#it would have some numbers on ao3 in 2010 but no he had to try and sell it

[sandwichsapphic]

“very amusing sir” DO NOT ENCOURAGE HIM. your boyfriend is making jokes during the apocalypse this is NOT the time

[travelingtwentysomething]

✨Are you new here?✨

#WRITING - (Hailey on AO3)

Let's Be Honest, If You Could Hop Dimensions, You'd Save Eddie Munson Too (AO3 // REBLOG // My Art: Eddie in Disguise/Comparison) - A Steddie+Original NonBinary Time/Dimension Traveler Character Fix-It Comedy/Adventure

Devotion Tastes So Sweet On Your Lips (AO3 // REBLOG) - A Steddie Horror One-Shot, Steve Prays To The Old Gods and Eddie The Banished Answers

A Sticky Situation (AO3 // REBLOG) - A Harringroveson x Spideypoolverine Crossover Comedy One-Shot

+Some Bonus Tumblr Ficlets+

+Steve Definitely Doesn't Have A Type, a Steddie Tale in Gifs (+Because I Can't Leave Well Enough Alone, Emotional Damage) (Learned how to make gifs for this post lol took me hours give it some love, my first sort of Viral post🤘)

+Steve Throws Eddie His Yellow Sweater, Eddie Throws Steve His Vest. It's a Whole Thing (w/ Inspo Post, Steve Throws Eddie The Yellow Sweater™, It's Canon. Gone a bit Viral, this one🤘)

+Eddie Realizes Steve Is More Than A Babysitter (w/ Inspo Post Steve Slays Demo-Bats, Eddie Reacts, this one has Gotten Popular, but I mainly attribute that to Steve's Titties 🤘)

+Stephanus Concubinus, Emperor Geta's Vita (a Steddie x Gladiator II au blurb inspired by kingsandsaints ' gorgeous painting of Joe Keery wearing laurels and a white sheet)

+Famous!Eddie, Meets Server Duo Stobin, is an Asshole and Gets His Just De'Soup- Later Eddie Comes Back to Apologize and Gets Steve's Number- Then, A Misunderstanding and a Proposal (I added onto the blurbs of two very talented writers sabbathbloddysabbeth and estrellami-1 with romantic ramblings at 5am, blurbs become ficlets)

+Steddie!Little Mermaid AU Blurb-let (It started with a whisper- *Steve Herrington* and ended when Prince Eddie kissed he- er, uh, no wait- that's actually Henry the Sea Witch with Prince Steve's stolen voice... Violence and Magic and A Happily Ever After, Oh My!)

+Rogueddie Famous!Steddie, Eddie Reads Tumblr RPF of Steve, Steve Gives a Rec (Rogueddie Wrote A Blurb, I Wrote A Blurb)

+Intothedysphoria Polled "What Random Animals Does Billy Try To Bring Into the Harringrove Residence?" - Most People Said Cat, I Say Raccoon (A Blurb Explaining My Thesis)

+Eddie Doesn't Give A Fuck About Sleep Paralysis Demon Steve (a bit personal, turned into a Steddie prompt)

✨everything else you need to know under the cut✨

#My Original Posts In Need Of Some Reblogs# #op

+My Singular Piece of Art (Eddie in Disguise/Comparison)

+If I Were Going To Be Famous For A Quote (this is it)

+Jack Whitehall Incorrect Quote/Shipping Gays is the Glue That Holds Fandom Together Full Post/That One Gif

+Joe Quinn Interview Mag Pics Part 1 / Part 2 / Whole Shabang

+Joe Quinn is Dating Doja Cat? A Tale in Gif (It only took me a couple minutes to make this gif, skill issue defeated)

+Stray Kids Rolling Stone UK OCT/NOV 2024 Chan |Hyung| Minho |Minsung| Han | Hyunjin |Hyunlix| Felix | Changbin | Jeongin | Seungmin |Family Portrait| |ONE| |TWO| |THREE|

+Harry Styles As Eros/Starfox from Marvel Eternals Gifset / Photoset / Posters / BTS /

