#i'll prob...put it on ao3 later

[covetyou]

freeze-thaw

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: no outbreak, fluff, smut, fingering, playing in the snow, temperature play, Joel probs has super bad circulation, established relationship but it's their first Christmas together and reader has some relationship insecurites word count: 2.7k summary: With your holiday plans ruined when a freak snow storm blows through town, you spend the fesitve period holed up with your partner, Joel Miller, learning exactly how warm you can keep each other in the snow.

A/N: happy holidays and merry sunday @oogaboogasphincter, from your Pedrostories Secret Santa! I went mostly for a snow, with a sprinkling of established relationship, and a dash of doing cozy things. I don't think I've written any of these things before, so it was a learning experience! I used just about every synonym I know for the word cold too.

snowy dividers by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Your holiday plans had gone to shit the moment that first flurry fell from the sky. Icy roads, cancelled flights, and downed power lines - Texas infrastructure at its finest - had put a halt to your plans to head back north for the holiday. Joel's holiday plans didn't fair much better, and instead of your first Christmas together being spent apart, you were spending your first Christmas together, well, together.

Then, to make a bad thing worse, the power went out, leaving you stuck in the dark and the cold in your apartment, and together suddenly became very together.

It hadn't been the plan - you still felt so very shiny and new at this, at being with him, and the idea of spending such a significant holiday holed up with him terrified you more than the dark ever did. But still, Joel drove on treacherous roads to come pick you up at 3am, dragging you and the perishable food from your refrigerator back to his place for the holidays. He had a generator, and fuel, and enough space for both of you to be comfortable, he said.

You spent the first day keeping to yourself, tiptoeing around, not wanting to disturb him any more than you were. Then he'd caught you circling around the back of the sofa, so as to not disturb his view of the TV, and his deep laughter stopped you dead in your tracks.

A "the fuck are you doin'" later and your insecurities came tumbling out, quickly quashed by Joel as he made it very well known just how much he wanted you there. That night, it didn't take you long to learn how warm you could keep each other.

The second day was spent bundled together on the sofa, him between your legs or you between his.

On the third, you worked up such a sweat together that you'd walked around his house naked, never more grateful for the generator chugging away in the garage.

Eventually, domesticity took over, and you spent a day wrapped up in each other in different ways. Watching a movie, drinking hot coffee, cooking a meal.

You'd trailed behind Joel into the yard on his way to check the generator that same day, Joel wanting to check it was well fueled, and you wanting an excuse to be out of the house for five minutes.

You kick at the snow, enjoying it for a few moments before it inevitably seeps through your shoes and chills your toes. Reaching down, you fluff it through your fingers, throwing a little into the air just to watch it fall again - as if you hadn't seen enough falling snow this last week. Joel is watches you, his eyes burning into your back and a smile tugging at his lips.

"You get inside, I'll deal with all this."

You stick your tongue out at him, trudging further over the snow to spin in the middle of the yard with your arms flung wide. He's laughing along with you when you stop, disorientated and unsteady on your feet. Looking back to him you stop in your tracks, finally seeing the deep gouges that mar the otherwise pristine white crust covering the ground. Yours and Joel's boots, footprints in the snow. Something about it, your foot steps mingling there together for all to see, wretches open your chest and captivates you.

And so, drawn in as you were by the footprints, you write your initials in the snow. Yours first, and then his, joined together and underlined as fact. You hesitate to carve out a frozen heart - too fearful to freeze something so warm and new and growing in something as rigid and fragile as ice - and turn to Joel again, a smile spreading across your face as you gesture to the letters in the snow -

"Oof."

- and a snowball, aimed perfectly at the back of your head a moment ago collides directly with your face. You cough and splutter, briefly blinded by ice as you swipe your freezing fingers over your face, hearing the creak of Joel's boots on the snow as he approaches you with apologies and laughter spilling from his lips in equal measure.

You glower at him, snow undoubtedly caught in your eyebrows, hiding a laugh of your own.

"Get," he says, turning you by the shoulders and pushing lightly to get you back inside. "I'll handle out here, check on the generator. Get warmed up."

Inside, the warmth almost burns as you peel off your layers and check on the food still baking away in the oven. Holding your hands in front of it like it was an open flame, you warm your fingers and wait for Joel, who comes back a few minutes later, chilled to the bone, stomping the snow from his boots and shaking his head as he shudders with the cold.

"Generator's still lookin' good," he says, slapping his gloves down on the counter. He rubs his hands together, blowing on them in an attempt to warm them up faster. Four days now, and the power was still out thanks to a new downfall of snow overnight.

"Your turn to get warm then," you smile, bending down to peer into the oven. "Dinner won't be long now."

"Sounds great, darlin'."

The bitter bubble of air he brought in with him surrounds you as he pulls you into his arms, nuzzling his frosty nose into your hair, laughing with you as you twitch away from the cold.

You expect him to move to the stove, to warm his hands on the heat of the oven just as you did, but instead he draws his fingertips up your belly, pushing your sweater up. Cold fingers meet the soft warmth of your bare skin and you gasp, gripping his arm.

"Joel! Don't you dare."

It was karmic justice really, given the number of times you'd warmed your feet on him in the night recently. You couldn't help it if the man was like a radiator.

"Got old fingers, baby, cold gets to my bones quick. Lemme warm 'em up, I know just the place."

"Fine," you say, tensing and preparing for the incoming press of his icy hand to your belly.

It doesn't come. Instead he tucks his hand down the front of your leggings, dragging the cold with him and holding you tight with his other arm.

"Joel..."

"What? Friction gets 'em warmer quicker. You don't want me to lose 'em to frostbite, do you?" You can feel him smiling into your hair as you gasp at the cold press of his fingertips to the white heat between your legs.

"No. Wouldn't want you gettin' frostbite."

Joel hums into your hair, breathing you in, just as he starts to rub softly over your clit. The sensation makes your skin prickle, first with warmth, then with cold, then something deliciously inbetween.

A moment later he's already slipping them from you and you twist, raising your eyebrow at him and preparing to call him a tease, only to watch as he slides his fingers into his mouth, slicking his cool digits up with his saliva. He's tucking them back into your leggings with a mocking raised eyebrow of his own, kissing the gasp from your lips as his fingers make cold, wet trails down your warm stomach again. They slip against your clit with ease now, but the wetness only exacerbates the chill of his fingers.

The layers of your panties and leggings can't warm up his hand fast enough, and even as he starts to rub gently at you, doing much more than just warming his fingers, you feel a shiver of cold run through you.

"Friction is b-bullshit," you stutter. "Your fingers are still cold as hell."

"Just think how I feel, they're my fingers."

"My heart bleeds for you, Joel," you retort, leaning your head back onto him.

"If it don't feel good, I can stop."

"... I never said anything about stopping," you sigh, closing your eyes and widening your stance a little so he can reach further down.

Joel doesn't need further prompting, his spit slicked fingers slipping through your folds to dip lower between your legs to swipe at your entrance. It seemed counterintuitive, putting something so cold somewhere so warm, but Joel's fingers sliding with ease through the wetness pooled between your legs was proof enough that it did something.

Small strokes become broader, his cold fingers swiping up and down the seam of you as if to prove friction was all he was after. The heat from your core soon begins to warm his fingers, pulling warmth back into his bones and easing the ache in them with each passing moment. Still, it's slow going, and your arousal seems to grow exponentially quicker than the warmth in his fingers.

When they finally feel warmer, and your soft sighs turn to deeper moans, you arch your back, winding your hips along with the movement of his fingers. The cold was no match for how hot you were starting to feel. You would burn the cold right out of him before he was through.

"Joel-"

You gasp again when he slides a single cool finger down and presses it slowly inside of you. His fingertips may have been warmed by friction, but the length of his digits had not, and they still felt icy cold, making you clench and grip around him. Still, no amount of clenching can hide the wetness dripping out of you as he slides in with ease, slicking his finger up before pushing in with a second. He fucks you with them slowly, restricted by the fabric of your leggings, before pulling your arching back flush to his body. A second later his fingers still inside you, anchoring you down just as his palm presses flat against your mound. Warming you up and then cooling you down again over and over was making your head spin, and while you shudder and shiver in his arms, you know it's not the cold that does it this time.

"How are your hands still so cold," you pant.

"Bad circulation, darlin'," he whispers, and you feel yourself grow wetter still at the low gravelly sound of his voice.

"Should get that seen to."

"Good job I got you in the meantime."

The slow curl of his fingers isn't enough, and you find yourself rocking into his frigid palm, eager for the friction to return to your clit now that his fingers are buried deep inside you.

"Grind on it, darlin', that's it. Warm me up."

He rubs the heel of his palm against your clit in sync with your movements, and before you know it you're holding back twitches and biting your lips to stop moans from spilling too loudly out of you.

"You're gonna make me come, Joel."

"Just warmin' my hands, nothin' else."

You can hear the smile in his voice and feel it against your neck as he nuzzles his cold nose into your cheek.

"I know your game, Miller," you say, before groaning once again, pressing back against him with each rock of your hips, feeling the rapid swelling of his cock against your lower back. It seemed you were warming him in more ways than one as his fingers curled inside you, pushing and dragging against that spongy spot on your front wall that he never failed to find.

"Pussy's like a damn furnace. Who needs the generator, when we got this."

His palm is still cold, but you're starting to sweat, feeling the prickle of it across your scalp as you move, panting into the warm air of Joel's home. He could hold you like this forever, be buried in you like this forever as the world outside turned to ice, and you wouldn't mind.

But you're made painfully aware that this can't last forever as you feel yourself getting closer, pressure building inside you with each buck of your hips.

"Joel."

It's dizzying - his slowly warming palm and fingers, now red hot inside of you as they press and press and press at you in a way that would normally have you boneless if you were lying on his bed. But, standing here in the kitchen, you lock out your knees and hold on, white knuckle gripping the counter with your own still cold hands.

A shudder hits you when his cold face nudges yours again, and you turn your head to meet his lips in a kiss. He pulls the warmth from you there too, his cold nose nudging at yours. Even through your panties and the restricted movement of his hand, you can hear how wet you are, sloshing beneath his palm as you let out a keening moan straight into his mouth.

"S'okay. I got you."

He coaxes it out of you, you can feel it coming, his fingers picking up the pace, making the nudge of his palm just right, for just long enough, to send you skyrocketing in his arms.

It's white hot, sending a shiver down your spine as an orgasm ripples through you, twinkling behind your eyelids before exploding in your core, a muted breathy scream pulling from you with each gasping breath that leaves your mouth. You're falling apart as he holds you together, coming on his fingers and beneath his palm as he grinds it into every rock of your hips. Well practiced hands stop just as you're hitting a point of oversensitivity, cupping and holding onto you gently as you go as limp as you can in his arms, knees locked to keep you upright.

