#i think it's because it's my first intentional multi-chapter

[duskandcobalt]

any updates on the modern elriel au? 👀 i can't wait :)

Hiii! First of all, it makes me happy that someone is even interested in this little unpublished modern AU of mine so thank you for that 🥹

To answer your question, I'm still hacking away at it!

I've had a rough few weeks so google docs hasn't seen much love lately buuuut the first chapter or two have pretty much been done for weeks now and I have a good chunk of the fic partially written, if not thoroughly outlined.

There's just a few big gaps that I'm wrestling with and I'd like to sort them out before I start posting but maybeeee I should just bite the bullet and upload the first chapter and go from there 👀🤷‍♀️

In the meantime, I think I've finally decided on a title so here's a little banner I made for the ~vibes~

[finniestoncrane]

Old Times Pornstar!Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, multi-part au fic cooper howard is a former actor, novice pornstar, and current wasteland escort. reader mistakes him for a bounty hunter and ends up getting far more entwined in his lifestyle than they intended in a bid to get what they need from the first 'kind' person they've met in a long time🤎

☢️ Chapter 3: Show Time, word count: 4.5k cooper has a little idea that really seems like a win-win-win-win!! reader gets enough money to hire a bounty hunter, cooper gets paid his due, they both get to spend more time together, and hundreds of people will benefit from that!! unless you hate cowboy themed puns, in which case you WILL NOT benefit... Chapter 1 Chapter 2 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: penetrative sex, blowjobs, cumshot, facial, sex on tape, pornography/sex work, rough sex, exhibitionism, puns and bad acting abound, missionary/doggy style/cowgirl, fingering

The bar was open when you woke up, surprisingly selling alcohol as well as some food. No one else appeared to be eating, only sipping out of bottles or chipped mugs in complete silence. So you thought it would be best to join them. 

Once you were comfortable on your stool, you rifled through your bag, finding a few caps in the inside pocket. You asked the bartender for a beer and took a swig, scowling at the taste, but taking another one immediately after anyway. The bitter flavour was waking you up, heightening your senses, clearing your mind with enough of a shock that you could hear your thoughts. About Cooper, about the night before, about how or when you were going to either continue on your mission, or return home empty handed, worse off than when you left. 

It would be a difficult choice. But not one you had to make immediately. You could allow yourself a day, maybe another night here or in the next settlement. A break from reality. From the pain of home. You rifled through your bag once more, making sure you had enough of what you needed, except for caps, which you were now lacking in completely, and finished the last of your beer. You had intended to go for a walk around the town, see what else a big settlement like this had to offer, but as you stood up and turned, you walked straight into the person standing behind you. 

“You leaving without a goodbye then, darlin’? When you owe me money?”

“Cooper! I, uh… I wasn’t actually-”

“You think I wouldn’t notice?” 

He tossed your caps onto the bar, all of them jangling together in their container. 

“I seem to be missing a few.”

“Well, I had to pay for the other room, so I thought-”

“No excuses.”

He tapped the tin with one gloved finger, looking at you intently, never blinking, not once.

“You didn’t even leave me a tip. Was it that bad? ‘Cause it sure didn’t seem like it was.”

“No! Cooper, it was… it was really good.”

You had lowered your voice, aware that there were people close enough to hear your discussion, and not wanting to embarrass Cooper in front of them, or have yourself outed to the entire town as the new girl who was only there to fuck their resident trick pony. In response, Cooper leaned in, whispering, his voice rumbling through his chest as he grinned.

“Well, I suppose I can let you in on my plan. A way for you to keep that pittance for your bounty hunter and to give me my dues, plus interest. Whaddaya say?”

It took all of your focus not to jump immediately at the opportunity. Most of that enthusiasm was down to the idea that you might get to spend even more time with Cooper, something you’d been pining for since you’d left the room the night before. And it killed two birds with one stone, because the longer you were here, under the guise of actually working on the plans you set out with, the longer you could avoid the seemingly inevitable conclusion of having to return home with nothing. 

Maybe Cooper would offer you something new. An opportunity. Maybe, if you prayed hard enough, you could spend the rest of your life doing nasty things with Cooper, having fun, with someone more exciting that anything you had ever encountered before, and then you’d never have to face home or the failure that came with it. That felt like a pretty good deal. 

For Cooper, it was a chance to feel like himself again. He’d spent so long in this new body, this new way of thinking, that he had almost forgotten what values he held close. Before this, before the bombs, before Barb and Vault Tec and the divorce. Until you had spoken simple words of kindness to him, he’d never thought about how much he’d given up. But he realised that with you, he had a chance to help someone, and help himself, his old self, at the same time. 

And it wasn’t as if he was giving up on being a reprehensible bastard cold turkey. Even though he was doing some good, he was lining himself up for a damn good time in the process. He just couldn’t send you away yet though, not when he was feeling a proper connection for the first time in a long time. Not when there was someone he felt something with. 

Both of you were also worried about the same thing, though neither of you would admit it. It felt far too soon, almost cliched, to be so tied to one another already, but there was a tether there between you. Cooper couldn’t face the idea of going back to anonymous, meaningless sex where his body was the focus and his mind and soul were locked in a box until he was finished doing the task he was paid for. He couldn’t bear the thought of feeling the inside of someone else’s body, when he’d known yours so intimately, although briefly. And on very much the same train of thought as Cooper, it pained you to think about him going off and being with other people, forgetting about you maybe, after one or two or three more clients. There was more to your encounter than that, more than could, or should, be forgotten. Fate, kismet, destiny. 

But those felt like very sappy words to throw out so soon after meeting each other, if at all. So you both kept looking at one another until you broke first under his intense gaze.

“Ok then, Cooper. What did you have in mind?”

“Follow me.”

He stood up from the bar and walked towards a table in the corner of the room, shaded and dark, as though he required the atmosphere to drill home the nature of the deal which you imagined was going to be shady, given Cooper’s mischievous grin. Once you were both seated, he leaned in across the table and spoke in a hushed tone.

“Now, I told you I have a way for me to get paid, and for you to make enough money to find a better bounty hunter than you were gonna for that shit budget you had before, but you’re gonna have to hear me out, darlin’, because I don’t think you’ll take kindly to this to begin with.”

You nodded slowly, brows furrowing in a look of concern as you wondered what Cooper was about to say to you. But instead of opening with his plan, he opted to ease you into it, sort of uncomfortably, by reflecting on the night before. 

“Listen… I don’t want to give you any undue credit for what was all my work, but last night… Well, that was really something.”

Swallowing your nerves, you nodded once more, trying to downplay the excitement burning in your throat. It might never happen again, despite how much you wanted it, but at least Cooper had felt the same way. It had been different. Special, if you wanted to use a word that made you almost cringe. 

“I gotta tell you, I haven’t had that kind of chemistry with someone since… well, in a long time. Usually, this work, it’s a means to an end that doesn’t seem to be coming. But I think I know how to get out of it. If you’ll… indulge me.”

Another nod. Still no words. You didn’t think you could speak even if you had anything to say except a shrill, giddy scream. 

“Now, before all of this, and I mean before all of this, I was something of a star. Up on the big screen, and the small screen. Just about any screen they had. And while I’m not particularly proud of some of my work, having had to let my body do the lead role, I can’t deny that it was lucrative. There’s always money in sex, y’know?”

You imagined there was. Already you’d sunk your remaining life savings into it, and you’d only been propositioned once. It was clearly an industry worth something, even though Cooper hardly sold it by proclaiming he wasn’t proud of it. Still, you were keen to know where he was going with this, still unsure, or perhaps not allowing yourself to read too far ahead in fear of making an assumption that would be incredibly embarrassing. 

“See, the kind of chemistry we had - have - is one you don’t come across too often, and it works so well on screen. We’d be foolish not to take advantage of that, don’t you think?”

“I agree.”

Your voice cracked on the last syllable, but you felt you had managed to play it cool as best as you could be expected to when Cooper was smiling at you the way he was, leaning over the table, close enough to you that you could feel his warm breath on your cheeks.

“So I propose that we use it to our advantage. A contact of mine, scavenger, he found some pretty good equipment, and one of his friends figured out how to work it. I bought it from them, nostalgia’s sake. We could make ourselves a little movie, sell some bootleg holotapes at the bar to my vast and varied clientele. Profits for me, profits for you. What do you think?”

“You want us… to…?”

“Make some pornography. You’re familiar with it, aren’t you?”

And of course you were. Who wasn’t? Explicit material was hoarded, traded, treated like high class art because of its desirability but rarity. Hand-drawn, audio recordings, some magazines. But you’d never watched any before.

“And that’s… that’s something people would want?”

Cooper scoffed, settling back in his chair, shrugging his shoulders so nonchalantly at your query. 

“They might not know it, but it is. Any TV out there, provided it’s not blasted to shit, you can connect it to power. It won’t show anything new of course, but they’ll play a holotape. I know we’ve got a market for this. I know it. But you’ll just have to trust me, I suppose.”

You mulled it over. There were so many things to take into consideration, and so few of them were actually permeating past the excitement of getting to fuck Cooper once more. Besides, you needed the money. It wasn’t as if you were in a position to turn down whatever it was he was going to offer in the way of a grand scheme. You still felt like there should be at least an attempt at pretending to think it over, so you asked him the only question you could think of. 

“How will I know what to… do? Or say? Is there going to be a story?”

Cooper grinned wide, his yellowed teeth bared at you in a mischievous expression as he leaned in once more. 

“Oh don’t you worry about that. I had a bit of a hobby, writing scripts. No one ever wanted them, but I always fancied myself moving into writing or directing in my later years. And how much later can we get, I’m already two hundred years after considering that.”

Despite giggling at his comment, you could feel the sudden stress rising up in your chest, and you took a deep breath before asking him the follow up question that was playing on your mind.

“Do I need to like… remember what to say?”

“You know what, darlin’?”

Cooper took your hand in his, patting it condescendingly, but you took the comfort eagerly.

“You don’t have to say a thing except for what comes naturally. You let me carry the scene. I am the actor, after all.”

He winked to you, lifting his glass and downing his drink in one. 

“Shall I show you my script then? You in?”

With an enthusiastic nod you got up when he did, following him back through to the room you had paid for the previous day and sitting down on the bed with him, clutching the frayed, torn papers he had tossed to you from his pocket. Reading over it, you could feel both a desire to giggle and blush, as well as a heat crossing your lower back. It was so corny, so obvious, but nevertheless it was arousing. 

“So, what do you think then, darlin’? Am I good, or am I good?”

“Oh… you’re good, Cooper.”

“You in then?”

Again, you didn’t want to seem too eager, so you pretended to mull it over, looking at the paper so you could avoid Cooper’s gaze, before you set them down next to you and nodded to him.

“I’m in.”

He clapped his hands in excitement, stomping heavily towards the pack in the corner of the room, his own possessions stowed away neatly, a lifetime condensed, dust picking up around him, becoming unsettled in his frenzy. 

“What are you… Oh… Oh, Cooper… really?”

In his hands he held two items of clothing. A skirt that was barely anything, moth-bitten and stained slightly, but still surprisingly white in colour. And a shirt, similarly discoloured, fringe detailing on the collar with frayed embroidery detail the shoulders.

“You gotta look the part, darlin’. Now, you go put that on and I’ll get us set up.”

In the bathroom, you put on the outfit Cooper somehow just had, clearly waiting for an opportunity like this to come up, waiting for someone to fill the role. It made you feel special, like you were the chosen one. And that boost of confidence made you feel all the more attractive in the skimpy skirt and shirt that felt a little too tight across your chest. Upon exiting the bathroom, you found Cooper waiting for you by the side of the bed, the big heavy lump of equipment sitting on the wonky dresser and aimed at the bed. 

“Shouldn’t it look more like… a Western in here?”

“You got the budget for set dressing, missy?”

You raised your hands up, a silent apology for even questioning it, realising that Cooper had quickly been distracted by your outfit and was already forgetting your insolence as he took in how much of your legs were on display. 

Snapping himself out of the fugue state brought on by your body, he swallowed the collecting drool in his mouth and hit the button on the camera, walking over to you and winking. You did your best to recollect the bare bones of the script, enough that it might see you through this. But you were confident that in your excitement, you could play the part well enough.

“You’re safe now, ma’am. Those raiders won’t be comin’ round here no more.”

Standing before Cooper, you hesitated for a moment. But when he caught your eye, he offered you an encouraging nod and a smile that washed away most of your nerves, enough that you managed to get out your first line. And once that was out of the way, everything after it came easily.

“Why, kind sir. How can I ever repay you?”

“Well, little lady, I can think of plenty of ways you could thank me for my valiant efforts.”

“And what might those be, sir?”

Cooper hooked his arm around your back, pulling you into a quick embrace, tipping up the brim of his hat so he could lean into you.