#Some Gems Just Because#

+My 2010 1D Tumblr Origin Story (🤣The true story of how I ended up on Tumblr)

+🍯My Dog Honey Watches Scooby Doo / Honey Then and Now / Then and Now 🍬 /

+I'm Allergic to Cats, But I Would Get A Blue Russian to Name Them Comrade, Nickname: Commie (Big Brain Name Game™, Give me some credit and reblog this post🐈‍⬛)

+My Ridiculous Laptop Sticker Collection (feat. Some Steddie Stickers from Raynecreates)

+My High Thoughts About Pyramids (Higher Thoughts💭)

+Inspo Post for A Sticky Situation

👇Check the #Tags below to narrow down the fun👇

I RECOMMEND:

#op - posts that I created or I contributed a significant comment to

#personal - if you're trying to see more than just fandom- really get to know me 🥹 also #is it me, #tism, #tis me

#trauma dump and #dream journal - the drama, the tea, the weird dreams that are so ridiculous I had to tell someone, even if it is just shouting it into the void to hear the echo, basically over sharing

#interest - anything that is of interest to me, stuff like #therapy, #linguistics, #anthropology, #sociology, #psychology, #archeology, #movies, #film theory, #politics, basically anything that interests me outside pretty people and shows

#thoughts - my own comments/thoughts or posts that made me think, try #high thoughts, #higher thoughts

#comedy - anything that made me #lol

#writing - my own fics and posts I actually contributed commentary to or a lil blurb, or writing inspo and prompts I am interested in, as well as writing resources, tips, etc. #fic prompt, #inspo

#steddie - probably my most common tag I love them but there's a plethora of tags #steddie art, #steddie fic, #steddie comic

#pretty - it's the boys and the girls and the aesthetic stuff too

#boys - any of the pretty boys I like to reblog

#laissez faire - pretty girls, alternately #femme fatale

#smile - if you wanna smile, I heard they're contagious and this tag has some beautiful smiles 😁 and a few things guaranteed to bring joy

🍂🧛‍♀️🖤💀🐈‍⬛🎃🏚️👻🦇🧡🕷️☠️🕸️🧛‍♂️⚰️

#spooky - It's #spooky season baby and #halloween is in my veins. We got #spooky art, #house hunting, #halloween decorations, and best of all #spooky steddie

✨🌚🕯️🔮🕯️🌝✨

I go a lil ham with the tags, trying to be thorough, search my blog for any of your own interests, you'll most likely strike gold 😂 give it a try if you're curious, or scroll on down and click on a tag

[angsty-prompt-hole]

WIP Question Tag Game

Tagged by @ceph-the-ghost-writer

Rules: Answer as many (or as few) of the questions about your WIP as you can.

Tagging: I'm leaving this as an open tag

I'll be answering all of them for A Hero's Call.

1. What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

The very first part of A Hero's Call that I created was the concept of dimension jumping in general. It was inspired by both the ghost portals from Danny Phantom and my middle school self's mighty need for crossover content from my favorite shows, and then I kind of just made a self insert to make those crossovers happen, and that self insert evolved into Kira.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

So, when I was young and naive and didn't know how filmmaking worked, I wanted A Hero's Call to be a tv show. The intro song was always gonna be some sort of early 2000's rock/emo/metal song, and I almost always came back to In The End by Black Veil Brides. And honestly, I still stand by that.

3. Who are your favourite character(s) and why?

So, I love Kira, I really do, she's the main character after all. HOWEVER, my blorbos for the series are definitely Lucent and Cairn, which is really funny if you have the knowledge I do (that knowledge being that Lucent has ice powers and Cairn has fire powers). Lucent was a character I originally made to rp with some friends without having to use my already established characters, because I was weird and had stupid hangups about sharing my work, and she's kind of become my punching bag OC of the series which is how I know she's one of my favorites. I love making her go through physical and emotional torment.

Cairn is just fun for me to think about conceptually, because he's a villain that really could have chosen redemption, and he almost does at quite a few different points in his life, but ultimately he succumbs to the cycle of abuse and gives in to that darker side of himself. Also the thought of this very inhuman-looking dude having a Tumblr is SO funny to me (he is canonically VERY internet-savvy).