He swallows down each of your moans greedily, until you're left breathing heavy, forehead pressed to his. You feel half asleep, even standing on two feet.

"S'your turn," you mumble, only to be dissmissed by Joel with a promise of "later". You're grateful for it, feeling too sleepy to function all of a sudden, until Joel's voice rumbles through you once more.

"I'd say you make a great handwarmer, darlin'."

Laughter spills out of you, warm and bright, the heat in your cheeks warming his nose as he nuzzles against you once again.

"Only one problem," he murmurs, the cottonwool slowly clearing from your head.

"Mm?"

"Got two hands."

His other hand is still cold, he knows it is, but that doesn't stop him from snaking it up your waist, under your sweater and tickling at your bare stomach. You crumple in on yourself, legs that had held you through orgasm buckling as you twitch and laugh into him, smacking your fists into his sturdy chest.

"Stop, stop! You ass- asshole! J-Joel! Stop it!"

He lets you taste the laugh on his lips, kissing you once more as his cold hand rests against your bare skin.

"C'mon, let's eat."

You end that day as it started, wrapped up together, oblivious to the world outside and warmer than you had any right to be in a snow storm.

By the fifth day, the storm has passed, and by the sixth the power is back on, just in time for the big day. You both barely notice, staying wrapped up and warm together over the holiday.

You return to your apartment in the New Year and, even though the power has been back on for days and the heat has been pumping steadily, the place has never felt so cold.

In the years to come, you'd ask Joel about that week - the first of a New Year, and the first without you after having you around for so long. He'd tell you how cold it felt, how empty his house was without you in it. And when you turn up on his doorstep at the end of that first week, sniffling and crying and telling him you missed him, he'll crumple, telling you he felt exactly the same before drawing you into his arms and pulling you inside.

And then, eventually, in a home that was his and is now yours, you'll be sat in warmth and sunshine - as unexpected to the you of back then as a snowball to the face - watching your combined families meet for a Christmas not turned on its head by a Texan snow storm.

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

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[villruu]

Fake amnesia Tim/Masky x Jay? Mayhap?

the og prompt got out of hand (i'll probs post it as a separate fic later bc it truly got out of hand lmao) and I decided that Jay being hit by the fake amnesia was way funnier lol. Not exactly Jam, but this is pre-Jam, in this universe at least. This is set just before S3 starts, aka, Jay hasn't found Tim yet.

On AO3

Content warning: Jay has a lot of internalized ableism about his own situation and that reflects on how he thinks of Masky/Masked Tim, and it also reflects on how of an unreliable narrator he is. So yeah lmao

⸻

Jay blinked, dazed.

Something cool is fixed to his face, plastic warmed by skin contact, humid with his breath. It’s, suffice to say, an awful texture, and the only reason Jay doesn’t take it out instantly, is because he is more worried in trying to find where the hell he is.

He had gone to bed, like mostly normal, after updating twitter, telling people his next move would be to look for Tim and then… And that’s as much as he remembers.

He had gone to sleep like normal, and now, here he was, in the middle of the forest, alone in the dead of the night. Thankfully, he is dressed, he would probably be dying from exposure if he were still in his pajamas. With shaky limbs, Jay forces himself up, looking around.

A frantic search revealed that he didn’t have his phone, nor his camera or the keys of his motel room.

All he had was the mask, a half-wasted lighter, some bits of shoelace and a marker. Which was really not comforting, at all. Jay took the mask off, scowling at the black eyes and teeth, the plastic scribbled on carelessly, lines thick and messy.

This wasn’t… Tim’s mask, or at least the one Jay remembered. Nor was it the mask of that hooded figure. But, it seemed familiar, in some way. Maybe it had appeared in a Totheark video before? Jay passes a gloved finger by the teeth, watching the ink be smudged from the high humidity.

With a sigh, Jay looked around some more.

He had absolutely no idea where he was. Maybe Rosswood? He couldn’t be sure, all the trees looked the same to him, especially now in the darkness of the night. Jay thanked all his lucky stars that today was at least a half-moon and the skies were clear, providing him a small amount of light. If it were a new moon, he would be absolutely lost.

…Why was he in the woods, anyways?

Jay didn’t have a… a masked persona, like Tim did. Jay didn’t go out into the night to beat people up, he wasn’t that type of person.

Still… Why the hell was he here?

With a sigh, Jay picked a random direction and started walking, carefully stepping around the loose branches, because if he twisted an ankle now, nobody would be around to help him. After a while, Jay ended up putting the mask on again, the cold too harsh against his face. At least, with the mask, some amount of heat stayed trapped.

Without a phone or wristwatch, Jay had no idea how long he stumbled through the woods. Everything looked the exact same, tall trees that blurred together, with low hanging branches and so many dead leaves on the floor it made it tricky to take a step, the path slippery with water from the rain of previous days.

At some point Jay decided to stop, at least for a few minutes.

It was too cold, and Jay was exhausted to say the least, feet hurting from walking so much. Leaning against a tree, he took the time to look around. The sky was somewhat clearer, but it was still dark enough to know it was early morning. Maybe around four am, if Jay hadn’t lost his ability to guess the time yet.

A few steps to his right made him freeze, and he instantly turned, heart stopping for a second when he saw a white face in the darkness of the forest emerging to his right. 

He calmed, somewhat, when he noticed the black eyes of the face. It wasn’t that thing, thankfully. A faded jacket followed the mask, and Jay realized that perhaps he wasn’t that thankful, as he recognized who was in front of him. Tim, but in that masked state… deal… possession? He didn’t know.

He had been looking for Tim, yes, but he had wanted to find the… normal Tim, so to say. 

Not when he was running around, in a mask, in the middle of the night, doing who knows what in the forest.

Jay looked at Tim (was it truly Tim? Was Tim conscious? or was he being possessed or something?) carefully, very aware of their loud breathing, which seemed to almost echo across the forest, impossibly noisy in the silence surrounding them. Should he run? But to where, Jay had no idea where he was, and from past experience, Tim clearly knew his way around the forest, whether it was day or night.

Tim tilted his head at him, as if trying to decipher what he was seeing.

Jay, in a fit of panic, copied the movement. He was in no state to run, and Tim would easily catch him if he tried to escape. A brief scan of his surroundings told him he wouldn’t find any loose branch or rock to use as an improvised weapon. Tim tilted his head to the other side, Jay quickly copying.

Tim snorted, shoulders suddenly relaxing from his previous stance position, the masked man now looking more non-threateningly as he relaxed.

Jay took a step back when Tim advanced, wary, grateful that the other stopped instantly upon noticing his wariness.

Why was Tim not attacking him? He always attacked him, or tackled him, or, or, or something!

Jay watched, nervous, as Tim took a few step backs and waved him to follow him. He didn’t want to follow Tim anywhere, not like this, without a camera, without a phone, without anything to protect himself. That’s how people died in horror movies, and as much as his life may now look like a goddamn movie, Jay was not ready to go out like that. 

As he wondered if he should just make a break for it, a rustle of leaves to his left made him freeze.

Jay turned to look, heart sinking as he noticed who now emerged from the darkness. The Hooded Figure paused, looking between Jay, who stood with a wary stance ready to bolt, and Tim, who was leaning relaxed against a tree, seemingly trying to understand the situation before joining Tim’s side, looking at Jay with a tilted head.

Jay took half a step back, shoulders hunched as he lowered his head slightly, like a cat being intimidated and bristling in an attempt to appear bigger. God, this has gone from bad to worse.

The Hooded Figure tapped Tim’s wrist, and Tim merely shrugged.

The Hooded figure tapped Tim’s wrist again, Tim shaking his head before tapping his own mask and giving an overexaggerated shudder, while Jay watched with narrowed eyes behind his mask. 

Morse code, perhaps? 

No, it seemed too brief. Maybe a modified code? A lot of his followers theorized that the hooded person was the one behind Totheark, so it would make sense if they knew ciphers. All knowledge Jay had of them was all that he had been forced to learn to decipher the videos.

A step made Jay startle back, so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed the others finish “talking”.

The hooded figure was already disappearing into the darkness of the forest, while Tim waited and waved him forward, a bit impatiently.

…God, Jay was going to get killed, wasn’t he?

With careful steps, Jay approached Tim, freezing when Tim gently nudged him in greeting, as if they knew each other, before grabbing his wrist as tugging him forward gently, in a way Jay had never thought the masked Tim could be possible of.

The masked person tilted his head upon noticing Jay freeze. 

Carefully, telegraphing his move, he tapped his own mask before tapping the edge of Jay’s mask, as if trying to make a connection. 

… Did… Did Tim know who the person who used the mask Jay was using?

Oh no.

Jay followed Tim robotically, as his thoughts spiraled.

Oh no, oh no.

Did Jay steal this mask? Where was the owner? It was clear that both Tim and the hooded figure recognized the mask, in some way. God, where the fuck had Jay gotten the mask? Had he gotten into a fight? It felt somewhat like it, now that he thought about it, his mind a bit too fuzzy, hands hurting in the way that told him he had punched something… or someone.

God, what the fuck was he supposed to do.

Jay could feel himself grimace as Tim continued to guide him forward, probably deeper into the forest.

Okay, just… Go with the flow, Jay, don’t act suspicious, he thought, pretend everything is alright. God, thankfully these people didn’t speak, otherwise they would clearly recognize that Jay was not whoever this mask belonged to.

With a sigh, Jay picked up the pace slightly, watching Tim look back at him seemingly perk up, like a dog seeing his owner in the distance. Jay tried not to react as Tim nudged him again, heads briefly touching, the plastic masks making a quiet clink before Tim tugged him forward again, seemingly more enthusiastic.

Well, Jay thought, he had wanted to find Tim anyways, right?

Another successful investigation, Jay thought ironically to himself, letting himself be guided deeper into the forest.

[boopshoops]

Yay yay tcoav qna!!!! I still have one more chapter left to read, but I’m super curious about the magic aspect of Yuu Shi’s homeland!! So far we know it’s been banned for like a longggg time, but magic deffo exists. How did it get banned? And regarding that, what does NRC in Yuu Shi’s universe even teach since it’s probs not a prestigious magic school?? I kinda just want to know the similarities and differences between twisted wonderland and Yuu Shi’s world

Also, I didn’t leave any comments on ao3, but ur writing style’s wonderful!! the pov switching is really smooth and not confusing to me at all, and i love how you characterized the staff members given the super limited information about them in game (in contrast to the students’, at least). Can’t wait to see and read more of it and how it differs from the game!! It’s so good so far!!!!

HELLO KRIS!!! kfndjsgjdndk 😭🥺💕💕 im SO glad you're enjoying the fic thus far. I've put a ton of research into the teachers and students alike in order to feel more confident writing them- it was my first time writing characters that i didn't make myself!!!!