“Oh! Well, sir… is that a pistol in your pocket? Or are you just that happy to do a good deed?”

“It’s my six shooter, darlin’. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you unload it.”

“Wow, you truly are a real cowboy, ain’t you?”

Pushing past the urge to cringe at the slight accent you were putting on, you managed to keep up the flirtatious act as you leaned into Cooper, hands behind your back to push your chest out further as you swayed a little. 

“Indeed I am, little miss. Now, let me show you how a cowboy gets his thanks.”

Cooper grabbed your hips, pushing you backwards until you landed on the rusting bed with a thud and a squeak. He was quick to hike up your skirt, pushing the fabric up until you were exposed to him, no underwear on. He pulled at your waist, angling you so you could be seen by the camera, and as you nervously pressed your thighs together he pushed his hand between your legs and spread them back apart.

Two of his fingers began gently stroking at your already wet and aching cunt, diving into it slowly, testing the waters, teasing you, like a glimpse of what was to come as his fingertips tapped right against the perfect spot. 

“You sure are somethin’, sweetheart. A mare to tame, huh? Lucky for you, I’ve done my fair share of ranch work.”

He worked quickly at his belt and pants, letting them slide down to his thighs, freeing his thick, hard cock. No sooner than you had begun to admire it, mouth watering, stomach clenching, he had lined it up with your entrance. He slid the tip against your folds, the head tapping your clit and sliding back down before he shifted his hips and pushed forward, entering you in one smooth motion. 

Your body reacted with a wave of heat, electricity flooding your nervous system, waves of static rushing over you as he began to pump his hips into you. He pushed his arms behind your back and lifted you slightly, bringing you to an angle, bucking up to fuck you deeper. You hooked a leg around his waist, holding him as close as possible, not wanting him to ever slide his cock back out of your cunt. You felt complete with it in there, throbbing against your walls. 

With your body close to his, he pressed his forehead to yours, unblinking as he focused on your eyes. There was an insatiable hunger in them, a ravenous desire for you that wasn’t just a bit for the camera. Cooper was really that hungry for you, greedy in his ruinous pounding as he let his cheek rest beside yours, tugging on your earlobes with his teeth as he grunted with exertion. Your heart thrummed as he teased your skin, working down your neck, biting the skin and sucking it into his mouth with a soft groan. 

But he let up quickly, softening the blow of his sudden stopping by cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“Bend over, darlin’. I wanna ride you like the wild pony I know you are.”

You were up and repositioning yourself almost immediately, his cock slipping free of your cunt with a deliciously wet sound, your thighs coated in your arousal, spreading apart once you were on your knees before him on the bed, waiting to be filled again. 

Cooper watched as you opened yourself up to him, holding his breath as he lined his head up once again with your cunt, pushing in slowly, inch by inch, until he was completely swallowed by your warmth. Setting himself at a brutal pace, he snapped his hips back and forwards against you, biting back his moans, breath hitching as he pulled your hips down onto him hard and fast. His fingers dug into your waist, nails pressing sharp crescents into your skin as he recklessly fucked you.

With a silent scream you arched your back as he rutted into you, deep and penetrating, only becoming more erratic as you writhed under him, squirming with pleasure as the head of his cock pounded against your g spot. Each knock felt like a jolt surging through you, each buck of his hips, the way he rolled into you, a sweet impact of pain and pleasure. You could feel him through you, full of him, happy to take him like this, his co-star, a place for him to bury his cock and make his money.

His legs began trembling, and he slowed his pace with a deep exhale.

“Wanna see if you can make me scream ‘yeehaw’, sweet thing? Why don’t you hop up on my lap. You can ride me so hard they might need to take me out back and shoot me.”

Cooper settled himself onto the bed beside you, patting against his thighs and waiting as you adjusted yourself once more, your legs straddling his hips. He held the base of his cock still as you sank down onto it, your cunt spreading, stretching to fit him once more, taking the entire length immediately, feeling completely stuffed.

He hissed, biting his lip as his cock disappeared into you once more, the pressure around him as you clenched, gripping him, had him whispering out in heated moans, until he was finally accustomed to the feeling. 

“I hope you’ve got good balance there, darlin’, cos I want you riding me bareback like you were a pro.”

His voice rasped on the words, a low, guttural sound that fell over his lips, a threat more than flirtatious joking, and you were happy to see it through. 

Working your thighs, you began rolling your own hips against him, feeling him twitch as you slid up and down his cock. Cooper’s breathy moans only spurred you on, moving faster, harder against him. His eyes were focused on your body, the way your breasts bounced as you rode him.

In a frenzied move that almost had you falling from him, he pulled your neck, bringing your body down to him, your hips moving up and down to keep sliding over his cock, bringing it inside of you, still buried deep within your cunt, but now he could nuzzle against your chest. 

His breath was warm against your skin, his neck stretching so he could catch your nipples in his mouth, worrying the buds with his teeth and tongue, sucking at them with satisfied sounds of ecstacy. Cooper’s own hips had begun bucking to, a syncopated rhythm between you both that led to a wild, frenetic pumping of his cock inside of your aching, fluttering walls. 

“Fuck… fuck… fuck.”

He’d lost all control of himself, and could feel the climax approaching, faster than he had hoped, but he couldn’t have expected it to feel this good. With a smile, he pushed your shoulders back, watching you as you sat on his lap, cock deep within you, pulsing, close to cumming with every little movement you made. 

“Now I know you ain’t a one trick pony, why don’t you show me what else you got up your sleeve.”

Cooper lifted your hips, guiding you off of his cock, your slick coating it in strands that pulled and dripped against your thighs. Following his strong arms, you sank to your knees on the floor in front of him, noting that you were directly in the line of the camera lens, ready for your big finale. 

He began stroking his cock, his palm becoming sticky with your arousal, the smacking sound of the well-lubricated motions so lewd, almost sultry. The perfect addition to the film.

“How familiar are you with ropes? Because I got a few for you here.”

His face was growing warmer, nerves on fire, cheeks burning, as he felt himself reaching his climax. With a racing heart, Cooper began to lose his composure, hitched breaths leading into a loud cry, a choked sob and moan as he came, white, thick ropes of his seed spilling onto your cheeks, against your lips, your neck and chest covered in droplets too.

Standing unsteadily, Cooper began to dissolve into the pleasure of a satisfactory conclusion, but not before he finished up the scene. His hand moved to the side of your neck, stroking around, fingers trailing over the front of your throat before his touch left you. 

“I’ll be on my way now, ma’am. But you ever run into trouble again… I sure would like to be the one that saves you.”

You managed to suppress the giggles until he was standing in front of the old camera, hitting the button again. He started dressing himself, presentable enough that he could leave the room.

“Cooper… that was…”

The words wouldn’t come to you, or rather, too many words came to you. Silly. Fun. Surprisingly hot. But as you watched his face contort into one of anticipation, almost nervous, you knew which one he wanted to hear.

“... amazing.”

His charming, cheeky smile rose back up on his lips as he nodded towards.

“Well, thank you, darlin’. You never know… this sells well enough and I might be looking to find a permanent position for you in this little business venture.”

You hoped he would. Beyond anything else, that’s what you wanted. Somewhere, at some point during all of the fun you were having with him, your subconscious had come to the conclusion that spending more time with Cooper, potentially all of your time with him, was what you wanted now. You could send money back to your settlement. You could hire a bounty hunter to do the work for you on their behalf. You could free yourself from a quiet life. You could find excitement, pleasure and, potentially, love. All of it was possible now. And you suspected that Cooper was certain it was too. Otherwise, would he even have mentioned the possibility of continuing to work together? He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would tease about something like that.

The thoughts remained in your head, too afraid to say them out loud in case you scared Cooper off with your quick attachment and your eagerness to be fucked by him on a long-term basis. You tried to think of something to say. Sharp, witty. Something that would set you on the same level as him, or at least close to it. Something that told him how much you wanted him, how much you wanted to stay here, without actually saying those words out right. But as you pondered over it, you realised you had another burning question, one that actually might work on all the levels you needed it to.

“Wait, don’t I get to finish?”

Cooper turned to you from the doorway, smiling wide, a smirk that made your stomach muscles tighten.

“When this little movie gets us our money and you can afford to pay me, I’ll make sure you do.”

He turned away, walking out of the door with the camera and the pile of holotapes in hand. Once you were dressed, and you had cleaned him off of your face, you followed after him, quick and dutifully, as you expected to, or at least hoped to, for as long as he’d let you.

Just as you finished dressing yourself, Cooper appeared in the door frame, tipping his hat to you as he winked.

“You comin’ then, partner?”

[shigayokagayama]

The Beach Omake And Authorial Intent

initially i was going to save this for a big teru analysis i had cooking however i eventually ended up deciding that it would feel like a really long tangent in its original context and probably deserves a separate post.

when it comes to the whole "teru's parents" thing i generally see two competing ideas on it

a. terus absent parents are the real villains of mob psycho and are the direct cause of everything wrong with his life and any and all teru analysis must center around this fact

b. terus parents being absent in the first place is only revealed in an omake and only exists for plot convenience and is not something that should be focused on at all when writing him

and whenever i see either of these my mind always drifts to the question of authorial intent. i know how people are reading this information, but how are we supposed to? i know death of the author is becoming more of a common thing in fandom spaces (albeit usually misused) but i feel like a better understanding of why this omake exists and how we're supposed to read it might help to better synthesize two takes that seems to be completely at odds with each other.

okay first i want to go over the actual placement of the beach omake in the update schedule of the manga because, unlike most other omakes, i feel like this ones placement in the schedule of page releases is actually super relevant

the vast majority of omakes come at the end of weekly updates. you finish reading the usually 15-20 pages ONE put out and then you get a little bonus comic at the end, usually something funny or a slice of life but but occasionally more serious. multi part omakes are usually spread out over multiple updates, making you wait a couple weeks for a punchline.

beach omake is not that. between chapters 99 (mob gets hit by a car) and 100 (the whole rest of the omake) there was a 6 week hiatus from normal pages and in this hiatus is where we get beach omake. reading it all together immediately cuts away the sort of "slice of life sunday paper comic" tone other multi part omakes have and make you read it as a part of the actual main story, since that's how you're used to reading these weekly updates.

now the actual tone. generally the multi part omakes exist to be long punchlines and the rare emotional ones are a single page for maximum impact. beach omake has a very different structure compared to, say, the haunted doll omake or the pot of happiness.

off the bat from the first two pages there's not really a joke. the tone mostly seems kind of melancholic. mobs expression for the middle section of the second page (maybe purposely) is obscured by the panel breaking off, it's hard to tell his reaction, all our attention is directed at teru. with all of the panels taken up by dialogue (primarily his own), we're being asked to focus on what he's saying:

-teru lives alone

-he lives alone because his parents live overseas

-he hasnt seen them in a while

-he doesnt like having nothing to do

-he doesnt like being alone

all of this information is delivered with an extremely casual expression from him, implying that it's not something that seems ll the out of the ordinary for him. mob, on the other hand...

the hesitation before he says anything and the way his expression is obscured seems to imply something is... off... about this information to him. this isn't a handwaved "oh mob is walking home from school after passing out because he needs to for plot reasons", we're reacting to this information like it's weird.

the next two pages are, mostly, a lot more of what we expect out of a mob psycho omake. the first one works as a standalone joke page, teru is bad at identifying animals which leads to him showing reigen a roach, something reigen is terrified of, instead of a beetle.

the second page starts similarly, we get a dumbass joke about reigen trying to pick up women at the beach (note: i think this is the singular time we get an indication reigen is even into women) but then the next two panels take on a more melancholic tone again. we get a small panel of mob and ritsu playing on the beach and a much, much larger panel of teru sitting on the beach, watching them. the dialogue bubble forces us to pay attention to the fact that he is silent.

the ending of this omake is where we bring it home. generally the last panel centers the punchline of the page, or of the whole omake, but the final panel of this isn't really what was being built to in this case.

we start our second page on teru. his expression is obscured, reigens speech bubble is shoved to the side so we can see that teru's hat is being held in his hands.

when we see his face in full view he looks... confused. he looks like he doesn't know how to react to someone going through all this trouble for him. teru is a character who, up to this moment, we have seen as extremely independent. he always rushes into things alone, he always has to be the hero, he always has to be the one to save the day. hell, this omake is immediately followed by the confession arc. where... you know.

so what are we supposed to get out of this omake?

teru's been doing everything on his own up to this point

but he doesn't have to anymore

[fffrost]

may i hear about your mk1 ships 🫴

oh what a terrible thing to ask me. So far I have only 2 ships I'm invested in and seek content for. And then there is this horrible crackship I made that has taken over my mind. (accompanied with drawings, because would I even be me if I answered an ask without an image? no.) Number one for me is Syzoth/Ashrah... I love them so much and their dynamic is so AUGH. Both characters are precious to me, I want them to be happy forever and never sad. I haven't drawn much content for them (yet) but I guarantee that I think about them constantly.

