s anxious to hear the sound of her voice. She still hasn’t said a word to either of them and part of Mike worries that maybe she isn’t able to.

However, beyond all that, Mike’s heart seems to tug him towards her. Even though Lucas and Dustin seem to not want anything to do with her, Mike can’t bring himself to abandon her. He’s only known her for about a half an hour and he already feels such a strong devotion to her, like if he walked away from her now, his heart would be missing a piece.

He swears that this girl is his soulmate and every second that ticks on without knowing for certain feels like an eternity.

Finally, Mike gets a moment away from Lucas and Dustin’s nosy glares when he brings her over to the bathroom so she can change into something warmer. He can’t help the soft smile that falls upon his face as he helps her, the look of wonder on her face as she looks around his bathroom tugging at his heartstrings in a way he never thought something could.

It makes him sad that she somehow isn’t accustomed to all the simple luxuries that he lives with every day of his life, but it just burns a determined fire in him to make sure that someday she’ll live with all of these luxuries and more.

When she stops him from closing the door, the small smile that had been on his face morphs into confusion.

“You don’t want it closed?” He asks softly, glancing between her and door. There’s a moment of hesitation on her part, where she looks at the space between him and the door before her eyes are on him again.

“No.” The word is soft on her lips and once it hits Mike’s ear, his entire body tingles. The story had said the mark would burn, which had always made Mike think it would hurt, but no the sensation is quite the opposite. He feels like he’s being hugged on every inch of his body, like all of his clothes had just been put in the dryer and he had crawled into clean sheets, like hot chocolate and his mom’s homemade chocolate chip cookies right after coming out of the oven. It was the most wonderful feeling Mike had ever felt.

He managed to stumble through the rest of their conversation, his body tingling when he got to hear her voice once more, before leaving her to get changed. He couldn’t believe he had actually found her.

Before he went back over to Dustin and Lucas, who he knew weren’t going to be impressed with what they had just witnessed, he allowed himself to beam. And even though Will was still missing, he really did believe everything was going to be okay.

He had found his soulmate and somehow, at this moment in time, that was everything.

people who asked to be tagged: @stydixa, @janeswheeler & @mileven-353

[numinousmysteries]

Vanquish by Wisdom Hellish Wiles (2/?)

Chapter 1 On AO3

@fictober @today-in-fic

Chapter 2

One Year Earlier

For as long as he could remember, William Van De Kamp couldn't wait to leave his boring hometown behind. His classmates' families had been in Wyoming for generations and their only dreams were taking over their family farms or going into mining. William liked to think he might study medicine and find cures for devastating diseases, or become a physicist and solve the mysteries of the universe. He was only three years away from graduating high school and even though his parents would prefer he went to college in-state because of the cheaper tuition, he was willing to do anything he could to get scholarships or financial aid to go somewhere far, far away from middle of nowhere Wyoming.

It didn’t help that he had freakish abilities like knowing what someone was going to say before they said it or making an object move without touching it.

He’d known from an early age that he was adopted. Even if his parents hadn’t told him, it would’ve been obvious. At fifteen he was already taller than his mother and nearly as tall as his dad. and he shared none of their features. His parents had given him everything he needed growing up, but as small town farmers there was only so much they could do to satisfy his fierce intelligence and bottomless curiosity. All through elementary school his teachers urged his parents to let him skip a grade since he was so far ahead of the other students, but they held firm that they wanted him to be as normal as possible. He argued that there wasn’t anything abnormal about being smart, but they just sighed and told him to try to be less of a smart aleck around the other kids. Needless to say, he didn’t have the easiest time making friends.

He'd just gotten in trouble again for correcting his biology teacher and finishing her sentences in class. At yet another strained meeting between him, his parents, and the high school principal, his parents made him apologize profusely for his behavior and promise to never do it again.

“What do you know about my real parents?” he asked his parents when they returned home.

“We are your parents,” his father said.

“You know what I mean.”

His mother gave an aggravated sigh and his father just shook his head.

“We’ve told you everything we know,” his mother said. “Your birth mother was a single mom who couldn’t handle the responsibility of a baby. She probably wasn’t much older than you are now.”