As far as Dusk Summit goes, I DO eventually plan on making a post explaining it a bit more... but thats a long ways out as I'd have go learn how tf to draw maps KFNFNDN so there will eventually be a lore and aesthetic dump FJDNDJFJ

Magic in Dusk Summit is a rather tricky subject, some people partially agree that the land claims it as "dangerous," while others think its some weird form at garnering control over the citizens. It is a very... strict place, so to speak.

The main reason that magic has been banned has actually been long forgotten, both by the people themselves and the ones who rule. (Ofc i know the reason but thats entering big spoiler territory ehehe >:))) Therefore, it was simply watered down to "magic=danger!!!" Over time.

Even then they are not particularly wrong- given that in Yuu Shi's world, the outside lands still DO practice magic. She just doesn't know jack shit about it due to being raised inside the Dusk Summit. It's because that magic is still practiced in other countries that the rulers are able to handpick tragedies and push the 'magic?!?! bad!!!' propaganda.

The main differences between the two worlds of Twisted Wonderland is that basically, if you look on a globe, her homeland has poofed out of existence. Everything else is still there.

As for why that seems to be one of the only differences, i'll expand on that in later chapters mwahahaha- everything isnt as it seems, ofc!!

QnA is still open ofc! Come at me yall-

Also old doodle bonus weeee

Tag list 💛

@thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @lowcallyfruity @cecilebutcher @skriblee-ksk

@kitwasnothere @justm3di0cr3

[myths0f01d]

Ok so few months ago I can't remember when. I went through a faze of reading every merlin cross harry potter fic I could find. Including merthur. It's a small list. A really really small list. It's amazing though. I grew up obsessing over harry potter and then merlin. So obviously I devoured the fics and then grew sad when there were no more. So I started writing my own. To be fair it was a very complex story line I chose to write so it didn't last long. I think I have the first half of the first chapter down but I have no hope even for that. But now. As the flame is rekindled. I'll be thinking it out more and writing it again. I say this in hope. But I have no idea since school is starting soon for me.

I have the summary written and maybe the title? I'm not sure.

Also fun fact about me. I have never stuck to reading a 100k fanfic until I read 'Emrys Ascending' by tricksterity on ao3. Probs one of the best merthur fics I've ever read. Go check the fic out. You won't regret it. Trust me.

Anyway here's the summary for my own one. Sort of. Or the main outline?

Many years ago, around 300 years to be exact, Merlin placed the crystal of Neahtid in vault 713, in the lowest part, at the time, in Gringotts wizarding bank. He thought it would be safe there.

What he did not expect was that approximately 200 years later would he be informed that it had been taken, then attempted to been taken again. Now chasing after a half giant, a child and a wacky Headmaster and some unforeseen lurking evil Merlin is forced to venture out into the wizarding world once more.

Though now in hindsight it was not a smart idea to attend the school as an 11 year old boy, apparently it raised a lot of questions when you appear out of nowhere.

It also does not help when a few older years resemble suspiciously to close to Arthur and the knights, so its no wonder he’s so distracted.

There's going to be loads of shenanigans by the way. I want it to mostly be funny fluff and light hearted. Obvi there has to be angst on some parts. I still have a lot to refine and go through but the base idea and what I want for it is there

Here's the old summary (first draft)

Long ago merlin put the crystal of neahtid in vault 713 in the depths of gringotts Wizarding bank.

He thought it's be safer there.

It's not his fault a half giant, a child and a slightly less marbles then there should be headmaster stole it.

And it's certainly not his fault when he thought the best plan of action was to go undercover and take it back. As an 11 year old.

Only to find out the past has come back to haunt him. In the form of of a few 3rd years scattered across houses.

Because really, Guise isn't around anymore to tell him it's his fault. So he'll believe it's not.

That is until he hears a familiar laugh in the forbidden forest.

Ok so maybe it is his fault.

Destiny can go shove it honestly, merlins not amused.

Tell me witch one you like better

[sage-nebula]

STH — Beyond Oblivion, ch.1

Notes: Six days ago I made this post, wherein I talked about being inspired by @chaoxfix's works (specifically "build away and away and away", which is fantastic and you all should read it) to think of a world where Sonic didn't exist, and so Eggman raised Tails instead. I couldn't stop thinking of the idea, and so here we are, the first proper fic I've written in a while. Thank you, Chaofix, for the inspiration; it feels nice to really write something after so long.

This is still rough; I'll probably clean it up later before putting it on AO3. But until then, here's chapter one. Fic title comes from this song from the Neo: TWEWY soundtrack.

Summary: After an accident with what is believed to be a fragment of the Phantom Ruby, Sonic is catapulted into a world where he never existed, leaving Tails to be raised by the one person who should never be put in charge of children.

— — —

“Wow. That’s the biggest chunk of ugly red rock we’ve found yet. Think it’s real?”

“Not sure. I’m scanning its composite signature now so we can compare it to that of the real ruby. We should know in a few minutes.”

“Gotcha. Thanks, li’l bro.”

“No prob—hey, did you see something move over there?”

“Huh? Where?”

“On the other side of the—isn’t that Shadow’s chao?”

“Shadow’s chao? What’s that doing her—hey, stop!”

“Is it trying to take the ruby?!”

“Not if I have anything to say about—”

“Sonic, don’t—!”

Sonic’s eyes shot open.

Above him was a dismal grey sky thick with clouds, a stark contrast from the clear blue of before. Under his back was dying, yellowed grass, scratchy against his quills and so different from the sweeping green plains he and Tails had found the Phantom Ruby chunk in moments before. When he closed his eyes, Sonic could see the chunk of ruby glistening in the dirt, the tiny black paws of Shadow’s chao reaching for it. Sonic could see his own hand reaching out, pushing the chao back . . . and his knuckles swiping across the gleaming, glowing stone.

Sonic snorted as he opened his eyes again.

Well, that answered the question of whether the ruby chunk was real or not.

He sat up, and rolled his shoulders to work the stiffness out of them. It felt like only a second had passed, but the throbbing through his body suggested otherwise. There wasn’t much around him; a parched plain stretched for miles in any direction he could see, barren trees dotting the landscape here or there and what looked like a rocky mountain range in the distance. It was . . . wrong. Sonic didn’t know where he was, but he knew that it was wrong. The grass, the trees—they shouldn’t look like this. And the wind, growing stronger by the second, stank of exhaust even though there weren’t any cities around for—

Sonic jolted to his feet as a foghorn blared, setting his every quill on edge. For a half second, he had no idea where it came from; but as the rank aware gusted around him in a cyclone, he finally turned his eyes back up to the dismal sky, and felt both recognition and revulsion at once.

“Huh,” Sonic muttered. “Didn’t realize he put it back in commission.”

Eggman’s airship—the Flying Battery.

A gargantuan mass of steel and gunpowder, the Flying Battery was, at one time, the military flagship of Eggman’s would-be empire. Boasting more cannons than badniks, the Flying Battery was meant to rain unrelenting missile fire onto the world below, and smog into the sky above. Not that it had much of a chance, of course; Sonic had wasted no time (but had plenty of fun) ripping it apart from the inside out before he sent it careening to a fiery demise.

Yet here it was again, leisurely wading through the clouds as it trailed smog and—Sonic realized, the ground pulsing beneath his feet—bad music behind it. Because the throbbing he had felt before wasn’t coming from inside him, but from inside the ship above his head; a pulsing beat radiating over the empty plain.

Sonic frowned, and tapped his foot.

He didn’t know where he was. He was only vaguely sure of how he got there. And one look his wrist communicator, which flashed a dead signal message back at him, told him he wasn’t going to be able to call Tails for a lift back home any time soon. But no matter where he was, there was never a bad time to bring down a megalomaniac’s prized warship.

Sonic grinned, and sped off after it.

- - -

Hitching a ride on the Flying Battery was as easy as it ever was, if a bit slow for his tastes. All he had to do was wait for it to pass by the mountain peak where he waited, and then take a flying leap. Easy as pie, none of the security sensors so much as twitched a cannon in his direction.

If he was honest with himself, Sonic would say he was a little disappointed.

The Flying Battery was much as it had been before, albeit with a few more clucks guarding the corridors than he remembered. The curious thing Sonic noticed as he smashed each and every one to bits was that not a single one had an animal powering it. As yet another technosqueak broke apart against the wall, not a single flicky or ricky scampered out. And they weren’t concussed, either, as sometimes happen when a bot bash was particularly rough; Sonic took care to pick through the pieces of broken machinery, and found not a strand of fur or loose feather for his efforts.

Weird. But not unwelcome.

The badniks were sparse, anyway. It was how it had been in the past, too; the Flying Battery boasted traps and cannons, with badniks being put to use as shock troops and foot soldiers down on solid ground. It was for this reason that Sonic was able to make his way to the engine room pretty quickly, even for him, leaving a trail of smashed cannons and broken badniks in his wake. He roughly remembered where it was from the last time he was on the ship, but even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t hard to find; the thumping bass audible from the earth below only got louder the deeper into the ship he went, and outside the engine room door it was so powerful it rattled his ribcage from the inside out.

Sonic grimaced. His ears were going to hate him for this later.

The second the door to the engine room slid open, the pounding bass transformed into blaring EDM. On instinct to protect his hearing, Sonic clapped his hands over his ears and scanned the room. The engine room didn’t look much different from how he remembered it. The engine itself was situated dead center, taking up most of the available space, and the music was blasting from a speaker in the upper right corner of the room. But as much as his first instinct was to throw a couple quills through the center of the speaker to shut the noise off, what caught his attention in a lightning-fast vice grip wasn’t the music at all, but instead the fluffy orange fox tails poking out from behind the engine.

Sonic slowly lowered his hands from his ears. “Tails? Is that you?”

The tails—Tails’ tails—twitched, but otherwise there was no movement from behind the engine. Before Sonic could call out to him again, though, the music’s volume jumped up another few decibels. Sonic’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped a little in indignation.

Did Tails seriously just turn up the music to drown him out?

Sonic scanned the room, but there was nothing immediately available that suggested a control for the speaker. That being the case, he settled for the next best thing; in two bounds he cleared the room and up the wall, and with one solid yank he pulled the cords connecting the speaker to the wall loose. The music cut out instantly with nothing but a sputtering crackle for its efforts, and in the newfound silence in the room (and ringing in his ears), Sonic heard metal clang to the floor behind the engine.

“Ugh, are you serious?” Tails—and that was definitely Tails, Sonic would recognize his voice anywhere—snapped. Sonic hopped back down to the floor as Tails, lying horizontal on a metal scooter, slid out from behind the engine. “I swear, there better be an emergency for you to—”

Tails’ voice died in his throat as he sat up and looked in Sonic’s direction, and Sonic didn’t need to see the eyes behind the welding goggles to recognize Tails’ shock. He grinned, and raised his hand in a wave. “Hey buddy.”