(this was my only syzoth drawing readily available)

Number two!! is Raiden/Smoke (thunderclouds). This is honestly more of a casual ship!! I like both of them and their dynamic together is really fun to draw and write, but honestly it wasn't an immediate click for me... and I want Raiden to myself. That all being said, they're cute, they go on picnic dates, they point out clouds to each other, and I think they beat each other up sometimes as a fun little enrichment treat for both of them. Image:

Worst for last!!! This came to me as a fever dream and I first want to explain exactly how I started shipping them- So a bit back I was sitting in my dorm staring at my wall thinking about the dudes, as usual. And I had this wonderful idea: you know what two characters would absolutely despise each other? And would want to go full looney toons style violence on each other? Reiko and Bi Han. I was so enthralled with how absolutely hilarious I thought their dynamic simply being put in a situation together would be, that I decided to write a short fic where they get put into a Situation. It started off as a joke with no further intention... but soon after, to make it even funnier, I thought to myself "hey, what if there was only one bed?" I've recently been delighted to find that a few other people have similar ideas to me in the regards of Bi Han and Reiko being a pairing (yippie!!!). But, honestly, I just find it so funny that they would hate each other so much and hate even more that they end up having feelings for each other. In conclusion: I am writing a multi chapter slowburn. I DO have more thoughts on them but I'm going to keep it under wraps here and perhaps make a separate post about what I think of their dynamic. There IS specific context for these drawings. But . I'm not writing all that.

Oh! Also Johnshi too I guess! They're cool. Thumbs up to them.

[elliemarchetti]

Ignite

My entry for @wolfstarmicrofic’ prompt 26. You can read this after Declaration, Interrupted if you’re into multi-chapter fics or as a stand-alone about first times and insecurities. Past Blackinnon.

Prompt: Burn

Rating: Mature? It’s not explicit, but they’re clearly doing some sexual stuff

Words: 562

“Oh God,” he moaned, his ability to form flowery sentences completely lost in the primitive heat of the moment. “You’re so good.”

Sirius’ breath was coming faster and faster, and each little wispy gag of his partner inflamed his passion even more. He wanted to possess him, to own him, to hold him beneath his body and never let him go. His mind screamed that this was his first time doing anything sexual with a man and he had to have a care for him, but his body demanded release so, with a ragged groan, he forced himself to switch roles.

“Remus?” he called after a while, barely recognizing his own voice by how hoarse and desperate it was.

“Don’t stop,” the other one gasped, “I’m so close…”

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered on his, at least he hoped, soon-to-be boyfriend’s neck, between licks and kisses. “So unbelievably…”

Words died in his throat when he felt Moony stiffen, and not in climax. A brief blaze of discomfort, of the emotional sort, not the physical one, flashed across his scarred face before he could hide it, and every fibre of Sirius’ being focused on his features.

“You called me beautiful,” he whispered, making his partner just stare for a good ten seconds, because for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how that was a bad thing.

“I’m not beautiful. I never was, but what happened with Greyback certainly didn’t help.” Remus went on. “Who were you picturing?”

“I beg your pardon?” Sirius asked, blinking furiously. It had to be a joke, maybe one of those with bad timing for the victim who reacts badly and makes it seem worse than the original intent actually was. “Are you mad?”

“Were you thinking of Marlene?” Moony insisted, not angry but surely pained, or at least resigned.

“How could I possibly confuse the two of you?” Sirius asked, trying to allude at the decidedly manly body his partner possessed, but Remus’ lip trembled between his teeth and a muscle spasmed in his neck as his face crumpled and hot tears stinged at his eyes.

“Listen to me, and listen to me well because I’m only going to say this once” Sirius resumed, his voice even and intense as he tenderly caressed his partner’s right cheek with his thumb. “I burn for you. I can’t sleep at night for wanting you. It’s the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing, but there it is, and if I hear one more word of nonsense from your lips, I’m going to tie you to the bloody bed and have my way with you in a hundred different ways until you finally get it through your silly skull that you are the most beautiful and desirable man in England, and if everyone else doesn’t see that, than they’re all bloody fools.”

Remus was evidently speechless, with pupils dilated and mouth slightly agape in shock, but Sirius still arched a brow into what had to be the most arrogant expression ever to grace a face when he asked him if he understood. Apparently not quite able to form a response when their noses were a mere inch apart, Moony opted to just nod, and without giving him even a moment to catch his breath, Sirius devoured his lips in a kiss so fierce Remus clutched the bed just to keep from screaming.

[cophene]

08 || * • ° an unimpeded glimpse of life

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : ohshc x gn reader summary : perhaps no one at ouran is more qualified to deal with a broken heart than the host club. with a student’s heartbreak painfully obvious to everyone but themself, the host club takes it upon themselves to remedy that. all against that student’s better judgement. notes : multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.4k+

After dumping the milkmaid statue unceremoniously in the dining room, you had to take a few minutes to mentally fortify yourself before returning to the thick of the art gathering.

These parties were always dull without exception. Maybe the crowd just didn’t speak to you, but you could think of any number of better things to do than stand around talking about art. Even when your parents tried to spruce things up with performers and music and food, you were always begging for release after the first half hour. It was lucky that your parents and their friends found your aversion to art more amusing than irritating.

You slunk back into the living room. If nothing else, at least the Host Club would provide you some amusement. They’d probably be floundering to keep up with all of the art critics and restorators and enthusiasts. 

You took a stance near the punch bowl and poured yourself a glass, leaning against the table to enjoy the show. For the first time, you’d catch them unprepared and out of their element—

Your jaw hit the floor. What the hell.

Somehow, somehow, the Host Club had commandeered your living room and turned it into an extension of Music Room 3. Full grown adults were hanging off of the hosts’ every word, delighted, dreamy expressions on their faces. You stared, gobsmacked, as Kyoya passed by, engrossed in a complicated discussion with an archivist about the shift in twentieth century art. Honey was sitting on a footstool, a tart in one hand while the other waved excitedly about the nouveau movement. Mori listened intently to an animator’s laments about the death of tradition, and Haruhi was naming her favourite Andy Warhol paintings. Off in the corner, the twins took turns complementing one of your mom’s friends on excellent taste in Romantics.

You stumbled, caught yourself on the edge of the table. This couldn’t be happening. The Host Club was not charming their way into the hearts of everyone at this party. They couldn’t be.

The King of the Host Club himself swept by to offer you a hand. “Are you not feeling well, my darling? How about I take you outside for a breeze to cool your flushed cheeks?”

“What are you doing?” you hissed at him. You waved a hand at the hosts. “What is this?”

Tamaki blinked. “We’re merely enjoying ourselves. We thought it would be prudent to make ourselves knowledgeable about a few subjects in the art world to make conversation.”

You guffawed. “Is that what this is? Because you’ve got almost everyone in this room besotted with you.”

“Then does that mean your heart’s embers once again stir with love?” Tamaki asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately not.” You took a hard gulp from your punch glass. Tamaki lingered, still looking hopeful.

“Well don’t let me keep you,” you muttered. “Enjoy yourself to your heart’s content.”

Tamaki took your hand and brushed a kiss across your knuckles. “If you insist, my darling. You know where to find me.” He drifted away and the assembled crowd eagerly welcomed him.

For the next hour, as you sullenly finished glass after glass of punch, there was no shortage of art people who came up to you, practically glowing.

“Are those young men your guests?” they would ask. “They’re so charming and charismatic. What wonderful young men!”

Yet more people would ask, “So which one of them is your boyfriend? Oh, you haven’t picked? Well, I don’t blame you.”

The fake smile you put on pinched your cheeks. “No,” you said flatly. “They’re not my friends. Just classmates from school.”

Everyone smiled knowingly. If you were ever driven to murder, tonight would be the night.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. You slipped out of the living room and nearly made it to the stairs before your mother stopped you.

“I haven’t seen you all night, Y/N! Where are you going? You haven’t had dinner yet.”

“I’m not hungry. I have a headache.”

Your mother put a hand over your forehead. “Go up and rest then, I’ll ask Ms. Shimada to send up dinner.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

You turned back up the stairs. Your mother called your name again.

“I’m so glad you’re making friends,” she said. “Especially after … the vacation. It’s good for you. To get to know other people.” She smiled. “They seem like a fun bunch. Not bad looking either.”

Your throat tightened. “Yeah. I guess so.”

As you made your way to your room, you inexplicably felt tears burn behind your eyes. You couldn’t help thinking that he never would have embarrassed you like this. He had always been subtle, low-key. He liked to impress people, but he always made sure you were enjoying yourself first.

Someone slung their arm over your shoulder and you stifled a swear. 

“So, when are you going to show us your room?” Hikaru, or maybe Kaoru asked.

“Yeah, we’re getting pretty antsy downstairs,” Kaoru, or maybe Hikaru said.

You sniffled hard and told your tears to dry up. “A room tour is not part of the art gathering. I’d go back downstairs if I were you.”

“But we’re bored,” the twins whined. “Please, can we see your room?”

“No. Leave me alone. I’m going to bed.”

“Bed?” Hikaru made a face. “It’s barely eight.”

“I like getting my sleep. Goodnight.”

“Come on, just one peek,” Kaoru said. “Then we’ll leave you alone.”

“No.”

Hikaru: “Please?”

“No.”

Kaoru: “Please?”

“No.”

Hikaru/Kaoru: “Please?”

“They’re not going to leave you alone until you agree,” Haruhi said, coming up the stairs behind you. She raised a glass in your direction. “I wanted to see if you wanted company but I think I’m too late.”

“Haruhi, help me, I’m begging you.”

Haruhi shrugged. “Those two created an entire civil war just to see my house. They’re extremely stubborn.”

You glared at the twins. “Why do you want to see my room so badly anyway? There’s nothing exciting in there, I promise you.”

“A person’s room offers an unimpeded glimpse into that person’s life,” Hikaru said with surprising gravitas.

“It reveals things that you would never be able to learn otherwise,” Kaoru added.

“Things you don’t find in a file?” you muttered under your breath.

The twins bowed suddenly, nearly bashing you in the face. “Please let us see your room!” they intoned in unison.

You were about to slam their skulls together when Kyoya and Tamaki came up the stairs, their conversation petering out when they saw the commotion.

Kyoya sounded just a touch suspicious. “What’s going on?” 

“We’re trying to get into Y/N’s room,” the twins answered blandly. The back of your neck prickled at the way Kyoya raised his eyebrow.

“Not like that,” you said quickly.

“Ooh, can we see your room?” Tamaki looked instantly excited at the prospect.

“No.” You rubbed your eyes. “I don’t care if this is part of your recovery plan, you’re not coming into my room. Please go back downstairs.”

“If you’re feeling tired, we’d be happy to keep you company,” Tamaki said. “It’s really no problem.”

“Indeed. We came to this party mostly for your benefit,” Kyoya said.

Your eye twitched. “My benefit? The only person I invited was Haruhi. Mori and Honey get a pass because they always come to these things.”

As though summoned, the duo made their appearance. Honey was wiping a few stray crumbs from his face and blinked confusedly at the scene. “What’s going on?”

“We’re trying—” the twins said again, but you shushed them before the unfortunate sentence could escape. Somehow, Honey still understood perfectly. 

“Oh, you want to find Y/N’s room? Did you forget where it is?” he asked you.

“No, I just don’t—”

“Me and Mori have been there tons of times!” Honey said with a huge smile. “It’s so much fun in there! Y/N has so many toys and neat pictures—” Oblivious to your scowl, Honey brushed right past you and down the hall to your bedroom. At first, you stayed where you were, knowing there wasn’t much the hosts could do with your door locked. 

Then you remembered too late that Ms. Shimada had asked for the key to clean your room. You’d never relocked your room.

“Wait,” you gasped, lunging for your door. “Don’t—”

Honey pushed open your door. The lights inside turned on automatically, letting a cold rectangle of light spill out into the hall.

“See?” Honey said, still excited. “Look how cool it—oh.”

No one said anything. You didn’t have to look inside your room to know what it was that had left everyone speechless.

“Uh, are you sure this is the right room?” Haruhi asked hesitantly.

“Where is everything?” Hikaru said.

You sighed. You pushed past Kyoya and Tamaki into your room and stood in the middle of it, trying to see through the hosts’ eyes. You’d already spent too many weeks in your room to realize how off it was.

Your room was spartan. There was practically nothing in it. No drapes, no curtains, no carpets. The walls were devoid of drawings or posters or pictures. Your bed was on a boring wooden frame with blue covers and white pillows. The desk off to the side only had your laptop and a pencil cup with one pen in it. A lonely lamp sat on your nightstand, and beside that, an alarm clock.