4. What other pieces of media could share a fan base with your WIP?

Any number of media pieces tbh, but the biggest one would probably be Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which was a HUGE inspiration for this project.

5. What has been your biggest struggle while writing your WIP?

Writing the beginning of it. I've struggled so hard with it and I can never figure out what's holding me back, which annoys me. And the more I write the more I discover that when I have all the pieces to a story that I want to tell, the writing starts flowing eventually. But with this WIP I've just had to drag those first few chapters out kicking and screaming from my brain and I can tell something is missing, but I don't know what.

6. Are there any animals in your story?

Yes, there are. There's the Shade family dog, a golden retriever named Gary (who is, in fact, just my real dog inserted into the story), and there's also Lucent's "pet" Jannik, who is a ferret-like creature called a skitnik. Emily and Pickle are ranch kids so they have a ton of animals that sometimes get mentioned, but Gary and Jannik are more central to the plot than those animals are.

7. How do your characters get around?

All the normal ways you would get around in rural Wyoming in the 2010's (cars, horses, off-road vehicles, etc). And, of course, dimension jumping.

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I'm rewriting the first few chapters (again) to try and get them ready to post on AO3 because I've been churning out fanfiction nonstop because of how much the kudos and comments go to my head, so I want to see if putting my original works on AO3 would spur me on to work on them more.

9. What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

I think that the characters and the worldbuilding will be the major draws for people, cause I have a LOT of lore and a lot of fun characters to introduce and I think it'll be fun for people to explore.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 01

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: some profanity, a side character who is a dick about Reid, set in season 06, self beta’d

Word Count: 2437

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

--

Chapter 01

--

March 2010

--

Dr. Spencer Reid

(Current Tenure: California Institute of Technology): Fred Kavli Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics; Director, Walter Burke Institute for Theoretical Physics, Department Head of Mathematics, Physics, and Astronomy at Caltech.

- (Degrees, in order) Ph.D. Mathematics, Caltech, 1995; Ph.D. Chemistry, Caltech, 1997; M.A. Nuclear Science, MIT, 1999; Ph.D. Engineering, MIT, 2000; M.A. Sociology, Columbia University, 2001; M.A. Philosophy, Georgetown, 2001; Ph.D. Psychology, Georgetown, 2002; M.A. Applied Analytics, Columbia University, 2003; M.A. Socio Economic Statistics, MIT, 2004; M.A. Geology, Caltech, 2006; Ph.D. Geography, Caltech, 2006; M.A. Economics, Caltech, 2008; M.A. Brain and Cognitive Sciences, Caltech, 2009

- (Teaching positions, in order) Professor of Mathematics, Caltech, 1995-1997, Professor of Mathematics and Statistical Analysis, MIT, 1998-2005, Visiting Associate, Georgetown, 1999-2002; Professor of Chemical Engineering, MIT, 2002-05; Kavli Professor, Mathematics, Caltech, 2005-; Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics, 2006-; Deputy Chair, 2005-; Director, 2008-.

“Jesus.”

The dossier is just an information sheet; no photo ID, no news articles beyond text component pieces, but it is a thick stack of correspondence and case consultations that S.S.A Aaron Hotchner holds in his hands.

“Five Ph.D.’s and eight separate M.A.’s in fourteen years? What was he doing before that?”

“Who knows? You don’t earn a Ph.D. overnight, even if his accommodation sheet makes ‘em look like they pop up like mushrooms,” Mark Anderson says, audibly tired through the phone speaker on his desk. He was one of the Unit Chief's from the teams at the FBI L.A. field office, who’s phone number was given to him by an old friend, Sam Cooper -- another BAU team leader. Hotch had hit dead end after dead end on this case, and sitting at his desk in Quantico, Virginia, he looks down at the recommended consultant’s extensive list of degrees and teaching positions with a building headache behind his dark eyes. He wasn’t a fan of Anderson, or his briskness, but at this point he’d take anything he could get. “I’m pretty sure that man has never lived outside an academic field. He’s a handful, runs my agents up the damn wall, but he knows his stuff.”