Tails said nothing. He moved his welding goggles up to the top of his head, and continued to stare at Sonic for a moment, his expression uncomprehending. Then, before Sonic could do or say anything to break Tails from his stupor, Tails frowned and bounded up off his scooter, circling Sonic with a look of intense concentration.

Sonic raised his eyebrows, bemused, as Tails poked one of his quills. “Uh, bud—”

“What are you?” Tails asked, and before Sonic had a chance to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, he continued, “You’re definitely not a robot, or at least not one of the Doctor’s models. You don’t look like one of Dr Starline’s either, unless . . .” Tails, now standing in front of Sonic again, frowned as he met Sonic’s eyes. “Are you a cyborg? But no, that doesn’t make sense. There’s no way his experiments have progressed to the prototype stage yet, especially since I’m supposed to be—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Sonic held his hands up, and Tails, still frowning, took a step back. “I’m not a robot, and I’m definitely not a cyborg. I’m 100% pure hedgehog.” As Tails’ dubious frown deepened, Sonic patted his hand over his heart. “Tails, it’s me. Sonic. Don’t you recognize me?”

The moment the name Tails left Sonic’s mouth, Tails scowled, his hackles raising slightly over his teeth. “I’ve never seen you before in my life. And you’ve obviously never met me, otherwise you’d know my name is Miles.”

“Well, yeah, your first name is, but . . .” Sonic frowned as Tails turned back toward the engine. “Wait, what are you talking about, you’ve never seen me before? I’m your best friend.”

Tails scoffed. “I don’t have friends, much less a best one. You’re thinking of someone else.”

Sonic opened his mouth to point out how ridiculous that was, but closed it a second later. Now that he got a better look at Tails, something was definitely wrong (and that was an understatement considering Tails had been working on the engine of one of Eggman’s warships, but besides that). He was Tails, unmistakably, but with differences, like he was one of those “spot the differences” picture puzzles. His fur was orange, but grimier and matted in a few different places, such as clumps behind his knees and around his elbows. His eyes were blue, but the right one had a strange, glassy look to it, and caught the light oddly depending on how Tails tilted his head. More alarming was the chunk that was missing from the outer edge of his left ear, as though something had jammed straight through it and ripped a piece off. His gloves were black with red trim, and instead of sneakers he had donned a pair of work boots. Which, whatever, if he was working instead of running—but Sonic had never seen him wear boots like that once in his entire life. And considering Sonic himself had practically raised him, that was saying something. This was Tails, but it wasn’t Tails. Which meant—what? Had the Phantom Ruby sent him to another dimension? But couldn’t it only do that when used with the Chaos Emeralds? And it wasn’t even the whole ruby, so why—

Tails groaned, breaking Sonic from his thoughts, and rubbed his forehead between two fingers. “I have a headache. And what did you do to the speaker?” Before Sonic could answer, he looked up in its direction, scowling at the dangling wires. “Did you just rip them out?”

“Yup,” Sonic said, and popped his lips on the “p”. Tails turned his indignant stare on him; Sonic stared unrepentantly back. “And it’s a good thing I did, since the ear-shattering volume you had it on is probably why you have a headache.”

Tails rolled his eyes. “No, I just haven’t had a chance to eat today. And now that I have to fix the speaker on top of the modifications to the engine, I won’t be able to eat until even later. So thanks.”

“The speaker and the engine can wait. Food comes first, always.” Sonic put out a hand to stop Tails from making it to the toolkit open beside the engine, but Tails batted his hand away.

“Maybe wherever you come from, but not here.” Tails paused, and scrunched his nose as he looked back up at Sonic. “Where did you come form, anyway? How did you get up here? If you're not a robot or a cyborg, there’s no way you made it up here. Am I hallucinating?”

“Do I look like a hallucination?” Sonic asked, and before Tails could answer, he poked Tails’ cheek. Tails swatted his hand away again. “Nah, I just jumped on when you passed by those mountains down there. Easy-peasy.”

“‘Easy-peasy,’” Tails repeated flatly. Sonic nodded, grinning, and Tails shook his head as he knelt down beside his toolkit. “Well, go jump back down onto the mountain, or wherever else you can go that’s not here. I’m busy.”

“And leave you here? Yeah, no dice,” Sonic said. Because Tails might not have been his Tails, but there was no reality Sonic could think of where he’d just leave Tails by himself on an Eggman warship. “What are you doing here, anyway? And what happened to your ear?”

“I work here,” Tails said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His left ear twitched when Sonic mentioned it, but he otherwise ignored the question as he pulled a pair of wire cutters out of his toolbox.

“For Eggman?” Sonic barked a laugh. “Come on, get real.”

Tails shot Sonic a weird look before he spun his tails to gain altitude, hovering up near the broken speaker. “Who’s Eggman?”

“Uh, the megalomaniac who owns this warship?” Sonic said, and when Tails gave him another strange look, spread his arms wide. “Big guy. Bald head. Orange mustache. Makes a lot of ugly robots and tries to take over the world with them.”

“Oh, you mean Dr Robotnik.” Tails used the wire cutters to clip away one of the broken cords of the speaker, and tossed it onto the floor. “Why’d you call him ‘Eggman’?”

“Beeecause that’s his name?”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, it is where I’m from.” Sonic crossed his arms and tapped his foot as Tails dropped another clipped wire to the floor. “But whatever, doesn’t matter. You can’t seriously be telling me you work for that guy.”

“I can and am, because I do. Have since I was like, four.” Tails scowled at the back of the speaker. “Could you have done a worse job on this? You tore part of the connector off halfway. This is going to be so annoying to fix.”

“That’s the least of my concerns right now,” Sonic said, as Tails dropped back down to the floor. He reached out a hand to steady Tails as Tails stumbled, but once more Tails ducked under his hand and made his way to the toolkit. “What do you mean, you’ve worked for him since you were four? Where was I?”

“I don’t know, where were you?” Tails quipped, as he dropped the wire cutters back into the box. Sonic fought the urge to roll his eyes, and channeled his energy into tapping his foot instead.

“Look, Tails—”

Tails whipped back around to look at him, gaze burning. “Miles.”

Sonic returned his stare in kind. “Look, Miles. I don’t know what’s going on here. Frankly, I’m not even from here and from the looks of things so far I don’t wanna be—”

“Then leave.”

“—but this whole situation?” Sonic gestured to Tails, and then the engine room at large. “Is messed up. And I’m not leaving here without you.”

“Then I guess you’re not leaving, because I’m stationed on the Flying Battery at least until it docks tonight, and probably even later if I don’t finish the engine modifications by then.” Tails dug a few black cables from among the loose parts in the bottom of the toolkit. “But you should know that Dr Robotnik is going to be waiting at the dock so he can check over my work, and if you’re here he’s not going to be happy since I’m the only sentient thing authorized to be on the ship right now. So it’d really be better for both of us if you got out now, or at least within the next hour.”

“‘Sentient thing?’ I think the word you’re looking for is ‘person,’” Sonic said, but Tails ignored him, still rummaging through the toolkit. “But sure, I’d be happy to leave. I finished just about everything I wanted to do before I came in here anyway. So once you’re ready to go, just say the word.”

“Everything you wanted to do?” Tails furrowed his brow, and then sat back on his haunches as he looked up at Sonic. “What do you mean? Why are you up here, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” Sonic said vaguely, and he folded his arms behind his head as he grinned. “Seeing the sights, trashing the place. The usual.”

Tails snorted, and turned back to his toolkit. “Yeah, okay. Good joke.”

“I’m not joking,” Sonic said, and when Tails made another disbelieving sound in the back of his throat, added, “I smashed every cannon and badnik on the ship before I made my way back here. I went through every room. You can go see for yourself if you’d like.” And then, as soon as he was in the open air, Sonic would grab him and jump ship. Not that Tails needed to know that, of course.

“Yeah, sure. And then you can get a good laugh while I waste even more of my time looking at a perfectly in-tact warship.” Tails peered at another pair of cables before evidently deciding they weren’t good enough and dropping them back in the box. “No thanks.”

Sonic couldn’t help it; he laughed. “I’m not—”

“Look, I don’t know you. And I know you don’t know me.” Tails finally stood up from the toolkit and looked back at Sonic, who once again felt an uneasy swoop through his stomach at the odd way the light glinted off his right eye. It was almost as if it wasn’t— “But I’ve been a sysadmin of the Robotnik Empire since I was four, and chief mechanic for almost as long. I’d know if something was going wrong on this ship. I installed all the sensors and alarms myself.”

“Then you might want to double-check ‘em, because either they didn’t work or your music drowned them out,” Sonic said flatly, fighting against the bristle in his quills at Tails’ stated life story. “Because I’m telling you, I trashed the whole ship on my way here, and had a good time doing it, too.”

Tails rolled his eyes. “You’re lying—”

“I’m not,” Sonic interrupted. “I would never lie to you.”

Tails watched him for a second before he sighed, and shook his head. “Okay,” he said, and gestured for Sonic to follow him as he looped around the front of the engine. “Come here, then.”

Sonic followed, and watched as Tails brushed his fingers along the metal countertop jutting out of the left wall. Instantly, the steel paneling in the wall flared to life, revealing itself to not be paneling at all, but a wall of computer monitors, ten in total. The countertop gleamed with a luminescent keyboard, across which Tails’ fingers skipped as he entered in a username and password.

“This is the central processing mainframe of the entire ship. All of its artillery, security systems, and defenses are controlled through here,” Tails explained. He didn’t once look back at Sonic as he did so. “And if something happened to damage any component of the ship, not only would I be able to see it from here, but alarm would have . . . been . . . trigg . . .”

All ten monitors connected to a different security camera around the Flying Battery, and while each one focused on a different area of the ship, each one showed a similar level of carnage. Pieces of badniks were strewn across the corridors. Cannons smoked feebly where they had been destroyed. Lights were shattered and dangling from the ceiling by half-torn cords.

“This . . . this can’t . . .” Tails switched the feed on a few of them, tapping into different cameras around the ship. More than one of them returned nothing but static to their feed. Sonic examined his fingernails.

“Told ya,” he said, as Tails frantically opened another program on the computer. “I’m very thorough.”

“I didn’t hear it,” Tails whispered, staring in horror at the list of ignored warnings and alerts his security program now displayed. “The security system did go off, it did alert me, but I . . . I didn’t hear it, I didn’t notice.”

“See, that’s what happens when you play your music too loud.” Sonic tsked his tongue. “I’ve told you before, buddy, you’re gonna blow your ears out one of these days. Music is just as enjoyable at a normal volume. Maybe even more so.”