The fact that your room was so large made it worse. It was cavernous. You could yell and your voice would probably echo.

The hosts padded cautiously inside your room, surveying it like it was a foreign country. Kyoya walked off to the side to open the door to the bathroom, and the twins flung open your closet, seeming a little shocked at how sparse it was. The only things in there were Ouran uniforms, socks, underwear, and a few t-shirts and black pants.

You crossed your arms. “There. Happy now?”

“It’s … very neat,” Tamaki said, pulling out your desk chair. He sat down on it like a bird perched to fly.

“I like it,” Haruhi said, and you couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not.

“It didn’t look like this last time,” Honey said, peering up at the ceiling. “Did it, Taka-chan?”

Mori shook his head. His expression, as always, was inscrutable.

“I redecorated,” you said flatly.

“Why? Did you have a roach infestation?” Kaoru asked.

“I needed a change. Wanted to get rid of all the unnecessary stuff I had.”

“It looks more like you got rid of everything,” said Kyoya. You shot him a dirty look.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Haruhi said, taking a seat on your bed. “Minimalism, right? It works.”

You tried to smile. If only it were that simple.

Tamaki gasped suddenly, as though he’d been struck with a realization. He put a hand over his mouth and looked over at you pityingly. “You poor thing.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, and instantly regretted it.

“Your family must have been struggling financially recently,” Tamaki softly, as though you’d imparted that information to him yourself. “It happens to everyone. You were worried, so you took it upon yourself to sell all of your belongings. With your room empty, but your heart full, you presented your meagre earnings to your parents, who wept with joy at their devoted child. It was just what they needed before their finances crashed permanently into ruin. You’re still recovering, and you’ve yet to replace everything that you sold to save your family.”

You closed your eyes. You could hear Honey sniffling and Mori patting his back. 

“Great story, Boss,” Hikaru said.

“Yeah, real tearjerker,” Kaoru agreed.

“Where’d you come up with something like that?” Haruhi asked pointedly, her eyes narrowed.

Tamaki gasped. “Come up? How dare you assume I fabricated that tale! It’s completely true! How else would Y/N’s room have become such a desolate wasteland?”

“Wasteland?” you repeated.

Hikaru snorted. “More like the arctic desert. There’s so much white in here.”

Kaoru hummed. “Kinda reminds me of a psych ward.”

You were about to throw the twins into a psych ward if they didn’t shut up.

“Well, you’ve seen my room,” you said. “Do whatever. I don’t care. I’m going up to the roof.”

Tamaki perked up. “Can we—”

“I’d just like to be by myself for a little bit,” you cut in, and something in your tone cut him short. You looked around at the hosts, suddenly feeling tired. “Try not to break anything.”

You left and shut the door before anyone could say anything. You went down to the end of the hall and then up another flight of stairs, to where the rooftop patio was, your favourite spot in the whole house now that your room had been stripped. Thankfully, there was no one up here, just the fairy lights and Moroccan furniture your mother had imported.

You threw yourself into one of the couches and looked out over the roof. The sky was starting to fade into night, and the city could be seen glittering faintly beyond. You inhaled, enjoying the cool air. Distantly, you could hear the party downstairs.

If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t hate the Host Club, as short-tempered and unamused as you acted with them. If you did hate them, you would never have let them into your house to begin with. They were like a bunch of oblivious, overenthusiastic puppies. They meant well, like Haruhi had said. It was nice having people like them around, people who could make you smile and bite back laughter. Sometimes, they were enough to make you forget about him.

But then sometimes you would remember, and it would all seem trifling and stupid. It wasn’t fair to compare the Host Club to him, not when they occupied very different places in your life, but you couldn’t help it. He was suave and confident and mature and made you feel like a different person. You liked how it felt to be with him. You’d assumed he’d felt the same, but you weren’t sure of anything now, after he’d broken up with you.

You sighed a bone-deep, wearisome sigh. “I wish I could just forget,” you whispered to the air.

A few minutes later, you heard someone coming up the patio stairs. You straightened, arranged your face into something presentable. You always wore the stupidest expressions when you were thinking about him.

“Are you okay?”

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

[bird-slayer-brainrot]

Soldier On, Come Down - Chpt. 3. - - Ineffable Husbands WW2 au human!Crowley angel!Aziraphale angst multi-chapter

1941

Angel,

I would like to apologise for not writing sooner. If things went according to plan, which, they rarely do, I shall like to compose a note to you each day. Nothing grim, of course. I would fill pages of sonnets for you on the most mundane things.

For instance, today I was completing a task and I stopped for a moment two miles north of the camp to watch the sun set. My first thought was of how beautiful it was. My second thought was of you. I confess, I think of the night you told me you loved me often, and how the next morning you stirred beside me. I thought how there was no sky to match the beauty of the blue in your eyes in the early morning sun.

I wish you had seen it, angel. It brings me comfort to know you may now be looking at the same sky as me, and in the miles and miles between us, we are still connected underneath the sky.

I hope that you think of me too

Yours,

A.J. Crowley

 -

Angel,

It has been too long since I last heard from you. Longer since I saw you or held you in my arms. Do not believe for a second that the time has made me forget your touch. Or your face. Or your scent. You are as clear in my mind as they day we met. I do not believe I could forget you if I tried.

I will not go into detail about the front, as I have limited time and space to tell you everything I wish to say. And, I do not think you would like it. So instead I should tell you now that I am well, angel.

Please write me. I love you. I ache for you.

A.J. Crowley

-

Aziraphale,

I am sure by now that you have heard news of what is happening on the front. I made quick to write you this, trading duties with the Staff Sergeant for pen and paper. I hope this letter finds you even if you do not reply. I do not expect anything of you, angel, and I suspect there is a good reason you cannot return my letters. Nonetheless, I write to you because I want to. Because I love you. I love you.

I hope you are well. We hear news of England in pieces. I will not begin to lecture you on your safety because I do not believe you would find it funny, but I do hope you are staying safe. Are safe.

I have hesitated writing this because I did not want to fill you with empty promises. But we have been apart for too long and the weight of not giving you a promise to hold on to weighs to heavy on me. This war will end, sooner or later, and I will come back to you, angel. I will come back to you.

Your Crowley

*

1939

Angels were. as a rule, quite adept at sensing positive intentions. Crowley had sent Aziraphale a note asking him to meet for dinner at the pub they regularly patronized that evening. When he entered in, slightly out of breath from the walk, he could tell almost immediately that something was off.

Anathema and Crowley were engaged in what seemed to be a heated debate. Aziraphale decided to wait near the bar, hoping he hadn't been spotted yet. But as he sat down, Anathema appeared beside him.

"Hello Aziraphale." she said politely. Aziraphale noticed that her cheeks were flushed.

"Anathema, hello." Aziraphale tried to say cheerfully. Anathema just nodded in response, which was unlike her. Then, she spun on her wall and walked out of the bar.

Crowley was still seated at the table. Aziraphale took a seat hesitantly, not quite sure if he was welcome to. Crowley looked up at him then, tiredly. He didn't say anything, but smiled slightly at Aziraphale. Aziraphale knew Crowley would talk about what happened in his own time, so he didn't say anything.

Short update this week but i've been swamped with uni and getting over a bad cold so i haven't been writing as much. i will likely write another half chapter to post sometimes this week but i'll see. thank you for reading <3 i promise this is going somewhere

[dotieeee]

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 3

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — updates will be erratic, but I’ve outlined almost everything in this fic, so you have my word I’ll complete this

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

Link to the Masterlist  

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

graphic descriptions of violence

implied death

some non-con touching

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

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

Chapter 3: True Intentions

Link to the previous chapter

Every part of you stills at Nuros’ revelation. It doesn’t even register to you that Nuros wraps her arms around you, bawling her eyes out in her need for comfort; you automatically hug her back, staring absently at the sand and unable to process what happened.

The moment you do, however, she lets go of you abruptly like she was stung by your touch. It’s obvious that she’s still uncomfortable around you, so you don’t push her any further. Still, you had to know: “Nuros, why was she banished?”

You see a momentary shadowy look in her expression when she looks at you, but you think you must’ve imagined it, for she looks away and focuses on the still waters before you.

“I don’t know. You were looking for her, were you not?”

“I was.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have.”

With one final sniffle, she wipes her face with her sleeves and gets to her feet. You immediately follow suit, mumbling, “Nuros, I’m so sorry about Candor.” You mean it, and you hope she sees that, too.

“I have to go,” is her only response to you before walking away and diving into the sea of dreams, leaving you alone again, only this time, there’s no Candor looking back at you, mouthing an apology. You release a sob you didn’t know you were holding back, and for the first time in your existence, you recognize ‘grief’ wash over you as you mourn over the loss of the first meaningful connection you sought by yourself. Did you unknowingly cause all of this? Did Candor get unmade just because you were so keen on getting answers?

Judging by the dreams you have left the humans with today, you couldn’t get your mind off Candor’s fate. Mentally, you note the names of the dreamers down, promising to get back to them to give them a better experience and possibly amend any mistakes you may have made. You wonder if it was better for you to take the day off, instead of wandering about the dreams of humans in such a fragile mental state. The Fates forbid nightmares feed off the traces of sorrow you left behind in the dreams and turn them against the dreamer. You’ve seen it happen a handful of times and the worst one by far was an incident you couldn’t let go of for weeks on end.

It was in the dreams of a mother struggling to connect with her child – Anna Harold, a factory worker. Despite feeling worried that day about something you could no longer remember, you made a dream that nudged her into taking a day off work and walking with her son to the park. You left her dream confident that this was a small, but adequate step forward to rekindling their connection. On your next visit, however, a horrific sight greeted you – the park that you left bustling with laughter from children and loving looks from their onlooking parents was dead silent, except for that anguished wailing piercing the dream. It was that of Anna’s, screaming her son’s name repeatedly into the wind in a frenzied search, her little boy nowhere to be found. Later in the library, you find in her book of dreams that a nightmare named Imnioch had taken traces of your depleted mental state and combined it with Anna’s constant worrying about her child. It created a nightmare so vivid and realistic that Anna had developed a fear of parks and being alone with her own little kid, therefore distancing herself further from him at the age he needed her the most.

It was a tiny error that you obsessively spent most of your free time attempting to undo, even as you watched the poor mother’s mental health deteriorate. It took the Lord Morpheus himself to coax you out of your rut. “Whether it be a dream or a nightmare, all play a part in shaping the lives of mortals in the Waking World. We are mirrors to their waking lives and the reflections they find staring back at them is but theirs to interpret – they can either choose to face that or run away from it.” He reminded you gently, and you took that lesson by heart.

Deciding it’s more for the dreamers’ sake than yours, you make your way back to the Realm to call it a day. The sun is still bright in the Dreaming, so you traverse through the bustling town center, taking in the sight of the Dreaming residents going about their happy, quaint lives. You take a deep breath of fresh air, noting the smell of flowers from the florist’s shop and the fresh pastries from the corner bakery. You’re sorely tempted to pop by and get a couple of croissants, knowing they’re a thousand times better than what you’ve had in any of the human’s dreams. You stroll to the bakery with nothing but thoughts of the buttery, flaky pastry. You walk by an empty alley and for a split-second, out of the corner of your eye, you see a tall, shadowy figure emerge out of nowhere. Your hairs stand on its end, senses on high alert. You turn to face the alley, but see nothing but the end of it, just empty wooden crates stacked on top of each other haphazardly.

Behind you.

Craving now pushed aside, you whip your head swiftly to the direction the Voice whispered, and true enough, there he was, partially hidden behind a shop corner a few blocks away: Dream of the Endless.

His starry-blue eyes hold your gaze, then disappears into the alley beside the shop in the blink of an eye. You race toward the direction where he vanished, hoping to prove you weren’t just hallucinating and losing your marbles. Whether or not you were being tailed mattered less now – you had to speak with him and learn the truth about what happened to Candor directly from him. You reach the exact spot where he was just moments ago, but there was no one in there, too. You take long strides, looking up and down the street, but all you see is a shop owner clad in a dirty apron emerging from his shop’s backdoor and a couple of cats feasting on a freshly caught rat. Still high on adrenaline, you turn to face the other direction with the intent of running back to the center of the plaza to scan the area for signs of him.

Instead, you collide with something solid, and you find your wrists grappled firmly, holding you still.

Looking up, you find the Dream Lord himself peering at you through his long eyelashes, face mere inches away from yours.

“Looking for me, my dream?” he drawls, his warm breath fanning your face.

“My Lord…” You manage to let out. “I…was w-wondering whether we could t-talk.”

With half-lidded eyes pinning you to place, he counters, “We’re talking now. Unless you prefer somewhere more…private?”