“Especially the responsibility of a kid who’s a freak,” William said. “I bet you wish you could give me up now, too.”

“Don’t ever say that, William,” his mother raised her voice. “You are the best gift we could’ve asked for.”

“Whatever,” William said. He got up from the kitchen table and stomped up the stairs to his room.

He had to suspect that his real mother knew something about why he was so different than all the other kids. Maybe she even could’ve helped him deal with his abilities. But instead she just handed him off to some unsuspecting couple who couldn’t have a baby of his own. He almost felt bad for his parents. They thought they were getting a nice, normal baby but instead they got stuck with him.

The principal of his school insisted to his parents that he see a therapist and gave him the name of a woman who came highly recommended. Neither of his parents had ever seen a therapist and they weren't sure how they felt about William talking to one, but when the principal said it was go for an appointment or face expulsion, they felt like they had no choice. Before his mother took him to his first appointment, though,she made him promise to not tell the therapist about his special “talents,” as they called them.

William sat with his mother quietly in the waiting room. It was set up for younger kids, with a chest of toys and some building blocks. The room was empty except for the two of them, and for a place that supposedly had a lot of little kids running around it seemed oddly sterile.

"William Van De Kamp?" William looked up and saw a thin woman with short black hair. She was pretty. He'd been expecting someone more like his frumpy teachers but with her black pantsuit she looked more like a city businesswoman than a small town therapist.

William and his mother both stood up. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

"No, thanks," he said.

"Alright," said the therapist. "You can follow me."

Her office was small with jam-packed bookcases lining two walls that made it seem even more claustrophobic. But it was impeccably clean and there weren't any traces of the kid toys from outside.

"Hi William," she said. "My name is Monica Reyes."

She extended his hand and after a pause he reached out to shake it. "Nice to meet you, Miss Reyes."

"Please, Monica is fine."

He didn't like the way Monica was looking at him. She kept smiling as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other in years.

"William, your parents told me you were having some trouble at school. Do you want to tell me, in your own words, what's going on?"

He sat quietly. nervous that anything he said would make him sound more like a freak.

When he didn't speak, Monica said, "Before you start, I do want to let you know that everything we talk about here doesn't leave this room--not even to your parents. Unless you tell me you've hurt yourself or someone else--or you plan on doing so--I won't tell your parents or anyone from your school anything we discuss."

"Okay," he said but he still felt hesitant.

"Why don't we start with your classmates," she said. "Do you have any close friends?"

"No," he said. "I don't have any friends."

"None at all?"

"No, I can't stand anyone in my school. They're all so dumb and even if I tried to make friends with them, they'd just be mean to me anyway."

"That sounds like it must be difficult," Monica said. She had a yellow legal pad on her lap but she didn't have a pen. William thought that was strange based on the few times he'd seen a movie or TV show where someone went to a therapist or psychologist.

"Shouldn't you be taking notes?" he asked.

"What?"

"You're just holding that pad but you have nothing to write with. Don't therapists usually write stuff down?"

Monica smiled, an even wider and somehow creepier smile than the one she'd had before. "That's a good point," she said, but didn't make a move to get a pen or pencil from her desk.

"William, have you ever felt that you were different from all the people around you?"

William squinted at her. He wasn't sure if this was a trick question, something to make him admit how weird he was. He didn't answer.

"Or maybe that you're destined for something bigger than your life now?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he said. "The second one. Like I can't wait to get out of school and start doing something exciting."

She grinned at him again and reached out to put the yellow notepad on her desk. Now she just held her hands in her lap which was very strange.

"William, I have to be completely honest with you. I'm not really a therapist. I used to work with your parents--your real parents--and now I've come to work for your paternal grandfather. It's very important that you not repeat anything I'm about to tell you, not even to your parents."

This was really messed up, William thought. Adults weren't supposed to have secrets with kids. But he felt intensely curious about his birth parents and now his grandfather that he resisted the logical voice in his head saying he should run out the door and tell his mother this woman was crazy.

"This is going to sound strange, but it will also explain some of your special abilities."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's okay, William, you don't have to hide any of that from me."