Tails wasn’t listening. He splayed both hands next to his keyboard, leaning forward with his head bowed. “It’s gone. It’s all gone. Everything, destroyed. The whole ship is destroyed. I haven’t finished modifying the input-output ratio of the engine, but that doesn’t even matter because the artillery and defense systems and everything on the entire ship has been destroyed and I—I just let it happen, I didn’t even notice, someone infiltrated the ship and destroyed it and I didn’t even notice—”

Sonic frowned. Tails’ breathing was shallow and quick, tremors starting to wrack through his body. “Whoa, Tails—”

“And now it’s wrecked, and—and—and destroyed, and in pieces and we dock in an hour, in less than an hour and I have nothing—I have a—have worse than nothing to show for it, because at least if I had nothing it would be at the—at the baseline, sa-same as it was before, and that wouldn’t be great but it would be better than having less than nothing because everything is destroyed and broken and ruined and this isn’t possible or acceptable and he’s gonna be furious—!”

“Tails!” Sonic grabbed Tails’ shoulders, in an effort to ground him, to steady him, but Tails flinched and yanked himself out of Sonic’s grasp, stumbling back against the countertop. “Stop, okay? Breathe. You’re gonna be—”

“I can—!” Tails’ voice broke off in a squeak, and then violent coughs; he doubled over, and wrapped his arms around himself as choked over gulps of air. Once more Sonic reached out to steady him, and once more Tails stumbled back, away from his touch. “I can’t—I can’t—I ha-have to—”

“Breathe,” Sonic said, and when Tails’ eyes flicked to him, he took a slow, deep breath, and then exhaled it just as slowly. “Just like that. In, and out. Nice, slow, and—”

Tails screwed his eyes shut, and yanked his ears down against his head, squeezing them tight. “Don’t—don’t tell me what to do! This is your fault! You did this! You—you broke everything, and wrecked it, and we dock in an hour and Dr Robotnik is going to see it and I—”

“You aren’t going to be here,” Sonic said firmly, even as Tails shook his head, releasing his grips on his ears to tug one of his tails around him instead. His grip on it was like iron. “Egghead can think whatever he wants, but he can think it far away from you. We’re leaving.”

“No.” Tails continued to twist his tail in his fist, in a way that honestly looked like it would be painful to Sonic, and chewed hard on the fingers of his other hand, his eyes darting around the room. His breathing was still quick, and Sonic noticed punctures in Tails’ glove now that looked like they’d been made with his own teeth. “No, no, I can—if I work now, and have a boost, then I can—I can fix it, or at least most of it, at least the actual structural damage to the ship before we land, and then he never has to know that I screwed up and ruined anything and that I’m not useful anymore—”

“Tails—”

“—and—and everything will be, it’ll be, I can do it, I can, I can—” Tails flew the short distance back over to his toolkit, and unceremoniously dumped it over, spilling tools and loose parts over the grated floor. A peal of frantic giggles escaped him as he picked a vial of glowing magenta liquid off the floor, and tossed the toolbox over his shoulder. A shiver raced up Sonic’s spine. “Yes, yes, this can work, it can—I can—”

“Wait, Tails—stop a minute, okay?” Sonic grabbed Tails’ wrist, and as if on instinct Tails threw his entire body weight to the floor, twisting to get out of Sonic’s grasp. Sonic didn’t let go. “Just—stop. What is that you have? It looks like the junk from Eggman’s chemical plant.”

Tails gave Sonic a baleful stare. “It’s a performance enhancement serum developed by Dr Starline. If ingested orally or intravenously, it shuts down pain receptors, heightens muscle strength and elasticity, and enhances adrenaline output to—hey, what—what are you doing?!”

Tails’ voice broke off in a shriek as Sonic swiped the vial from his hand and threw it hard against the opposite wall. The glass shattered, and its contents oozed down the wall and onto the floor.

“Nothing made by Starline has any business being anywhere near you,” Sonic said, fighting to control his own temper as Tails stared in horror at the ooze on the wall. “Shutting down pain receptors? Enhancing whatever? Were you listening to yourself?”

“It’s the only way I can fix anything,” Tails said in a tiny voice. Sonic’s anger started to fade as he felt Tails shaking in his grasp. “It’s the only chance I have and—and you—you broke that, too—”

Sonic sighed. “Nothing here needs to be fixed, aside from the fact that you’re still here when you really shouldn’t be. Come on, we’re bailing.”

“No.” Tails threw his weight hard against Sonic’s grip as Sonic tried to pull him up from the floor. Sonic gritted his teeth, and swallowed down any guilt that started to well up at the tears that started to pool in Tails’ left eye. “No, you’re not—you’ve done enough, stop, stop trying to make things even worse—”

“I’m not making things worse, I’m trying to help—”

“You’ve destroyed and ruined everything—!”

“I haven’t—”

“Just stop and let me go, let me go, let go, let go, let—!”

“No, I—ow, Tails—!”

Tails kicked Sonic hard, the sole of his boot connecting with Sonic’s knee hard enough to make him stumble and loosen his grip. Tails didn’t waste a second; he twisted free of Sonic’s hold and dodged around him, sprinting for the door.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Tails barely cleared the doorway before Sonic was on him. Sonic wrapped his arms around Tails in a bear hug, and in an instant Tails thrashed in his hold, kicking both feet back against Sonic’s legs and twisting around as hard as he could manage it.

“Damn it, Tails, just listen—”

“No, let me go!”

“So you can try hiding in an air duct or something? Not likely. We’re leaving.”

“No! You can’t make me!”

It was so childish Sonic might have laughed, were it not for the way Tails was digging his elbow into Sonic’s ribs. “Wanna bet?”

A wordless, furious growl escaped Tails instead of an articulate response, and for just a moment, he slowed his struggling. Sonic loosened his grip a tad, hoping that maybe Tails had tired himself out and was going to see reason—only for Tails to twist around and sink his teeth into Sonic’s arm.

He bit him. He actually bit him!

Sonic yelped and released Tails, who dropped to the floor in an undignified heap. But he once again wasted no time; he scrambled to his feet and took off down the hall, tails whirling to boost his speed.

Oh, that was it. Sonic’s patience was officially gone.

He tore down the corridor after Tails, who—despite using his tails to increase his speed—only managed to make it around one corner and halfway up to an air vent in the ceiling by the time Sonic found him. Sonic snorted. Predictable. Tails whipped around as Sonic neared, and held the vent cover between them like a shield.

“For what it’s worth,” Sonic said, “I really don’t want to do this. And I’m sorry in advance.”

Tails narrowed his eyes. “Don’t want to do wha—?”

Before he had time to finish his sentence, Sonic zipped under and behind him. And before Tails had a chance to turn, Sonic skirted up the wall and knocked his elbow into the pressure point at the base of Tails’ neck, near the top of his spine. The vent cover clattered to the floor as Tails went limp, and Sonic caught Tails in a bridal carry just before he hit the floor.

“Sorry, bud. But this is for your own good.” Sonic shifted Tails into a more comfortable position in his arms, and after a millisecond of consideration, placed a quick kiss to his little brother’s forehead. Then he set off to find a parachute, so they could leave the Flying Battery behind them.

[tinknevertalks]

So I got tagged by @galactic-pirates (thank you lovely!) to answer a bunch of things, so here we go!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

*Checks* 236. 🙈

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

284,859, which looks kinda low, but I tend to write a lot of drabbles/double drabbles rather than full length epics.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Sanctuary, sometimes Stargate SG-1, and then random things that take my fancy.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Ghost of the Machine (Stargate SG-1, Sam/Jack, E, episode tag to Entity) - 157

Brothers (Lucifer, Ella & Lucifer, G) - 156

Beer Basted Omelettes (Stargate SG-1, Sam/Jack, G, post series) - 82

A Missed Birthday (But We’ll Always Have Cake) (Stargate SG-1, Sam/Jack, G, episode tag to Beneath The Surface) - 82

Acceptance (Stargate SG-1, Sam/Jack, G, episode tag to Divide and Conquer and Threads (kinda)) - 80

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, even the ones that try to force me to their idea of canon. Listen, unless it is written down in black and white on the screen (or spoken aloud on screen) you can theorise all you want about dates and shit, it don't mean jack.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uhm… Maybe All He Ever Wanted? I tend not to have angst all the way through. Oh! There’s Do What You Can, or Fed Is Best, or Two Weeks Later. Like, I always try to finish my angsty fics with a ray of light (even if that light is a train at the end of the tunnel).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Words Don't Come Easily (Sanctuary, Teslen, M). It's just a big cuddle of indulgence, and super fluffy (and Helen and Nikola are both happy at the end).

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Only from people who don't like me having a different vibe to them regarding a character. ✌️

9. Do you write smut?

I have been known to, yes.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have been known to, yes. 😂 Well, some are crossovers, some are just straight up fusions, and they're just as fun. XD

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I'm aware, nope. :)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked in the past, but I don't know if they ever did.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! Die Hard Isn't a Christmas Film with samsg1. She came to visit sorta this time last year, and whilst her kid played with mine, we semi planned a fic. She writes at a tremendous rate (and it sorta brought back some of my feels of being a teen when we’d do school work together and she’d fly, but I'd be floundering), but it was super collaborative. We even sorta swapped hats - I came out with angsty bits and she did some of the fluffier family feels. Very fun. (I wish I could write long fic like she does!)

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

It's a toss up between Teslen and Sam/Jack. :)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

The Stargate SG-1/Sanctuary crossover where Sam and Helen swap places (natch). I made it so they swapped time periods too (S3/4 Sam with S3 Helen) and that was a complication too far. 😂🙈

16. What are your writing strengths?

A solid last line.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Characters being too open about their reasons of doing things.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

So long as it's Welsh, we’re good. I'll put it in, so people can see it, but only if it makes sense (I had two characters in Ocean’s Edge speak Welsh to each other because they're from an area where they would).

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek: Voyager? Yeah, probs Voyager. But I played make believe games using anything I watched as a basis. I was a time travelling police officer more than once (Crime Traveller - not the best TV show ever but it had Chloe Annette and I *loved* her). Saying that, samsg1 and I used to re-enact Oscar’s Orchestra on the playground the next day as like seven year olds, so there you go. 😂

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This is like asking me to choose between my kids. Either Waves, Of Sequins and Scalpels, or Sleepwalking. Oh! Or Washing the Dishes. Oh oh! Or The Keys of Bhalasaam.

I'm tagging... Who am I tagging? Uh... @ladyelysandra, @electricrogue (think they've both been tagged already but roll with it), @zebsfloppyears, @basiltheratatouille, @rinari7 and anyone else who wants to join in! :D

[actuallycassidyiambusy]

First- I LOVE your writing !! I wait patiently every night to see if I will be blessed with a chapter update from you in what has become my favourite bedtime story on ao3 lol

Second- I saw your B/L playlist- and from a quick glance I'm gonna assume pop is prob not your music genre of choice- but wanted to share some songs for you from my own B/L playlist that make me think of how you write this ship (I hope you don't mind!)