The way he slowly whispers the last word and leans impossibly closer brings heat to your cheeks you've never felt before. Your breathing quickens even more, your heart beating so loudly you swear he could feel it with his proximity. Without waiting for a response, his sand closes in on both of you, and in an instant, you find yourself transported to your favorite garden on the palace grounds. He finally lets go of you and takes a few steps back, but his mildly gleeful expression at your reaction to him does not escape you.

“What did you want to talk about, my Mera?”

Why do I always happen to see you? You’re sorely tempted to ask this, but your words falter, and instead, you question him, “What happened to Candor?”

“I take it you’ve met with her sister?”

You only nod in response, lowering your head to avoid that intense stare of his.

“Candor had escaped to the Waking World and abandoned her duties to the Dreaming.”

Gaping at him, you whisper, “No, that can’t be…”

Gazing far into the expansive view of the Realm that the garden overlooks, he continues, “I’m afraid it is true, my little dream. She has disobeyed me. She would have continued to do so, had I not acted. There are dreams who stray from their purpose, my Mera. I give all my creations the gift of free will so that they may think for themselves and choose the right thing to do. However, they can be corrupted with the same wiles humans so easily fall into.”

To say you were stunned is an understatement. If Candor truly had intentions of leaving the Dreaming and escaping to the Waking World, she had not shown any signs of it during your brief meeting with her a few days ago. It seems she has hidden it so well. You hadn’t known the dream you called your friend, after all.

“There are others like her. Not just dreams. Nightmares. Wandering the Waking World, terrorizing the dreamers.” He says darkly.

His attention on you once more, he slowly closes the gap between you. You stare pointedly at the blooms on the flower bed behind him, wanting to avoid his glower.

“When I walked into your conversation with Candor, I thought she had corrupted you,” he says, his voice heavily laced with venom. “I thought she had influenced you to turn away from my Realm. From me.”

With his thumb and forefinger, he lifts your chin, making you look into his eyes that seem to penetrate your entire being. His voice, however, becomes softer, barely above a whisper. “I should have known better. You have remained devoted to me and your duties to my dreamers. You have kept the promise you made me the day I created you. I have faith your dedication to me will not waiver. You are, after all, my perfect little dream.”

You stay rooted to the spot, unable to respond. Your Lord’s praise would’ve sent you floating in the clouds in your earlier days. But right now, they only leave you with a sinking feeling in your stomach, amplified by that Voice persistently muttering runrunrun.

Dream of the Endless lets go of his hold on your chin and says, “You should go.”

With a hard look on his face and a clenched jaw, his eyes follow you as you bolt into the palace until you were out of sight. He had come so close to taking you into his arms and finally claiming your lips with his, but once more he needed to repress that impulse when he detected a trace of fear in your features. It was almost imperceptible, but he was your creator – it’s only natural that he recognizes even these subtlest of changes. He loathed seeing that emotion in your eyes, so he will have to make a move and rectify that. Perhaps he had indeed been brash in sentencing that insubordinate dream that dared reveal his intentions to you without his permission, but in the end, he remains firm in his decision to unmake her, for he would’ve surely lost you had she revealed everything to you. The lie he had told you was only necessary to quell your already-growing suspicion.

Then, there’s her less outspoken older sister, a dream named Nuros. She could interfere with, or even ruin his plans, unless he makes a move that would transform her into an important pawn in the game he is hard set on winning. His choice already made, he draws sand from his pouch and sets to work.

***

You step into the palace kitchen, greeting Taramis, the Palace head waiter, on your way in. At this time of day, the kitchen isn’t so busy – save for a few of the kitchen staff cutting vegetables in preparation for ‘brunch,’ an entirely recent trend inspired by the humans in Britain who liked taking their first meal on Sunday between the hours of ten in the morning and one in the afternoon. Staying out of their way as much as you can, you make yourself a large cup of tea and head to the staff dining area just beside the kitchen.

There, alone with your thoughts, you contemplate freely on the conversation you shared with your master yesterday. You were infinitely relieved that you had no hand in Candor’s punishment, but after the Dream Lord had dismissed you, you had run away feeling bewildered at his rather…puzzling actions towards you.

“Haven’t you ever noticed how he acts so differently around you?”

Candor’s words in the dream played in your head hauntingly. Fortunately, the scullery maid collecting the dirty dishes drops a piece of silverware, and the resounding clang echoes in the otherwise empty dining hall, shaking you out of your intrusive thoughts.

You finish your tea, resolving to mentally block these musings out – the Dream Lord had much on this mind, you know this to be true. The least you can do was help him by helping his dreamers, and you know very well that overthinking isn’t going to do anything. Depositing your empty cup in the used dishes section, you mosey your way out of the hall into the kitchen, grabbing an apple from one of the baskets on your way out. You’re approaching the way to the library, debating whether or not you want to take a detour, but in the end, you opt against it – you worked only half the day yesterday, so you had to make up for your missed hours today.

“Mera!”

Turning to the voice and the sound of hurried footsteps, you see Lucienne making a beeline toward you.

“Lucienne, hi!” You greet her with a wave.

“Good morning,” she greets back, handing you a small note folded in half. “This came from Nuros.”

Curiously, you take the note and read it quietly.

“Mera,

Meet me in the dream of Stanley Fitzgerald.

Nuros”

Feeling Lucienne’s piercing stare, you look up at her mildly worried expression. “Are you both alright?” She asks.

You hesitate for a second but flash her a reassuring smile anyway. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Thank you, Lucienne.”

With an eyebrow raised, she offers you a questioning look. You mentally pray to the Fates that she doesn’t press you any further.

Finally, she lets out a sigh and says, “Well, then, take care at work. Oh, and do drop by later if you feel like it. Wilbur Maxwell seems to have started a new draft. By any chance, do you know why he’s switched genres? He seems to be leaning into psychological horror as of late.”

You give her a nervous chuckle. “Sure, I’ll be there. I’ll explain later.”

With a final grin, Lucienne saunters off the hall and back to the library.

Releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, you bite nervously into the apple before running off to work.

***

Finding Stanley Fitzgerald’s dream was easy – fighting the urge to flee from it was not.

For one, the dream was nothing but empty white space – it wasn’t even a room, it was just miles and miles of endless white. Second: a few feet from where you landed, was a small black spot of what looked like a shiny liquid you couldn’t classify. Third: coming from the black spot were waves upon waves of pure murderous intent – the evil that emanated from it was so palpable you were internally fighting the need to violently hurl what little contents your stomach had.

Still, Nuros had a reason for bringing you here, and waiting for her to show up would give you the answer.

You sit, cross-legged, eyeing the black spot warily. It seems to have small curls of smoke coming through, and it looked like it had grown by a tiny bit, but you deduce that it probably was the effect of the empty white space that surrounded you, making anything else inside stand out.

A few moments pass, and you feel Nuros’s presence pierce the dream. With a soft thud, you hear her land behind you. You leap to your feet and face her.

“You’re here,” she deadpans.

With equal fervor, you respond, “No, I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

Slowly, she lets out a mirthless laugh, almost hysterical, which sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think you’re so damn clever.” She bites back, animosity marring her features.

Guessing where this was going, you retort, “Look, if you asked me to come here because you’re looking for a fight, I’m not taking the bait.”

You turn your back on her, grateful for an excuse to leave the unnerving dream. You’re about to will yourself back to the waters and finally start working, but behind you, you hear her mutter under her breath.

“This is for Candor.”

The next thing you know, you’re landing face down on the black puddle, your palms sliding on the slimy sludge to mitigate your fall.

“What the fuck, Nuros –”

“You deserve everything that’s coming to you.” Her voice was cold, indifferent.

Cursing loudly, you try to get up, but the black liquid, now freely releasing black smoke, holds you down in a vice-like grip. The puddle is expanding right before your eyes, and you’re engulfed in the noxious gasses it’s emitting. You attempt to wriggle out of it with all your strength, but to your horror, the liquid creeps up further to your arms and your legs, lending you immobile.

Coughing violently from the fumes of sulfur invading your senses, you choke out, “Nuros, help me…”

You crane your neck as far as you can to look at her – only to find her wide-eyed and terrified at the scene unfolding before her.

By now, the black puddle had spread across the floor immensely and the black smoke starts converging to its center, forming a solid mass.

Right before you materializes a creature you’ve only seen in an obscure book in the royal library – with the body of an angel and the head of an owl: a demon.

Andras.

It holds its palm out to the smoke, and out from it emerges a sharp, gleaming silver sword.

“HOW FOOLISH OF YOU TO COME HERE, CREATURE OF THE DREAMING.” Its voice, the voice of thousands of agonized souls, echoes throughout the white space.

It takes slow, deliberate steps toward your writhing form. “YOU SEE, I HAVE TAKEN OVER THIS SOUL. I LIVE IN IT NOW. I LIKE IT HERE.”

It crouches down and fists your hair violently to see your face better, earning a hiss from you.

“I’M GOING TO ENJOY RIPPING YOU APART, LIMB BY DAINTY LIMB.”

“Go to hell, demon,” is all you manage, glaring at it with all the hate you could muster. Every portion of your insides crawl with the energy oozing from the demon – it is one of bloodthirst, unquenchable and undying, making you want to drag your nails all over your skin to get it off you.

Struggling to look up at it, you watch as it focuses momentarily on your unwilling companion. “BOO.”

You couldn’t see Nuros’ reaction, but you hear her scream and feel her presence leave the dream in haste, leaving you at the mercy of Andras.

The beak of the demon opens wide as it emits an otherworldly howling unlike anything you’ve ever heard, the sound almost breaking your eardrums. It’s only after a few moments that you realize the demon wasn’t screaming – it was laughing: insane, horrid, malicious.

With an evil glint shining in its beady eyes, it lets go of your hair, grabbing your arm forcefully.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I’VE MANAGED TO STAY IN THIS PATHETIC HUMAN’S BODY? THREE YEARS.”

“THAT IS ONE…” And with his sword he cuts a single line on your skin, drawing blood – “TWO…” – he carves another one, deeper this time – “THREE.” The last gash he inflicts on your skin scrapes bone, causing you to let out a scream reverberating throughout the entire hellish place.

You stare at the blood flowing out of your wounds disappearing into the black sludge, seemingly being absorbed. The demon’s liquid covers the cuts – you could feel it suckling, hungry for more.

“I HAVE NOT HAD DREAMING BLOOD IN FEW MILLENIA, I FORGOT JUST HOW DELECTABLE IT IS. I WILL ENJOY EVERY DROP OF IT.”

Helpless and getting weaker by the second, you can only ogle at it as it switches to your other side and holds out your other arm.

“FIVE MILLENIA, TO BE EXACT. ONE, TWO –”

“ANDRAS!”

You look wildly for the source of the booming voice that called the demon out. Your vision now getting blurry, you hone in on the tall form of the King of Dreams, his cloak billowing behind him. He meets your fluttering vision with his – pure onyx in rabid rage – it’s the last thing you see before giving into sweet oblivion.

***

Wake up, now.

With a start, you get up, frantically digging your nails into your skin to get that repulsive, evil thing off –

But someone firmly wraps you in their warm embrace, stilling your form.

“Sshh, my little dream. You are safe, you are with me.”

Lord Morpheus coos into your ears, one hand holding the back of your head close to his chest, the other rubbing your back to soothe your trembling torso. Despite your initial fear and confusion, you melt in his hold, the timbre of his voice finally calming you down. After what seems like an eternity in his embrace, he finally releases you.

Your eyes dart around quickly, and you recognize the room you’re in – it was the same room you woke up in after losing consciousness right in front of the Dream Lord.

As if sensing your thoughts, he says, “I brought you where you’ll be safest – in my chambers.”

Your back visibly straightens at his words, your heart suddenly beating faster for no reason. His hands cup both your cheeks, but you avert your eyes – thankfully he seems to think you’re still in shock, for he tries to assure you: “My Mera, look at me. No one will harm you here.”

You give him a furtive nod as you stare into those striking, blue eyes – they’re so tender now, so why on earth am I so fucking nervous? You wonder to yourself.

His gaze hardens, eyes almost turning icy silver, he says, “You must tell me who sent you to that dream.”

Vehemently, you shake your head (at least, as much as you could) in his grip.

“My dream, they shall seek to hurt you again if they are not stopped.”

Tears start streaming down your cheeks, which he wipes away with his thumb. “Please, she was only hurt…”

The Dream Lord’s expression turns vengeful as the name finally dawns on him. He lets go of you and gets to his feet. “I shall see to it that she is punished for her actions. I do not easily forgive those who dare touch what is mine.”

Wanting to put an end to all this, you quickly grab the Dream Lord’s hand as he turns away to leave. Pleadingly, you find his steely gaze and say, “She has suffered enough, my Lord. Please…”

You see him take a moment to make his decision, but his gaze softens. With his one hand clasping yours, he lifts your chin with the other. “I shall only have a word with her, then. But make me a promise.”