She went on, "Your grandfather was once part of a global organization that made contact with extraterrestrial life in 1947. They learned that a species of aliens had visited our planet millions of years ago. The were returning soon to recolonize it through spreading a virus that would infect all of humanity and turn us all into hosts for their kind."

William couldn't help but laugh. "Are you serious? Aliens?"

"Let me finish, William," she said. "Your grandfather's organization included members of government from all the most powerful nations, but for reasons that will become obvious it was kept a secret. These men wanted to save humanity so they offered the aliens a deal--put off colonization in hopes that they'd buy some time to develop a vaccine against the virus, and in exchange they would each surrender a family member to the aliens for them to study our genome."

William was speechless. His small town library had a very limited selection of books on ESP and telekinesis when he had tried researching what was going on with him, they all suggested such abilities were probably were the result of abnormal brain activity. He'd read nothing about flying saucers and little green men.

"I know it doesn't make sense. But neither does your ability to read minds and move things without touching them, does it?"

"I can't do it all the time," he said.

"That's alright," Monica said. "That's one of the reasons we've come to find you. Your grandfather wants me to work with you to develop your abilities, so that when colonization comes you will be part of the new global elite that will rule alongside the extraterrestrials."

"But what about the vaccine?"

Monica sat back in her chair. She wasn't smiling anymore and instead looked sad. "I'm afraid it's too late for that. All of the efforts to develop a vaccine failed and time is running out. We only have around a year before the virus is activated and begins to spread."

This had to be bullshit. It had to be one of those tests psychologists give you to see if your crazy.

He arched his eyebrows. "I don't believe you," he said. "Aliens don't exist."

Monica smiled.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, just...your face right now....you remind me so much of your mother."

William paused. This woman knew his birth mother somehow and she knew about his abilities so he had an inkling to trust her even though what she was saying was insane. He tried to focus his attention on her thoughts. This rarely worked when he actively tried it so he wasn't surprised when nothing clear came to the surface.

"Where is my mother now?"

A pained expression passed over Monica's face. William closed his eyes and the image of a woman with red hair appeared in his mind's eye. It's a vision he'd had before. The woman's face was never in focus but he'd sometimes think he could see tendrils of her hair falling around his face. When he reached out to grab a strand, his hands were small and chubby like a baby's. This time, though, he must've been seeing the woman through Monica's eyes. Her face was much clearer. She had piercing blue eyes, like his own and she looked like she was crying.

"Your mother gave you up for adoption because she was afraid for your safety. She thought that if people found out about your abilities they would want to hurt you."

"Why?"

"Well, the reason you have these talents is because your genome contains both human and alien DNA in a proportion never seen before. For decades, your grandfather's organization had tried to create an alien human hybrid that would survive the alien takeover."

"Ok, so now you're trying to tell me I'm part-alien? That my real dad was an alien?"

"You're genome contains alien DNA because both your parents were exposed to it before you were born. For a short period of time, your father was even able to read minds like you can. We need your genetic material to ensure that our group is able to survive the invasion. Would you be willing to meet with me, and eventually your grandfather, to help us?"

This was nuts. This woman had to be out of her mind or was trying to prove he was out of his mind or something. But there were parts of the story that made sense. He did have the ability to read minds, but it flickered on and off like a light bulb. It also might explain why his mother gave him up. And maybe this was the moment he felt he'd been destined for his whole life--to transcend his boring reality and do something heroic.

"And William, one more thing. If you tell your parents, or anyone else, about what I've told you today you will be putting their lives in jeopardy. Do you understand?"

William realized his heart was pounding. Was she going to kill his parents if he didn't agree to meet with her?

"Fine," he said finally. "What do I have to do?"

Monica smiled. "I knew you'd do the right thing. I'll just keep setting up weekly appointments with your mother and all you have to do is keep coming. I think that's all the time we have for now. It was so good to finally meet you, William."

"Sure, okay," he stammered.

He let himself out of the room. His mother was still waiting where he left her pretending to read a magazine but he could feel her thoughts on him. She looked up at the sound of the door opening. "How'd it go?" she asked.