Strange Love - Halsey // Bad Guy - Billie Eilish // Daddy Issues - Demi Lovato // Dark Paradise - Lana Del Ray // Prisoner - Miley Cyrus // Stockholm Syndrome - One Direction // E.T. - Katy Perry // Hold Me Down - Halsey // Take me to Church - Hozier // Teeth - Lady Gaga // Oh Daddy - Fleetwood Mac // Hit me Like a Man - The Pretty Reckless // Howl - Florence + The Machine // Don't Blame Me - Taylor Swift // Kill of the Night - Gin Wigmore

Thank-you as well for always being so consistent with updates ! I look forward to reading every chapter you put out ❤️❤️❤️

I hope you have a lovely day kthxbyeeeeeee ❤️

Aww thank you so much! I'm honored I've become a favorite ❤️ and actually? I have a few of these songs on my Bluffy playlist, too! I don't typically lean towards pop, but I still enjoy it! I'll listen to anything if the song itself is good. I'll definitely check out the songs I don't have, too!

I should be updating another chapter no later than tomorrow!

[crazykuroneko]

Oh, I so wish people would tag their works properly. I would love to read more iwtv fanfic, but I am very specific about which endgame I want and I have had to file fics away for later, so I can check the comments and the last chapter, essentially spoiling myself in some ways, just to make sure I don't end up with my notp or some other pairing I wasn't in the mood for. And a personally pet peeve perhaps, I wish people would tag their kinks properly. Got half way through a super promising fic and had it to drop it because it had the a certain kink in it. And where I like some kinks, I have a few that are a hard pass, so if people would also tag them, that would be super great.

my routine is basically like that as well. usually i just need to read the tags and synopsis, then i'll put it on mark for later or go into it right away. that used to be enough. but now it's tricky. idk what has changed. prob younger fandom don't really understand tagging or smth? because even when we haven't had ao3 back then, still on lj or ff.net, we still tried to list everything, either in tags, synopsis, or author's note. maybe not so detailed, but we would try to convey how the tone in the fic would be (hags like me remember times when there's a difference between writing a pairing as A/B or B/A)

the basics are tagging characters, dynamics (pairings order, endagame and top/bottom), kinks, and "triggers" (there can be fandom specific triggers; e.g. in amc iwtv, cheating and domestic violence are def triggers). that's it.

and i feel you anon. for me, from the dawn of my time in fandom, otp is really one true pairing, so i mostly won't touch fics involving others. but there are times when i'm intrigued enough (esp when i knew the writer is good), and that's where the tags will help: i would know whether i still can enjoy this fic if i give it a chance (and i do want to give it a chance). how far this would challenge my preferences.

i know some tags sound so trivial and perhaps "stupid" for others. but the thing is sometimes you go to ao3 to look for very specific fics. e.g. when i'm in mood i'll look for "hannibal has breeding kink" or "top louis". it doesn't mean i believe hannibal always has breeding kink, or louis has to always top, but those are what i want to read at that time. or like you, when they're untagged, they throw you off the story you have to either drop them or skip the scene.

so what i'm trying to say is, proper tagging isn't only for readers, but for writers as well. as a reader, i love crawling back certain tags until the oldest fic, and i know i'm not the only one doing it. so tagging = more spotlight for old fics.

i can only hope more people will understand how important it is. we're extremely lucky to have AO3 with robust tagging system. by using and heeding tags properly we can make a safer and more enjoyable fandom space.

[kalgalen]

A dozen of recorders click on at once when Daisy pushes the door open. She takes a moment to roll her eyes at the ceiling; as intimidation tactics go, she's seen better.

"Still bad?" she asks, softly closing the door behind her.

A grunt answers her, and she comes closer to the shape slumped on the desk, careful to keep her steps light and quiet. She takes one of the chairs and sits down; only then Jon opens a bleary eye, staring at her from where he's resting his head atop his crossed arms.

"Hardly see how it could get better," he rasps dryly. "I admit the comparison is rather - fitting, but this is not addiction." Daisy raises an eyebrow, and he amends: "Not an addiction to chemicals, anyway. I don't think going cold turkey will cut it."

"If I'm being honest..." Daisy hesitates, unsure this will help, but she figures Jon deserves to hear it: "I don't think so either."

Jon lifts his head then, straightening up as he squints at her in the semi-darkness of his office. He looks terrible. Or rather, more terrible than she's ever seen him, which is not saying much since "looking terrible" seems to be Jonathan Sims' natural state. The dark circles under his eyes are more marked than ever and only serve to highlight how ravenous his gaze is; his hair is mussed beyond saving, and there's an imprint on his cheek from where he's laid on his sleeve too long.

"Didn't it work for you?" he asks, sounding confused and annoyed and so, so tired.

Daisy shrugs, leans back in her chair. "I wouldn't say it worked. It would imply it's over. And I didn't die like you did, so I guess the struggle isn't as hard in the first place."

It's not that it isn't hard in any way; she can still hear the call, the promise of a thrill if only she accepts her nature. Some days, she's almost convinced giving in would be the best choice; she'd be more useful, for a start. But there's once thing she hates more than Basira not relying on her, and it's the person she was before the Coffin.

"What - am I doing here, then?" he demands, voice tight. The compulsion is notably absent from his tone, and Daisy nods encouragingly at this. He really is trying.

"We will find a solution eventually," she promises. "Basira is looking into it, and so am I. We just need some more time, alright?"

She scoots closer, quietly apologizing when the scrapping of her chair against the antique wooden flooring makes him wince. She reaches out to pat him reassuringly on the arm, and his shoulders drop. He suddenly looks like he's about to cry, and Daisy isn't sure she's got the mental fortitude to deal with this today.

Instead of breaking down, though, Jon takes a few deep breaths. The chains that keep him tethered to his desk rattle when he lifts a hand to run it through his hair.

"I... I am -" Jon starts, then trails off. His eyes go unfocused, looking at a point somewhere left of Daisy's face, and he licks his chapped lips. "I am so hungry, Daisy. I've finished all the statements I could reach," he gestures at the carpet of paper around his desk, at the discarded file boxes. "There's nothing - nothing left here. I only have my own fears to feed on, and it's - it feels like being scooped out bit by bit. Like the inside of my head is being scraped clean. It is - absolute torture. I need something to keep me alive, Daisy."

His eyes hone in on her again, and the greedy shine she sees in them almost makes her snatch her hand back. She remembers all too well the way Elias had cracked her open like it was nothing, extracted the events that had made her what she was without a care in the world. Jon wouldn't do that, though. He is trying.

He also is a monster, and as close to an addict as is possible without actual substances.

Daisy takes a centering breath and slowly leans back in her chair again, folding her hands on her lap. A part of her wonders if the chains would be long enough to allow Jon to reach for her, but she decides that backing further away would do more harm than good. She still trusts him, even if the others don't, because she's the only one to have the slightest idea of what he's going through.

The Archivist stares at her for a long time, and she holds his gaze as well as she can. He doesn't blink much - at all, actually. Daisy realizes he's stopped breathing as well and doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact. An uneasy shiver runs down her spine, and she can hear her own voice in her head, crystal clear: creepy little man.

Then Jon blinks and slumps down again, like a puppet with cut strings. His breathing is loud and erratic, as if he's forgotten how to do it correctly, or as if he's just almost drowned. He hides his face in his hands, refusing to look at Daisy.

"I'm sorry," comes mumbled by his palms. Daisy doesn't know what to answer; none of this is fine, and she won't insult him by lying, but she can't tell him it's not his fault either - because he was the one to let it go that badly in the first place, with all his secrets.

In the end, silence seems to be what Jon needed; he drops his hands after a couple of minutes, eyes rimmed with red and lips pressed in a thin line.

"You should go." He tries sounding gruff, but his voice is hoarse with grief, and wavers a bit when he speaks again: "I won't keep apologizing, because it's no use when I keep -" he huffs, irritated, "fucking up like this. Maybe it would be better if you didn't come again."

"Maybe," Daisy concedes with a one-shouldered shrug. Jon looks like she's just slapped him, and she shakes her head. "No, look - you need friends, Jon. Or at least, a friend. I think it's been proven you can't deal with it alone, and I'm not sure how we're supposed to encourage you to fight for your humanity by isolating you from everyone."

"Basira seems to think it's the best solution," Jon murmurs bitterly, and Daisy makes a disapproving tss noise.

"Basira has a lot on her plate. I don't."

She stands up, making sure not to let her chair drag against the ground. Jon looks up at her, a desperately lost expression on his face. She hesitates - only for a second - before reaching down and combing her fingers through his hair, half an attempt at putting some kind of order back in the messy curls, half a shot at comfort. Her heart feels tight in her chest when he immediately leans into the touch, and she steps away with some regret.

"I'll see if I can get you new statements," she says, cracking the door open. "Take care, Jon."

He nods, crossing his arms back in front of him with a clinking of chains. He looks very small, behind the large oak desk.

[spicycreativity]

Intertwined - Chapter 4

Chapter: 4/8

Additional Notes: My AO3, WizardGlick, is 3 chapters ahead on this. Critical thinking exercise: Read the following Twin Peaks quote and consider how it related to Intertwined and to post-PoF as a whole:

WINDOM EARLE: What do you fear most in the world?

MAJOR BRIGGS: The possibility that love is not enough.

Chapter Content Warnings: Again, it's a hanahaki fic.

Excerpt: "Here's what I want you to do," Janus said, and his voice was surprisingly tender given the hard look on his face. "Cook for yourself. Don't make something you can take to the others later. Don't make something to share with me. I'm giving you a free pass to be selfish."

Yesterday, Patton supposed, could have gone worse. He had haunted the kitchen after his departure from Janus, begging the mindscape for some sort of hint. Like the answer to all their troubles was lurking in Thomas’ subconscious, just out of reach.

When morning came, he returned to Roman and Logan's rooms, was again rebuffed, and so floated back to the kitchen, made himself some coffee, and sat down at the counter. Again, he reached out with his mind for some kind of reassurance. He had to fix this. There had to be something he could do.

A 5,000 piece puzzle appeared in front of Patton. The image on the box was that of dogs playing poker, captioned A Friend in Need. The subconscious was funny sometimes, in a way that made Patton feel kind of sick and hollow. He opened the box and shook the puzzle pieces put onto the counter. It was a way to pass the time, at least.

A few hours crawled by. Patton’s hands began to shake from the caffeine, and he knew he should eat something, but… It almost didn’t seem worth the effort. He was happy to cook for his fam-ILY, but, when it was just him, what was the point? He put down another edge piece and flinched at the sudden appearance of Virgil in front of the coffee pot. Virgil had made himself scarce after yesterday’s meeting, only reappearing to turn down Patton’s offer of dinner. Patton couldn’t even blame him. How terrible, to wake up after a bad day and find your friends inconsolable and enemies at your door.