To his side, his sand spins and compresses before vanishing, revealing in it a gold chain with a small, shiny ruby in the middle. He takes the jewelry and places it on your head like a crown.

“Keep this headpiece on you at all times. It is, I’m afraid, purely decorative, but it will serve its purpose of letting every being in the Dreaming know to never mess with you again.”

Nodding just to appease him and take his mind off retribution, you manage to say, “Thank you, Lord Morpheus, for everything.”

He seemingly relaxes at your words and gives you a warm smile. “I’m putting you off work until I’m certain the threat has been handled.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he stops you with a finger to your lips. “No arguments, my dream. Rest well.”

Slowly, his sand wraps around you, lulling you back into unconsciousness.

***

After a week of being out of commission, you come to a surprising conclusion: being placed on forced leave sucks.

You were bored all the time, restless – it doesn’t help that when you’re alone with your thoughts, you are plagued by memories of that owlish demon and its black slime – you can still hear its mad cackling, feel the cold blade of his sword on your skin and the liquid sucking your blood – you’re only glad that the scars have completely disappeared without a single trace. So, every chance you got you helped Lucienne out in the library, sorting the piles upon piles of new books that find their way into the Realm. When there weren’t books left to sort, you buried yourself in reading the past dreams you have helped create, noting the tiny mistakes in detail to make your work more accurate and refined. When that was over, you decided to pick books from the library at random to see if the dreamer in the book might benefit from your visit in the future.

That was how you ended up with a heap of hastily scribbled notes on one of your favorite long desks hidden among the seemingly endless rows of shelves in the C wing. At the moment you had an inventor named Harry Mulligan’s book of dreams propped open, comparing his dreams with that of the other inventors you had visited in the past. You notice he hasn’t dreamt about anything new lately – he kept coming back to a memory he has of his patent being rejected, and to a dream of his machinery coming to life before his eyes and chasing him on legs made of screwdrivers. Funny as it sounds, you surmise that he must’ve developed a fear of being critiqued for his inventions and you could perhaps schedule a visit to him as soon as your “exile” is over.

Curious as to what that patent might have been, you saunter to the H section to look for his name. Grabbing his patent from the shelf, you turn on your heel to return to your desk. You stop dead in your tracks and let out an audible gasp as soon as you see the Dream Lord standing before you at his full height, blocking your path.

“My Lord! You gave me quite a fright, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“My apologies, little dream, I seem to have startled you.”

He steps forward, closing the distance between you. Unconsciously you start backing away, at least until your back hits the wooden shelf.

He stares at you with an intensity you can’t describe. He finally corners you, your face mere inches from his chest, never breaking eye contact – until his eyes land on the book you’re holding close to your chest. He pries the book from your grip and inspects the covers.

He makes a tutting sound and flashes you an amused grin, his tone teasing you. “You’re still working, even when I ordered you to rest? You’re being naughty.”

Averting your gaze, you shudder inwardly at his proximity, your heart rate spikes, and your breathing turns into shallow gasps. You almost jump when he tosses the book unceremoniously on the desk behind him.

“But don’t think for a moment that I don’t appreciate what you do for the Dreaming, my Mera. Your devotion to my Realm, and in turn, to me – it touches me, it enthralls me.”

With half-lidded eyes, he whispers the final words of his sentence so huskily you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheeks. You think of stepping to your side to put some distance between you; but, being one step ahead, he uses his palms to lean on the shelf, effectively trapping you.

“You are truly perfect for the role I have planned for you.”

Hastily changing the topic, you stammer, “I n-never got to thank you properly for s-saving me, my Lord.”

Grinning more widely than ever, he dips his head further, his lips almost touching yours.

“You can thank me now.”

You turn your head to the side, but he’s not having it; he takes a hold of your chin and forces your gaze back to him.

“I almost lost you that day, my Mera. I will not have anyone else touch what is mine ever again.”

Then, he crashes his lips on yours.

In the dreams of humans, the first kisses you witnessed were soft, timid, and chaste – the way your master was kissing you is anything but. His kiss is fevered, passionate, wanting to suck every breath out of you. His hand travels to your back to keep you from squirming, the other to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. You feel his tongue demand entrance, but you keep your lips shut in your shock until he starts stroking the side of your waist in circles, eliciting a gasp from you. He takes this opportunity to slip his tongue inside you, tasting your mouth and forcing your tongue to move against his.

It was at that moment you finally grasp the meaning behind the heavy looks he has been giving as of late; it was a look of wanton hunger, repressed for a long time, now wanting to devour. And if his kiss is anything to go by, he will not stop until he's fully sated his thirst, and you're totally consumed in his fire.

The King of Dreams sits on his throne, majestic and imposing; before him, an errant being of his creation, stands awaiting his sacred word. His cold, unwavering eyes match his tone as he addresses his subject.

***

Chapter Bonus:

“My task for you was simple. Yet you still failed miserably.”

Cowering before the monarch, the subject in question pleads, “My Lord, I have d-done exactly what you asked…I brought her to the dream as you said –”

Dream silences her with a look. “My instructions were clear: that no injury shall befall her.”

Now dissolving into piteous sobs, she kneels before her Lord, attempting to evoke forgiveness. “Lord Morpheus, p-please. You promised you’d bring her b-back…”

Feigning consideration, he responds, “Indeed, I gave my word that you and your sister will be reunited after you complete your mission.”

“Thank you, my liege –”

Cutting her off, he continues, “I did not, however, specify my method.”

“No…have mercy…!”

"You may join your sister in the darkness, where you shall be together until I command so."

With a lazy flick of his wrist, the rebellious dream dissolves into mere sand, leaving no trace except a tiny skull that drops on the throne room floor with an echoing clatter.

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

Link to the next chapter

Author notes:

Please engage, like, reblog, comment, send predictions, etc, I’d love feedback from everyone!!

I’d like to thank @queenshelby @endlessdreamqueen3 encouraging me to pen this baby

Also, fellow Dark!Morpheus fic writers whose work I’ve thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading

Thank you!!

Post date: 11/06/22

Edit date: 11/06/22

Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!

Tagging the following:

@wt-fxck

@sandman-33

@reallystressedhoneybee

@akiraquote

@safe-teycar - can’t tag :(

@ponyboys-sunsets

@izzicle

@spygrrl99- can’t tag :(

@intothesoul

@thecrazytealady

@tastyinspection8860

[gaslightgallows]

September 2023 Writing Round-Up

I just checked my tags, and I haven't done one of these since… three years ago. Exactly three years ago yesterday (9/29/20), to be precise. Which was pretty much when my mental health and my personal life started to crumble in earnest, and it took my desire to write for public consumption along with it.

Most of what I did for the rest of 2020/2021 were either struggling to finish works in progress (and largely failing) or archiving stuff from my LJ days. I didn't post anything in 2022. I was still writing (a lot) but it was either for Patreon (…fuck, right, I have a Patreon) or it was personal, not meant to be shared.

And then Good Omens came back and ended up being really fucking relevant to my life, and @meldanya44 was there urging me to get back into writing for other people besides her. I think it was a good idea, over all. ♥

So… yeah. Thanks, Good Omens fandom, for reminding me that writing is meant to be shared, and that I am a prompt-based lifeform. (I'll be putting up a new prompt list tomorrow, if anyone wants an artisanally crafted bespoke ficlet of their very own.)

Anyway, here's what I did in September:

Authorial Intent (G, one-shot): Michael’s plan to erase Aziraphale from the Book of Life has certain… flaws. A revision of the final season of S2 Ep6, where the Metatron does not make an appearance. (Actually posted at the end of August but this is my list and it counts. Written very shortly after I finished S2 for the first time. Effervescing with joy.)

Put Out the Stars (T, currently a one-shot, planning to continue): Crowley stole the photo of himself and Aziraphale from the shop a long time ago. (Inspired by one of @fellshish's asks. Angst angst angst… with more to come!)

An Invisible Wound (T, one-shot): “I almost killed you tonight.” “I almost got you killed tonight.” Their first kiss, soft and futile, is in 1941. (Bittersweet canon-compliant 1941 truthers unite.)

After the Rain (T, one-shot; for @meldanya44): The Second Coming has come and gone, and Crowley was calling him ‘angel’ again. (Wonderful quiet post-series fluff.)

Like Petals in a Storm (M, currently a standalone but working on a sequel; for @meldanya44): Between the discorporation and the almost-execution, Aziraphale’s having a bit of trouble keeping body and soul together. (My reputation-mandated 'one partner helps another bathe' fic.)

The Taste of Salt (G, one-shot; for @iamhisgloriouspurpose): The lingering taste of ox ribs are bitter and rich in Aziraphale's mouth, and he isn't sure what he believes anymore. (Continues the 'I'm not taking you to Hell, angel' scene in the Ep2 minisode. Nice and angsty. No one seems to like this one and I'm not sure why.)

Pipe Dream (G, one-shot; for @unwholesome-gay): All Aziraphale has ever wanted is to give heaven back to Crowley. (Domestic fluff about Aziraphale buying the South Downs cottage for Crowley. Fun fact: I struggled to write this and finally posted it in dismay and tried to forget about it. And then my inbox exploded with HEARTS, so I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought.)

The Patience of Angels, Chs 1-4 (M, multi-chapter WIP): An old enemy is on the hunt for the demon known as Crowley, and it will take all the powers of one very protective angel to save him. But in keeping Crowley safe, Aziraphale will uncover more of the terrible truths of Heaven than he ever wanted to know. (The longfic I first conceived of in 2019 and then never got around to finishing enough to post, and am now trying to revise the HELL out of in real-time because the original version doesn't work anymore. I love this fic with a burning passion and hope it finds an audience someday… which it probably will if I can update it, y'know, more often than once a month…)

Fics Posted: 8 Word Count: 28,182

I'm never going to be as prolific as I was when I was in the MCU fandom and had a much less-hectic job, but I'd call that a decent comeback. Thanks, everyone. ♥

[phoenixtakaramono]

Re: Where to Read the Four Butchlander Threadfics on Twitter & Status Update about Them

Whelp, guess what, everyone? Your girl’s Twitter account got shadowbanned for the first time. And pretty much the threadfics are inaccessible until the ban gets lifted. (Let’s hope everything’s back to normal soon. 😭)

The threadfics in question (M3GAN-inspired AU, Fix-It AU, and Sugar Baby AU are the long WIPs; the Vampire & Lycan Hunter AU is the only one complete):

And like I was somewhat expecting, with my account currently submerged in the ether (fingers crossed nothing’s affected and everything’s back to normal once I’m back so we can return to our regular schedule threadfic updates on Twitter), another person’s reached out to me about it:

The Asks in question:

These threadfics were always intended to exist on Twitter as the first draft prototypes where I can write spontaneously and see what works, what doesn’t, and make them reader-interactive so pretty much my readers influence important story decisions for whichever threadfic it is. Then if I were to migrate these threadfics over to AO3, the intention was always to flesh them out more and polish them up, maybe change a couple story elements so there’s a point of difference between what’s on AO3 versus what’s on my Twitter (as an analogy, think of an author’s original webnovel version they uploaded on their website versus the professional light novel version they’ve polished up for publication) to keep it fresh. This migration was supposed to happen after all four chapters of Truce are complete and the only Butchlander fic I have left on AO3 that would still be ongoing would be The Name of the Game, which frees up my workload.

So currently, where we are right now, I am seriously considering moving up the schedule if, after 1 week (10/29/23), my account on Twitter is still Shazamed. I have heard shadowbans range from 2-3 days, to 3-5 days where it’s best if I don’t use the app in this duration of time, before escalating to Twitter Support if it persists. Same goes if my account is restored and I still get shadowbanned in the future for updating any of these 3 long threadfics.

Because, at that point, I might as well just port them over to AO3 if this keeps happening and save myself the headache. But this will have to be tested out. If I see it is truly unsustainable due to Twitter’s current unfriendliness to 🔞 threadfics (😒 …it used to be an ultra friendly platform for such, till you showed up El0n Musk), then I’ll just stop writing 🔞 threadfics all together.

The one thing I will have to say, though, is being a very detail-oriented multi-fandom writer who’s trying to be fair by adhering to the update schedule, for any new content, updates will be slow. Unlike Twitter where I can churn out 25 tweets at a time per update, you’ll be looking at weeks or months per chapter update on AO3 since three of them will be turned into genuine long stories. Quicker updates depend on how much content already exist on Twitter to be adapted from before the time of migration! Let’s see how it goes! ✌️

[lola-andheruniverse]

ZA AU/ZA Tuesday - Caryl Fanfiction Rec

Our ZA AU Tuesday tag is the home of a variety of amazing caryl fics that challenge TWD-established canon. They go from crossovers and time travels, to new pre-series backgrounds that that are sewn into the show or post-series unexpected developments. The only rule? The fic needs to have zombies, and it doesn't really matter if they are our beloveds walkers, variations of them or completely different ones. It's a great premise, but kind of hard to achieve every week, dear fellow caryler. So from now on, our Tuesday tag will also have recommendations for multi-chapter ZA fics that explore in-depth our beloved ship within the canon timeline and events. My intention is to not only balance the recs of ZA and ZA AU fics, but also to have a day to share my love for some stories that otherwise wouldn't have any specific tag to be. Today's rec is one of them!