"Good," William said. "I think I'd like to see her again."

His mother smiled. "That's wonderful. She comes very well recommended and she's actually charging us much lower than her normal fee since she knows we don't have much money, so I'm glad it worked out."

"That's nice," he said, wondering if Monica had also threatened someone at his school to recommend her to his parents or how she knew how to find him.

Over the next year, William met with Monica once a week. While his mother waited in the always empty waiting room, he learned more about his role in the coming invasion. Even though he wasn't actually receiving any therapy, he tried to act better in school, partly because he wanted his parents to think his "therapy" was working and partly because he was so distracted thinking about the plans. He also tried to imagine his grandfather, who Monica promised he would meet when the time came.

As the date approached, he felt both excited and terrified. He asked Monica more than once about the vaccine but she kept insisting it was too late. There wasn't anyone else he could ask so he had to believe her. She was preparing him for leaving his old life behind--including his parents and everyone he knew--but he didn't like the idea that everyone else had to die so that he could live. Monica told him when the time came, they would take him to a safe house where doctors would harvest stem cells from his bone marrow to implant in the rest of the group. He couldn't understand why they wouldn't just do it earlier so that more people could get his stem cells. But Monica told him if anyone knew what was going on, there would be mass panic and no one would survive. She promised if he came with her he'd have the chance to do truly great work and advance the future of mankind.

Finally, Monica told him the date when it would all begin. The plan was that he'd leave for school as usual but instead of going into the building he'd turn a couple of blocks earlier and see Monica and his grandfather waiting for him. It's a plan he'd rehearsed in his mind for months leading up that moment, but as he lay in bed that morning it had felt like the last thing he wanted to do.

He'd had the dream again the previous night. It was a dream he'd been having for as long as he could remember. He's building a sand castle on the beach with a tall, dark-haired man. He'd never seen the man before in real life but his face was always so vivid unlike other hazy figures like the red-headed woman he'd see sometimes. The older he got, the more William realized he resembled the man. They had the same jawline and the nose his mother called "strong," but he always thought of as way too big for his face. He liked to imagine that the man was his real father, but Monica told him he'd only spent two days with his father and it'd be impossible to remember him.

In his most recent dream, the tide was rising and each wave inched closer to the sand castle they were building, threatening to wash it away.

"It's going to get ruined," William said.

"It's okay. We can fix it," said the man. "Do you trust me, William?"

"Yes," he said. And he did. For as long as he'd had this recurring dream he always felt safe with the man on the beach. He'd had other dreams of people chasing him or trying to hurt him, but in this dream he always felt happy and at peace, like he was home.

"Good. I trust you, too, son" he said. "And I trust that you'll do the right thing."

A wave broke at the shore and rushed toward their sand castle. Before William could see if the wave got close enough to wash over it, he woke up in a cold sweat to the shrill buzz of his alarm clock. He pounded the snooze button.

Something was wrong. What was the right thing that his father wanted him to do? Was it to go along with Monica and join the small group that would survive the apocalypse? For months he'd believed that was what he had to do, but he felt like his father was trying to tell him something else. Monica said his real parents couldn't be included in the group that survived because they were determined to reveal the project which would put everything in jeopardy. She seemed to have answers to all his questions, but in the back of his mind he kept thinking it didn't add up. What if his real parents knew a way to save everyone?

The alarm clock went off again and he finally sat up. His parents were already off at work when it was time for him to go to school. He had his backpack filled not with textbooks and notebooks, but with a change of clothes and some toiletries like Monica had instructed him. He dressed and walked down the stairs of his house. He tried to memorize the way the old wooden steps sounded and felt under his feet, and where all the dimples of paint and old nail holes were on the walls. He'd most likely never see his house or his parents ever again. He shut the front door and turned around to face the house. It was the only home he'd ever known.

Monica and his grandfather were probably already waiting for him at the meeting spot. It would be so easy to just go with them and let them guide him through the next phase of the project. As he took his first steps away from the house and toward the school, though, he heard his father's voice from the dream echoing in his ears and he knew he wasn't doing the right thing. Without a plan or destination, he turned in the opposite direction and began to run.