“Hi,” Patton said. Finding faux-happiness out of reach, he settled for ‘not completely miserable’ instead.

“Did you eat?” Virgil asked, pouring coffee into a purple mug decorated with this logo.

Patton saw no reason to lie, not about this. “Not yet. I got a little distracted.”

“Mm-hm,” said Virgil.

“Listen,” Patton said, already getting up to make toast. “Are you okay?”

Virgil shrugged and opened up another cabinet. “Want some orange juice?”

"Um, sure." Patton got out the bread and popped a few slices into the toaster. "Thank you."

"No prob." Virgil stood on his toes and got down two glasses, pivoted to the fridge for the orange juice.

"It's just," Patton said, "You don’t seem very upset?" It wasn't that Virgil was necessarily acting upbeat , but… Well, Patton had been expecting something more intense than Virgil's baseline levels of casualty.

"I am," Virgil said. "But I also want orange juice."

"Oh." Patton fell silent. His own feelings were so big and loud in his head they didn't really leave room for anything else. In the light of everything that had happened, Virgil's response felt cold. Patton had half a mind to tell him so, except that… Well, he had no room to talk about 'proper' emotional responses to things. If this was how Virgil wanted to navigate the situation, that was his right. "Did you talk to Roman yesterday?"

"Sorta." Virgil put the orange juice back, scooted a glass to Patton, and took a seat on the counter. "He said he wasn't ready to talk, but might be soon."

"To you?"

"Yeah." Virgil's expression was cloudy. "To me."

"That's a lot," Patton said, treading cautiously. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Virgil's knuckles went white around his glass, so much that Patton was worried he might break it. "Oh, there's plenty I want to say," he said darkly. "To you and to-- to him."

"Janus," Patton said, feeling it important, somehow, to say his name.

"Yeah. To Janus."

"You can," Patton said. "To me. I won't get mad."

"I just don't understand!" Virgil said, the words exploding from his chest. "What did he say to you to make you trust him? After everything he did to Roman, to you, to Thomas! What did he say?" It was almost a plea, "What did he say?"

"I already told you, kiddo," Patton said, poking at the water droplets collecting on the side of his glass, unable to remember that they were called. Logan would know. "I made a choice to trust him."

"But why ?"

"I don't know, I just-- I felt something. I don't know if I can explain it in a way you can understand. I just got it. I understood what it was all for. "

"So, what, he just gets a free pass for treating us all like crap? Just gets to talk his way out of consequences?"

"Well, no." Patton kicked the toes of his loafers against the molding under the counter. "But I don't know that it would do any good to… punish him? Be cold, be mean, yell at him. What's done is done. I'm not asking you to forgive him."

"Good, 'cause I don't."

"But I also need you to understand that I made my choice and I'm committing to it. I…" Patton smiled sadly, gazing at the countertop without really seeing it. "I gave my word, in a way."

"Fine," Virgil growled. "But if he hurts you, if he does what he did to Roman and Logan, I swear, I swear--" Patton covered his ears briefly and Virgil seemed to get the message. "Well. I'll avenge you."

"Thanks, Virgil." Patton smiled again, happier this time, and looked Virgil in the face. It really wasn't all that long ago that he had thought of Virgil as an enemy. And now look at them. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"You are?"

"Of course I am! You've been a really good friend to, to all of us. And I'm so happy--"

"Stop," Virgil said, pulling up his hood. "Stop, stop, stop."

"Aw, did I make you blush?" Patton teased.

"Yeah," Virgil said, his voice breaking on that one syllable. He cleared his throat. "Let's not-- I'm gonna--"

"Is something wrong?" Patton asked, already reaching out for a hug. Virgil couldn't see him with his face buried in his hood, so Patton stopped short and let his arms fall to his sides.

"I just, uh." Virgil took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, swept his hood back with a jerky motion. "Sometimes I don't feel like I deserve all this."

"Oh, kiddo, of course you do!" Patton said, again holding out his arms for a hug. Virgil instead held out his hand, and Patton took it in his own, determined to communicate all the love and devotion he could through that simple contact. He smiled at the matching weave of their friendship bracelets, smiled at the memory of sitting side-by-side with Virgil as they both struggled with five-strand braids.

Virgil nodded, and his breathing was still shaky and spastic when he said, "I'm gonna go-- I'm not going off to cry all by myself, if, uh, if you're worried about that. I just need… Uh. Yeah."

Patton nodded, hurriedly snatching the half-cooked toast from the toaster and imagining it smeared with Crofter’s and butter, arranged neatly on a plate. "Okay!" He said with false cheer, passing the plate to Virgil. "Come get me if you need anything! Maybe we can watch Ghost Adventures tonight."

"Sounds good," Virgil said, slightly muffled around his hand, as he was chewing at his thumbnail. "Later." He sank out.

Patton sighed and stared at their untouched orange juice glasses. Even when he was trying to fix things, he made people upset.

A drop of water slid down the side of Virgil's glass, pooled on the countertop. Patton stared at it as another followed.

What did it truly mean to deserve something, anyway? It was something Janus would probably have an opinion on. He seemed to have opinions on most things. Maybe Patton could ask him in a bit.

“Did you need me for something?

Oh, okay, or Patton could ask him now. He turned, unsmiling to Janus. It wasn’t that he wasn’t cheered by Janus’ presence, but that he had no reason to lie. Janus had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't depending on Patton for anything. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to steal you.”

“No harm, no foul,” Janus said, and sighed so heavily his breath displaced a few puzzle pieces. “As you can see, I was hard at work.” Despite this claim, he wore a hard, annoyed expression and Patton remembered with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was dealing with a liar. "Did you need help with your puzzle?" Janus asked.

Just like that, Patton's heart leapt. "You'll stay?"

Janus shrugged. "I suppose I can clear a space in my schedule."

Patton stood to get him some coffee. The pot was empty, but it was simple enough to imagine it full again. Ordinarily, he disliked the laziness of misusing Thomas' imagination, but he couldn't deny that it was convenient sometimes. He could tell he was on the brink of annoying Janus (somehow) and didn't want to risk pushing him over the edge. "Have you eaten?"

"Have you?" Janus asked, side-eyeing the remaining slices of toast sitting in the toaster. Patton had forgotten all about them.

"I guess it slipped my mind," Patton turned around and set a coffee mug on the counter in front of Janus, then rounded it to sit down again. He tried not to notice that Janus had scooted his chair away from Patton's, that he leaned on his elbow so they were even farther apart.

"Hm," said Janus, making a face. He didn't push it, and Patton was grateful for that. "Oh, and thank you."

"Of course," Patton said.

He watched Janus for a moment. He handled the puzzle pieces with difficulty, his gloves impeding his ability to pick them up. When he realized he was staring, he turned away and started fitting more edge pieces into place.

He couldn't decide if the quiet was pleasant or awkward. It was kind of nice, kind of domestic, sitting here with Janus, but he couldn't help but feel a kind of tension in the air.

Then Janus turned away and started coughing. Patton reached out to put a hand on his back, caught himself, pulled away. The deep, jagged sound made him cringe. He was no stranger to coughing fits, none of them were, brought on by Thomas' cat allergy. But this had come out of nowhere.

"You okay?" Patton asked when Janus resurfaced. Maybe he was just projecting, but he thought Janus looked a little pale on his human side.

"It's warmer today, isn't it?" Janus said, not looking at Patton.

"Huh?"

"It's not as cold. Roman seems to have gotten ahold of himself somewhat."

"Um, yeah, I guess." Patton furrowed his brow, trying to get a good look at Janus. "But Janus, are you okay?"

"Fine," said Janus. "Just inhaled some coffee, that's all."

But his hands shook as he slid a blue puzzle piece down the counter, and Patton was already halfway out of his seat before he even realized what he was doing. "You know, I think I will make breakfast."

"A little late now," Janus said. "By the way, did you really call me all the way down here just to work on a puzzle?"

"So brunch, then," Patton said. "And to be honest, no."

"Oh, do be honest," Janus said, leaning against the counter and resting his chin in his palm.

But Patton's priorities had shifted beyond philosophical debate. He had to take care of Janus now, get him comfortable, get him honest. He had to. "It's not important anymore."

"Hm," said Janus. He cleared his throat quietly, winced. "Well, now I'm not curious at all."

"It's okay," Patton said, trying for a reassuring smile. "We can talk about it later." He spun around, trying to decide what to make. Toast sounded wholly unappealing now, and he should choose something that would be easy on Janus' throat--

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, by the way," Janus said.

"Making brunch?" Patton said with faux-innocence.

"Mm-hm. And what did you have in mind?"

"Soup."

"Patton," Janus said in a chastising tone. "I don't need you to take care of me. I need you to take care of you."

"That cough sounded like it hurt," Patton said, defeated.

Janus sat back and spread his arms out as though to show himself to Patton. "It did. It went away on its own. I'm fine."

Patton wasn't sure what to say to that. He scratched at his friendship bracelets, embarrassed. "Oh."

"Here's what I want you to do," Janus said, and his voice was surprisingly tender given the hard look on his face. "Cook for yourself. Don't make something you can take to the others later. Don't make something to share with me. I'm giving you a free pass to be selfish."

"But that's wrong!" Patton said reflexively. He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but it wasn't like he could take them back. "Not for you," he hastened to explain. "That's your job. But me?"

"I can't very well be selfish for you," Janus said. He seemed annoyed, digging his fingers into both sides of his midriff in a way that looked decidedly painful. "Just try it. It won't be the end of the world."

And Patton wanted to. He didn't want to let Janus down, but… Where did it end? Where did it stop?

"Patton," Janus said. "I can see you catastrophizing."

"Sorry," said Patton, feeling close to tears. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I just… I don't know who I am or what I want or if I'm even allowed to want."

"Breakfast, Patton. That's all. One little thing."

"Okay," Patton took a deep breath. Calm down. Make food. He could do that.

"There's nothing else," Janus said. "Just us, right now. Just this room. No consequences."

"Okay," Patton said. Cinnamon rolls. He wanted mini cinnamon rolls.

"Good," said Janus. "You're okay." He cleared his throat again, coughed a little behind closed lips. Patton forced himself not to notice, knowing that it would make Janus annoyed if he pointed it out or tried to help.

"I hope so," Patton muttered, half to himself, as he got his ingredients together. A phrase popped into his head and he shouted it out impulsively, "Mise en place!"

"Bless you?" Janus said, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no." Patton smiled. "Getting all your ingredients together. Mise en place."