Staking Claim is an adorable take on how S2 Daryl becomes protective of Carol from three different point of views - the first one being a kind surprise. Written by @alamogirl80, its posted both on FF.net and AO3.

Summary: Daryl probably doesn't even know he's doing it. But he's been sending out signals for a while.

Rated: T / Teen and Up Audiences Word count: 11.195 (3 chapters) Published: Feb 23, 2012 - COMPLETE A lovely and interesting story from start to finish. I wish it had more than three chapters, so 1) we could see what every other member of TF sees and thinks when they look at Daryl, Carol and their silent and soft way of interacting with each other and 2) because our author did a great job describing their blossoming bond - it's full of warmth, awareness, yearning and easy intimacy. All POVs are compelling and true to the characters represented. Dear fellow caryler, I hope you enjoy this precious little fic and the new dynamics for our Tuesday tag. As always, please leave a review or a kudos to our author if you read it. Caryl on!

[charmandabear]

Hi hi hi so I absolutely ADORE your Office Hours fic with every part of my being, but I also have a difficult time liking the Tav in it. Do not get me wrong, what Astarion pulls in Chapter 6 was AWFUL and she did great kicking his ass out! I was proud of her! (Also good dick makes brain go brr made me laugh so hard I spat my coffee lmaooo) But she also seems to be extremely judgemental and rude when he's not being snotty to her at all, particularly in the first couple of chapters. He's perfectly polite to her and she automatically assumes that he's being condescending simply because he's an English professor. She's doing exactly what she accuses other departments of doing to her. Is that intentional? Or are we supposed to think that she's right?

Oh yeah, no, she's awful. She definitely has a hell of an arc coming up, particularly with her judgmental streak. Less directly about her being judgmental of English academics, mostly cuz it's a joke that makes me giggle. (It's definitely not a positive quality, but sometimes I like being petty on purpose.) But she's insanely judgmental of herself, and by extension the types of people who like what (she isn't quite ready to admit) she likes.

But yeah, she's far from a perfect character and there's plenty to criticize about her. Honestly if I knew I was going to turn this story into a multi-chapter fic, I would have written it in third person, and Tav would just be a named character.

[sarcastic-pasta-games]

Updates on Glitch:

Sushi and I came back to the team to talk about its future and what to do. With some rearranging of the events, we think we can simplify the game a lot while still telling the story we ultimately want to tell, but it’s possible it will be a trilogy, as finishing the game may mean making it a bit shorter. That being said, we will still give you time to get to know the new egos who come with this chapter and, of course, Sushi and I will be helping out with the writing and I have every intention of writing the finale myself exactly as I planned it.

Some new games have been added to chapter 3 (or what chapter 3 originally covered), which requires some time to set up, but that actually gave us time to program in some rather impressive Cuphead-like battles. Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to share any pictures right now, but it’s looking good so far.

Updates on Truth and Consequences:

I’ve made it to the first trial of the third case! I had to pause for a bit because this case required a sheepish face for Athena and I didn’t have one, but I plan to get right back into it. At this pace, I’m expecting it to be finished relatively soon, but these cases take a very long time to make and this is the first multi-day one I’ve ever done, so there’s a lot to consider.

Oh and you didn’t think I’d end this little update without showing you that sheepish Athena face, did you? This is edited into the first case, but you can rest assured that you will see it and one other custom facial expression in this case.

Final thoughts:

I noticed that a lot of people have unfollowed us on our platforms, and I suppose it makes sense if you’re not interested in Ace Attorney, but we are still working on Glitch. As I told someone today, I can’t control the dopamine. This is the project my heart needed to work on. But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to see Glitch through to the end. It’s just that the strain of directing such a large project was getting to me while T&C doesn’t require a major team. It’s very much my game, not quite a solo project but almost entirely written by me and I’m very pleased with it.

So if you enjoy games like Danganronpa or Zero Escape or Your Turn to Die, please give Ace Attorney a look! It’s well worth it, particularly the trilogy. Had Jack actually played the series, perhaps there’d be more interest, but he never got around to it (his loss) so I’m doing my best but I know there isn’t a huge overlap in audiences. I do want to hear from you guys though. What are your thoughts on this? Are you upset I’m working on a different game or because progress has been slow?

I don’t want to disappoint you all, but I also don’t want to put all my time and effort on something I don’t feel passionate about, and that was starting to stress me out.

~Dev Lily (Katie)

[mayakern]

now i’m curious what were ur fav MP goofs !!! :0

ok i have a 10 image limit and some of these are multi-image jokes so i’ll try to distill these as best i can. also these jokes are all from i think chapter 4 and later, where i really flourished my sense of humor more

1. marina’s high school crush/bff sharkwanda being a highly contentious contestant on a spoof of top model

this is specifically a spoof of the early seasons, which usually had an assessment within the first 2 or 3 episodes, including a weigh in. as much as i loved trashy tv, i always hated these moments so i thought it would be funny to have a literal shark and to have her be weighed against mostly average-sized humanoids because it would be ridiculous for anyone to expect a healthy shark to weigh the same amount as a human.

there were a couple other layers to this: george idolizing her as a strong, independent woman. george’s brother freaking out because sharkwanda just ate a man on camera and no one’s overly bothered by this. george chastising him for not realizing it was obviously fake/over dramatized for the ratings (and not examining that then this moment of “self empowerment” would also be fake). and then also i named her after a fish named wanda. except she’s a shark named wanda. she’s also the most beautiful and popular girl in the world and she wins her season and becomes a very successful model.

2. the tinsley family thanksgiving outfits. actually their themed outfits in general. i think shit like this is super cute and funny. i also just enjoy writing siblings who rib each other lovingly.

also the part of this where george’s mom has three eyes (she’s psychic) and her dad has no eyes, so her brother has two eyes and for all intents and purposes looks human, but he is a full blooded monster. early on i had some ideas for an off shoot chapter about eli and his struggles with his identity (being a monster but not looking like one and not feeling at home in either community), but it got scrapped for time and also because it felt like too close a parallel to mixed race people who pass as white and that’s not my story to tell.

3. sharkwanda’s cover (up) girl ad campaign during the superb owl half time show. some of this stuff was a bit on the nose, but there’s a line about sharkwanda finally having makeup that doesn’t melt off her face like hot cheese that i still like

4. this multi-strip joke where franny’s dad pulls a turkey out of a hat. just read it there’s nothing to explain lol

5. basically every part of the magic shop scene, but especially the part where percy meets franny’s dad for the first time during a very tense situation and franny’s dad is wearing a skeleton (this is a reference to ranma 1/2). and then also percy sits and there’s a whoopee cushion. it’s incredibly awkward and not exactly haha funny, but it simultaneously cuts and adds to the tension in a way that is very monsterpop.

6. human!franny getting ben a dog toy as his secret santa gift (he doesn’t own a dog) and then dropping it and then it making a horrific, shrill squeak when it bounces

7. the whole situation with chadler, his horrible christmas outfit, the marshmallow gun, and him taking sexy santa ben as prisoner.

8. ben, killed by glitter, soon to be avenged by his crush comrade (or not)

9. george being gifted a framed painting of a photo of herself, asleep during class, which she later carries into an actual museum and gets in trouble for because a guard thinks she stole a piece of art

10. the brotebook

this has been very long but i hope u enjoyed it

[abronzeagegod]

ETS WIP Chapter 13: What Faith Can Do For You

[first]|[more]

Lyta found herself in a strange place. A very strange place.

A weird place that looked like a brand new cathedral one built pristine and cleanly with modern tools but using rocks, bricks, marble, and designs of an Old World style. Stained glass that was more art than glass and colorful chalk and crayon drawings marring beautiful stone.

"What the actual hell?" Lyta whispered to Aeth who was standing next to her.

"This is the cathedral to the small god I was talking to you about," Aeth explained in an equal whisper. "When I moved them to this new church they immediately fought off the Swwarm app. I figure they might be helpful."

"I hope so, because this family seemed very nice and I don't want to be screwing with them unnecessarily."

The great and large god flew into the temple through the massive open back of the church that somehow Lyta didn't even notice (possibly because the "outside" was the same beautiful multi-colored light as the stained glass).

The god was large. Massive wings that reflected and magnified the stained glass, a segmented body that seemed less insect and more finely crafted metal computer pieces that were supposed to connect together and be fused together in grand circuits.

Sir Lance Corporal was fascinating and beautiful and Lyta was a little in awe.

The massive small god settled at the head of the church and bowed it's massive head towards Aeth.

"Ah my first priest. It is a treat to have you back upon my domain. I see that you bring an acolyte with you," the god says in a deep synthesized voice with the bass turned up quite high.

Lyta felt something like a twinge of jealousy, but she squashed the feeling and didn't examine it too much further.

She felt like it would be inappropriate to interrupt or say anything as she was still not entirely sure what was happening.

"This is my friend Lyta. She's not really the faithful type."

If the object of my worship was something else, Lyta couldn't help but think.

"We could use your help," Aeth continued.

"What can I do for you?" the god asked.

"When you first moved into this machine," Aeth said, "there was a program that you fought with."

"Yes. It was dark and had unknown intentions. It rejected all of my inquiries as to it's purpose and origins."

"We were both taken in by that program," Aeth said.

"Yeah, wasn't a fun time," Lyta spoke up for the first time.

"It almost killed me to be honest."

When Aeth told Sir Lance Corporal that fact, the god and it's great wings shuddered and the god changed. The anger the god felt was filled with lightning and the glass art of it's wings cracked and shattered and became jagged pieces of glass that could cut and tear.

Lyta was impressed.

"I would destroy this app for you, if you asked me," Sir Lance Corporal said.

"That's actually what we are here to ask you," Aeth said. "I have sort of a plan, and for it to even sort of work we would need you to come with us."

There was a moment of total and complete silence as Sir Lance Corporal reverted back to their original form. "This sounds like a worthy purpose and a worthy quest."

"Would you leave your home and family to help us?" Lyta asked.

"Your friend was the first to see me, to know me. They saved me and offered me a chance to live and determine my purpose among those I treasure. I shall help in whatever way I can, but my powers are limited beyond the scope of this computer."

"We would have to take you to the tech support HQ in town. I figure the first significant step would be setting up a band and filter to force delete the app off the other tech support employees so that way we'll have more people on our side, then we can figure out where we're going after that," Aeth said.

"Do what we did before," Sir Lance Corporal said, "I will fight off this abyssal entity and you will forcibly uninstall it before it can do much harm."

"Wait. Did you say abyss?" Lyta asked.

Aeth paled as they spoke up. "Oh shit. That's where this is coming from."

"What?" Lyta asked again, not getting an explanation yet and feeling very bad at what she assumed was coming.

"The Exterminators said that they accounted for everything within in the house all those weeks back. But they couldn't find the actual computer I was supposed to work on," Aeth finally answered. "If the computer survived, fell into the Abyss, and there was still a connection, some crazy nonsense would have to occur but the worms might have made themselves an app."

"That's it, I'm dead. I want the Last Sentinel Angels of Tullithen to come down in their battle skirts and carry me off," Lyta lamented.

"It's not that bad."

"You're talking about going to war with an app created by a sentient piece of chaos so big, powerful, and stupid that it created its own plane of existence where it can continue to perpetuate being big, powerful, stupid, and chaotic!"

"No, not war," Sir Lance Corporal said. "We merely have to find a way to deny access to the computer of origin. Of course the abyss and the pieces of it trapped with the application on thousands of phones would try to stop us."

"Great. So much better," Lyta huffed.

"It should be fairly easy to find and sever the connection and then establish a specific firewall against the app," Sir Lance Corporal continued.

"Tech support has a pretty powerful firewall already we just need to establish a couple of new lines of code to specifically block Swwarm," Aeth said.

"Because coding is such an exact science it will definitely be that easy."

"If you come with me it will be very easy," Aeth said in a whisper just for Lyta.

"Ugh. Damn it. Fine. Let's do this. I've always wanted to piss off some worm demon chaos things," Lyta said.

i have a kofi where you can read these early

[space-mermaid-writing]

The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Chapter 16

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter's Note: When I wrote this chapter, I was thinking about throwing in some Stephen/Reader for jealousy, but later discard the idea. Stephen is way better as a friend. Especially to Loki. Even if he doesn't know it yet. Beta by @zaria-04

Chapter 16: Dinner and wine with the sorcerer

It's early in the evening when you leave your room in the tower and head for the lobby on the first floor. You and Stephen have finally found a mutually available spot in your schedules for your agreed-upon dinner. Admittedly, he was the more difficult factor in this. You're quite flexible in your free time.