"Ah," said Janus. He smiled too, his human eye crinkling at the corner. Patton almost sighed at the sight. Janus seemed to hold himself above human standards sometimes. He presented himself as something cold and pure, unbreakable and untouchable and utterly perfect. There was something so beautiful about seeing him step down from the pedestal. Janus seemed to notice Patton staring and turned away, surprisingly demure. "How about some music?"

A turntable appeared on the counter, spinning something inoffensive and charmingly lo-fi. "That's nice," Patton said. He didn't recognize the artist, but it didn't really matter. The music seemed to slide into the cracks of their conversation, filling out the empty spaces and projecting calm throughout the kitchen.

So Patton made cinnamon rolls and Janus worked on the puzzle while he sipped his coffee, and they both pretended not to notice the ragged coughs that Janus couldn't bury under the music no matter how hard he tried.

[4alarmfirecracker]

I'm so curious!! The whole Alpha/Omega thing, in all its different types. Then the Bestfriends to Lovers/Enemies to Lovers.

Heyyy you ! Tks for the ask.

Ok soooo. Alpha/Omega. I have a love hate relationship with it ? I don't read a lot of A/O stuff. Mostly just 13th/Yaz fics because I don't know the writers of that ship really go for the whole A/O stuff there are so many Thasmin A/O fanfics. I'd say between C and D but let's go with D: Not my favorite. I avoid it if I can, but it won’t necessarily put me off reading something. Just the fact of having a power dynamic can be really badly done or done perfectly. (And I do love good written power dynamics don't look at me Talder) I don't understand every aspect of A/O and I never searched specifically for those fics.

Best friends to lovers. Not my jam. C: Neutral. A good author might be able to sell it, but a bad one will kill it deader than dead. Just ... the need to put conflict in an already existing relationship (that's the existing relationship part I don't like ^^ Even in normal fanfics if I see existing relationship ... will give it a shot but I prefer when they aren't together and progressively fall in love. I know you can do it well with BF to lovers but ... I don't know really not my jam). Or ... how am I gonna tell my best friend I love them. And if I tell them I love them, will they think I like them or love love them? I could love a well done story but I def won't be searching for it. Would X x G qualify for BF to lovers ? Because if yes then it's one of those that is really well done. But they aren't best friends at first. Mmmm there's also Brittana. Ok I'll accept it if it's well done. Is Flozmin BF to lovers ? probs. Ok I yield ^^

Enemies to lovers ... Well DO YOU KNOW ME ? Honestly ... 200% sure that it's A: Love it. Spend my time combing AO3 for it. I love for enemies to lovers. The tension, the headbutting, the ugh I hate you with my guts but I also want to kiss you, the understanding later on, the you protected me but you hate me why, the inner conflict. GIVE IT TO ME NOW. Oh and enemies to lovers can add the forbidden love to it and I'll be damned and will LIVE for it. All my fave ships are enemies to lovers. Or some kind of variant of that.

Bonus point for I was supposed to f* with you for the job but I do love you ship.

Oh BOY ... trip down memory lane ... (Oh boy YES)

Ask me : fanfiction trope edition

[starcats1219]

Not Alone (cause you're here with me)

Chapter 4

Previous - Next - Masterpost - ao3

Warnings: none actually wow

The two ex-friends stared at each other. Patton cleared his throat anxiously. The last time he had talked to Logan had been their screaming match all the way back in high-school. But, that had been years ago, Logan must have changed by then. The man in front of him certainly had.

As much as the two stopped being friends, Patton could appreciate when someone was attractive. Logan had grown into his long, gangly, limbs, and Patton could see the outline of muscles through his shirt. His dark hair was neatly combed and styled, and his clothes were put together and formal. Patton noticed with a small glow in his chest that Logan had the same glasses frames from their childhood, the exact same ones that Patton used too. Overall, he looked nothing like the troubled teenager he had seemed to become. 

Patton realized he had been quiet for far too long. 

"Uh, yeah Logan. It's me."

Logan startled at his sudden sentence, before stammering out one of his own.

"Patton, I- I-"

He waited, letting his old friend recollect himself before starting again.

"Would you like to go get a coffee?"

Patton stepped back, surprised. The two hadn't talked in years, yet Logan wanted to go have coffee with him? Patton's instinct was the decline, after what Logan had done, but looking at his old friend, at his put together appearance, he realized he didn't know the man in front of him at all. Clearly, he had gotten his life turned around, and it wasn't fair of Patton to judge Logan for what he was like as a teenager. Teenagers are stupid. God, did Patton know that. 

He hesitated a moment, before smiling at his once friend.

"Sure, Lo. I'd love to."

~

Logan didn't know what had come over him to make him ask such a thing.

Perhaps it was the shock of seeing Patton again after so long. Perhaps it was the thought of how attractive his old friend had become. Perhaps it was because even after all these years running a mob, with three of his best and only friends, he was still lonely. Maybe it was a mix of all three. There was no way to know for sure, and Logan was content to keep it that way. 

He was even more surprised though, when Patton said yes. The two hadn't spoken in years, it was sure to be awkward. Logan knew nothing about his life, and Patton knew nothing about his. He had no clue who Patton was close to, if he even saw anyone from school anymore.

But, Patton had said yes. So, the two walked down the busy street, engaging in small talk about the communities and the weather. The serious talk would wait until they were seated at a table, preferably with some caffeine between them.

Once they arrived at the nearest café, Deja Brew, Logan opened the door for Patton, who nodded gratefully before stepping inside. 

The café was lively, buzzing with people despite the later hour. The two got in the line, making their way to the front quite quickly despite the number of people there. They were met with a barista sporting sunglasses, the name tag Remy flashed at the two. 

"Medium black coffee for me, please. Patton?"

"I'll have a French vanilla frappuccino, thanks Remy!"

The barista paused at the mention of their name. 

"No probs, babes. Now which one of y'all will be paying for this?"

Logan moved forward slightly, cash already in hand.

"I got it." Logan pressed the money into Remy's hand before Patton could move.

"Lo, I could've paid for my own." Patton protested, though they remained unanswered. After Logan paid, the two waited on the side for a moment while their drinks were made. 

Once the two had collected their drinks, they searched for an unoccupied table. After a little searching, they found one hidden in the back corner, already set up for two. They sat down, and there was silence, too long to be considered normal. Patton shifted slightly. Logan cleared his throat, thoughts racing. This had been a bad idea, they hadn't spoken in years, what had made him think that asking him out for coffee would end well, why-

"So, uh, Logan. How have you been?" Patton asked awkwardly. He looked about as uncomfortable as Logan felt, but an attempt at communicating had been made. Logan felt the least he could do was make an attempt back.

"Oh, I've been alright. How about you? Have you remained in contact with anyone from high school?"

"Sure have! Me and Roman chat all the time. You remember him, don't ya?"

Logan nodded in affirmative, and Patton beamed, before continuing.

"I actually work at a bakery now, you remember how much I love cookies. What have you been up to? Do you still talk to your...old friends?"

Patton's face pinched slightly at the mention of his friends, and Logan felt a lump rise in his chest. On one hand, he was still very much involved with crime in the city, hell he was the boss of it. But, if he told Patton that he was still connected with it and his old gang, he knew Patton would get up and leave then and there, with no hope of them reconnecting. And Logan, loathe as he was to admit it, found himself needing this old connection between them. As much as starting this new potential friendship off with a lie wouldn't be a good start, it was something Logan was very used to doing.

"Oh, I own a restaurant now, over on 96th. You should come visit sometime. My old...friends work there too, managers of the place."

At Patton's disbelieving look, Logan reached a hand out, channeling Janus' charm and manipulative skills.

"Patton, I promise you, I'm past all of that in high school. We were dumb teenagers who made dumb decisions. But, there's nothing we can do about it now, and I only hope you can forgive me."

Patton smiled slightly, and the sight of that smile being directed towards him made Logan's heart melt ever so slightly. It had been far too long since he had last seen that face.

"Oh Logan, of course I forgive you."

~

The two continued talking for hours, topics flowing easily after that first conversation ended. Eventually, Patton said he had to go, to meet Roman for a promised movie night.

"Of course, Patton. I do not wish to keep you while you have other matters to attend to."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Lo. We need to do this again sometime. How's next week, same place, same time?"

"That would be satisfactory, Patton. I assume your number from high school is the same?"

"Yeppers! Perfect! Well, I better go. See you next week, Lo!"

Logan barely got the chance to utter a goodbye to Patton before the man had bounded away. What were the chances he would run into Patton and the two would reconnect?

And what were the chances Logan would ruin it?

[raksh-writes]

I don't like vague blogging. Especially 'cause I could hurt someone's feelings and don't want that, and this is about a comment I got last night, which I know some of my lovely readers (hi! I love y'all ❤) follow me here, so there's a chance of it happening, but it's bugging me too much and I dont have anyone to rant to, so Im gonna put it under the cut. Nothing bad, really, just got to me in a way ;/ So it's more about the feelings it started in me, but yeah, I wanna let it out somewhere, so here goes nothing xd

So, this commenter pointed out that this one phrase apparently appears every time with something else (it was also poised as a question - did I notice it), and I did went back through the last chap, especially searching for it, and then the one before, and honestly - I don't see it. At least, not the same exact way. I can see maybe where it came from, but I wouldnt see an issue in it? But, anyway, that's not the point. The point is - it's bugging me and I don't know how to reply. They added that they like the story, but - well, that but kinda sticks out then ;/

And I'm no stranger to concrit. For years I posted on forums where it was expected and I posted knowing I would get it - but thats it. I knew about it and I wanted it there, I was growing and it was helping. On ao3, tho? Where I post for fun? With the health issues I have now on top of everything? It's not really... I get they want to help, I get it, I have that ingrained in me too from those early days, but it still bugs me a lot now. And normally I dont really reply to comments immediately, I dont have the mind or social energy, but I feel like if I dont adress it as quickly as possible, it'll keep bothering me. But how do I reply?

I dont want to hurt this person by coming off rude, I really dont, and yet I know I would probably come off as defensive anyway, just from contradicting their question. And, hell, maybe my feelings did get hurt a bit? Kinda irrationaly, I'd say, but yeah, I can't help the fact it bugged me.

I want to reply calmly and nicely, adress what they said, but I cant see myself thanking for the comment ;/ (Even tho they commented before, with a lovely one, and there is a compliment in this too, and I am grateful.)

And I have to admit - a part of me is kinda bitter that I feel like I need to explain myself and my story and why I dont see what they saw as an error? Its such a ball of feels thats bugging me now ;/

It might all be influenced by the fact Im not feeling too well today, my stomach is bothering me, my fingers kinda hurt from yesterday and I have online classes. But it's prob not an easy thing to process and decide on overall, so I dunno...

Wish I had a person to rant to so I dont spill it all over here xd Tho even then I might not want to upset them with this sooo, okay, spilling it here it is I guess xd

Anyway, gotta go back to classes. Maybe I'll know what to do later...