In the elevator, you run into Tony. He looks tired, his Metallica shirt is wrinkled and full of oil stains. He greets you wordlessly with a brief nod, which alone is very unusual for him.

"Are you okay?" you ask him. "You look like you haven't gotten much sleep the last few days."

He gives you a suspicious look. "Depends on who's asking. Did Pepper set you up on me?"

"No, I was just being polite," you wave it off. "I can shut up, though, if you don't feel like talking."

Tony sighs and pinches his nose. "I may have lost track of time in the workshop yesterday. Pepper's at a conference in Europe for a few days and asked me to take care of some stuff at the office. Why are nights so short when you're productive?" He tinkered all night and now takes care of a multi-billion dollar company on the side. You guess geniuses just have a different kind of lifestyle.

"If I wanted to let you know I won't be around for a few days, will you make a mental note of that, or should I come back to you for it later when you're not dead on your feet?"

The elevator opens and Tony gets off. It's not the floor you want to go to, but you follow him anyway to continue your conversation. "It's alright, I have Jarvis to remind me. What are you up to?" Tony asks you.

"Witch stuff," you wink.

"My cue to not ask further, I suppose."

He's probably right about that. "When I'm back I'd like to talk to you about my contract," you bring up another topic you wanted to discuss with him. "I mean, Loki is officially going on missions now and there have been no more incidents. Maybe we should talk about new goals. I'm not sure I have anything else to contribute."

Tony stops and looks at you. "I strongly hope that doesn't mean you want to leave us." You shake your head. You don't. "Speaking of which, what did you do to tame him?"

"I have my ways," you reply evasively. Actually, you have no idea what you did. You just didn't treat him like a criminal but a normal person. It probably helped that you like each other, but that hadn't been intentional. Maybe just a byproduct of you two spending so much time together.

"Well, whatever it is: don't stop it," Tony instructs you.

Sure, that you can do. You decide to take advantage of Tony's good mood a little further. "Loki should have more access to the outside world. I don't think he needs to be locked up in the tower anymore."

"Consider it approved. We'll talk about the details when you're back."

You nod and say goodbye. Tony continues toward his, more like Pepper's, office while you walk back to the elevators.

That was one thing done. Now you just have to tell Loki that you won't be here for the rest of the week. Originally, you had considered taking him with you, but Loki told you he was going to meet his mother. Thor will take him to her. You take it as a good sign that he has contact with his family and Asgard. Things have really all turned out very well.

Being in a great mood you make your way to Stephen. You take the subway to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Bleeker Street is not far from the tower – almost just straight south some blocks – but you don't feel like walking. And Stephen doesn't like opening portals for everyone all the time. "I'm not a cab company," is his usual statement. And you can understand. It's different when he sends people home through it. "Then they're no longer interrupting my work."

Stephen can be really charming – if he wants to be.

You've only known him after he became the Sorcerer Supreme. From what you've heard from others – Stephen himself doesn't talk much about it – when he was a surgeon, dinner with him used to be a spectacle: expensive clothes, exclusive restaurant. It was all about maintaining a certain image.

Today, dinner and wine means sitting together in one of the more comfortable rooms of the Sanctum. The fireplace is lit up and you have various take out boxes spread out on the small table between the couches. At least the wine is of high quality – Stephen insists on that – and is served in proper glasses.

You’ve moved on the floor between the table and the couch, legs casually stretched out toward the fire, barefoot. Stephen hovers cross-legged a feet in the air, his posture relaxed as well.

"... so we have to assume that what we understand by magic these days is something different from what is described in the ancient books. It explains why there are spells that no one can implement today, even though there is a detailed record of them," Stephen finishes his explanation.

You roll your eyes and poke the box of Phad Thai with your plastic fork. "Okay, I get your point. Still don't think it's right to separate the different sources of magic so strongly just because we don't understand their connection or variations."

"From a science point of view it is." Stephen has that lecturing tone in his voice that you don’t like. The one that shows he is used to being right.

"Don't get me started with your science talk! You guys always think you're the peak of humanity with your knowledge. When I was your age, science said that magic flows in the veins and that you can transfer the ability if you drink witches blood. There were whole essays and tutorials about it."

The Cloak of Levitation, shifting every so often between Stephen's shoulders and the unoccupied seat on the sofa, pours you more wine and you thank it with a nod.

"When you were my age, we had only sixteen states and you weren't even allowed to vote. So, don't play your senior citizen card on me, woman."

"Shut up, young man, and show your seniors some respect!" You laugh and take a sip of the wine. This kind of banter is not unusual for the two of you. The teasing is not serious, you have too much respect for each other. At least, you suspect Stephen is capable of something like respect. Sometimes you're not so sure about it.

You put down your Phad Thai box and stretch. "Next question: what do you think about the theory that electricity is some kind of magic?"

It's a highly debated theory that often divides minds.

"Oh, that's actually quite interesting. I've read a few papers on it. There are good arguments for it." As he speaks, Stephen points his fork in the air, as if to punctuate his words. "The main argument against it is that the majority of people would have to be considered magic users."

"That's true," you nod, "although there is a difference in the terms magic user and magic adept. And besides, people need devices, foreign components, to use electricity. They never get it from their own body. On the contrary, it is better if the body does not come in contact with it ever."

"But there are enough kinds of magic that need similar kinds of components," Stephen interjects, "For example, magic is stored in artifacts, like electricity in a battery."

"True." You think about this for a moment as another thought occurs to you. "Follow-up question: is a radioactive piece of uranium a cursed item?"

Stephen nods affirmatively. "Absolutely! But not in the magical sense."

You couldn't agree more. Both are similarly lethal.

"Imagine if we told Tony he was some kind of Tech Mage," you jump back to the electricity magic discussion, laughing at the thought. "Not sure if he would love it or hate it."

Stephen's expression clearly says he would not be pleased if Tony Stark suddenly had magical abilities as well. Even if only by a technicality. He clashed with the trillionaire often enough while they have separate domains.

You wonder what Loki would think about the topic. You’re sure he has an interesting take on these things, too.

It's very late when you arrive back at your room in the tower. Stephen has kindly opened a portal for you after all. You two had emptied another bottle of wine and you are glad that you have made your way home without stumbling.

On your nightstand you have already prepared a glass with a potion against hangover. It's a well-tried recipe that you got from your sister and that works wonders. Unfortunately, it tastes a bit spongy. Nevertheless, you empty it in one go and then go to bed so that it can take effect while you sleep.

The next morning starts earlier than you'd like. Just because you don't have a hangover doesn't mean missing hours of sleep will make up for it. You roll out of bed and move wearily to the bathroom. You're glad you took the day off, because there's nothing else for you to do today but make a few preparations, maybe process a few more orders. You want to get everything done before you head out.

You're meeting your family for a rare event: every one hundred years, a lunar convergence takes place where the moons of three planets line up. It's a special event, with a high magical power. Basically, it is like the introduction to a new century. Many witches and other magically gifted people gather for it. It is a spectacular event every time, and you are happy to be able to attend it with your siblings.

It occurs to you that you haven’t told Loki yet that you won't be around for a few days. Even if he has his own plans with his mother, you don't want him to wait in vain for you on the other days.

So you pack up everything you need from your room, put the bag by the portal door of the walk-in closet, and then make your way to the suite.

Loki is sitting on the couch, reading. When he hears your footsteps, he looks up, his lips pressed tightly together. He puts his book aside and stands up to meet you.

"Hey Loki, how are you do-…"

Gruffly, he interrupts you with a wave of his hand. You frown as you notice his stony expression.

"Hypocrite!" he accuses you.

Astonished, you look at him, having no idea what has triggered this rage in him. "What?"

He takes a step closer to you and then another. It's a threatening gesture and the way your body reacts is mind boggling. Your muscles clench and your heart beat becomes rapid. It's like your body is aware of a danger lurking but your mind is still unaware - though to be fair this is one of the cons of being with Loki: often enough it's hard to tell what is on his mind.

"You said you don't want me to toy with you, yet you play your little, wicked games with me."

"I can’t follow you, Loki. I don't play games," you try to reason. Your thoughts are racing, trying to understand what he means.

"Oh, so you didn't seduce me to tame me?" he hisses. "Was it all just a trick so I wouldn't cause you problems? After all, it's your job to keep me under control."

Open-mouthed, you stare at him, too surprised by the accusation. His words remind you of your conversation with Tony yesterday. Had Loki overheard? You were in an open hallway of the tower, anyone could have heard you. But the words are taken out of context. That's not what happened. Not what you meant.

Loki takes your affected silence as an admission of guilt. "Was it fun?" he asks you, his voice poisoned to mask the pain. "I admit, you fooled me. Not many are able to do that."

Loki’s right – it's your job to make sure he stays in line. But that's not what your conversation with Tony was meant to be. None of this had been planned. Your feelings hadn't been planned. Could you build any kind of relationship on something like that?

Your head is spinning but the answer is simple: No. The imbalance between you two is too great. It had to lead to trouble. This is your mistake, and you need to fix it.

"You are right," you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to Loki. "This is wrong." You turn to do what you should have done long ago. Without another word you leave and as you do so, you're so wrapped up in your own head that you don't even register that Loki remains rooted to the spot.

He looks after you, agonized.

You run straight into Tony's office, paying no attention to the secretary who jumps up to stop you but isn't fast enough. Luckily, it's really Tony sitting in that office, not Pepper. And luckily, he's not in an important meeting.

His head shoots up as you yank open the door and rush in, upset.

"I quit!"

Placing both palms on the desk, he rises from his seat. "What did Loki do? Do I need to kill him? Because I tell you, I just started to like him a little. But I won't hesitate if necessary."

His words remind you this is solely on you. Loki didn't do anything wrong, even though your performance right now probably gives a different impression.

You take a deep breath.

"No I…" You try to think of the right words and start walking small circles in front of the table. You can't sit still, the movement helping you think. "I want to keep doing the job, but I don't want to get paid for it anymore. What you've given me in money so far is more than I need anyway. It's never been about that for me. This may sound strange, but somehow Loki has become a friend and it's wrong to be with him and get paid for it."

Tony looks at you and the furrow on his forehead disappears. "That's what this is about? Jesus, this could have been a simple phone call. You shouldn't scare a man my age like that. I could have a heart attack." He exhales relieved. "Sit down, I'll fix you a drink."

Just slowly, you settle into the seat in front of the table. Your hands are still too nervous and you knead your fingers together. The conversation with Loki has gotten to you and your thoughts are still hanging on his words.

You don't register Tony again until he sets a glass of amber liquid down in front of you. He remains leaning against the table, a drink of his own in his hand. "If that's your choice, I have no objection. You're welcome to work for free. But you should at least think about it. I also have friends who only like me for my money."

"They are no friends, Tony."

"Ouch." He puts his hand over his heart, as if you've hit him personally. But his expression is not truly offended. Instead, he seems thoughtful, as if trying to properly assess the situation. "So… friends? Is that how you kids call it nowadays? Because let me tell you, when I was young and someone said they were just friends, then they were most certainly not just friends.”

Sighing, you finally reach for your glass and sip it, because Tony’s words hit it right on the mark. "It's complicated," you mutter.

"Of course it is. He's Loki and you're a witch."

"Well observed, Sherlock," you snort in amusement. Then something occurs to you that you hadn't considered before. "If it's not too much to ask, I'd like to keep my room here in the tower."

"If you'll keep doing the same work for free, I'll even put a new doormat on it."

"Thanks, Tony."

"Anytime, Sabrina."

Your eyes meet and Tony smiles at you. A gesture you return. He's a good man, surprisingly helpful. You're glad to have met him.

"You know, I've never watched that show," you admit as he uses that nickname again.

Tony pushes himself off the table and walks around it to his chair. "You're fired," he simply says.

"You can't fire me. I don't work here anymore."

He grins widely. "Shit, she found a loophole."

You're feeling a little better. A weight has been lifted off your shoulders, you finally don't have to feel guilty about Loki anymore. After your meeting with your family, you will talk to him and explain it. Then he will see that you care about him and not about the job.

–-––––––––––––––––––––––

Ah yes, miscommunication at its finest!

Witchling Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @nothing2113 @baebeepeach @ceo-of-stfu @moonlightreader649 @ronipiamka @fluffybunnyu @ninjarose23 @ozymdias @huntress-artemiss @thedistractedagglomeration @rosaline-black @sofi786 @moonlightreader649 @paetonnn @eldriidd @r4inlov3r @eleniblue @eleniblue @maeisonline @marvel-love24 @sinsandguilt @kalinaselennespeaks @ohtellmelove @eleniblue @msrawog @hyojin-2579