“I hope so. I’ve been on the phone the past three days trying to find someone with a background in Obscure Cognitive Linguistics,” Hotch reads from a separate file, filled with violent images and depraved acts described in morbid detail. “Our unsub sites a very particular thesis about a Study of Language from a Cognitive and Developmental Law, and I keep getting sent to experts in adjacent fields. I don’t see anything in this Dr. Reid’s background about language.”

“Oh, trust me, Hotch -- you’ll get more than you bargained for. This is your guy. He’s basically an expert on everything, and if he doesn’t know anything about languages I’ll eat my tie. He never shuts up.”

Frowning at the speaker phone, Hotch keeps his comments to himself. He’s sure that Anderson probably doesn’t appreciate having an old professor puttering around the field office, but that didn’t mean he had to insult the man. Especially when he was there as a consultant. 

“Okay, fine. Thank you. I’ll give him a call now-”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that. Just send him an email. Trust me.” Anderson all but groans like a petulant child. Graining on Hotch’s nerves excruciatingly.

“I’m sure he’s busy enough with his students, he doesn’t need to be fielding emails from the FBI,” Hotch hedged, still frowning. 

“Not too busy to write you a dissertation in reply, I’m sure, but you’ll at least get the answers you need. You could be on the phone with him a half hour before you get to what you called about. Hopefully it won’t take you too long to sift through.” 

Alright, now he is done listening to the other agent.

“Right. Thanks, Mark.”

“Anyti-” Hotch hangs up on him before the man could make any other remarks. His patience is non-existent after the past week and this extremely brutal case that only seems to compound exponentially in it’s viciousness with each passing day. If Anderson felt like being an asshole to some old man with nothing better to do than rack up Ph.D.’s, he could do it on his own time. Hotch needed help, and this man seemed to be the only person around who might be able to finally do so.

Dr. Reid’s office number is in front of him, as well as about three different lab location phone numbers, and one email address connected to the school faculty. He considers for a moment just ignoring Anderson’s advice and calling the old professor, but he has a meeting with his Department Chief, Strauss, in twenty minutes and the team would be arriving from canvasing the dumpsites soon. 

So with a suffering sigh, Hotch pulls up a new email (for what feels like the millionth time for this case) and composes a standard correspondence introduction. Who he is, credentials, case numbers and specifics as far as clearance rates for civilians go, and then finally the questions he needs answered. There is something about this particular thesis that has to be very tongue in cheek to the unsub, saying something that isn’t really there, and this could just be another dead end -- but if it led to them saving a victim from becoming another dead body, he is willing to give it one last try. 

Thank you for your time,  S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI Quantico, VA. 

Then he hits send, and leaves the response up to the universe.

-

The team came up with nothing fruitful. Strauss proceeded to ream Hotch six ways from Sunday for wasting valuable bureau resources and coming up with zero results. His day was spinning down the drain in a hellish cyclone when he sits down behind his desk in his office an hour after leaving it. Case files still piled to one side, grotesque photos stacked within them, and Aaron Hotchner wants nothing more than for them to disappear. For the case to be solved and to be able to go home to his son and his quiet house. But there was no break in sight, no new information, nothing.

Except a new email in his inbox.

Agent Hotchner, 

I know that thesis paper well. I can help you.

All air seems to have been sucked from the room as Hotch reads the words a couple of times, not quite comprehending after the morning he has had that someone wasn’t giving him more bad news. That this Dr. Reid said he could help him. 

 A single click of the email opens up the correspondence reply, and the agent is met with a giant wall of text. Scrolling down for pages, and a quick skim of the material shows such a complex, comprehensive amount of information that there is no way it’s just copy and pasted from any one source. Or even several. It’s a long email spanning a vast number of pages, covering every topic he had asked about (and then some).

The thesis paper, the tongue-in-cheek citation from the unsub, how this killer is acting like he’s being clever when it’s really ‘very obvious what he’s doing, as long as you know the paper’ and detailed links and quotations and references to locations and side tangents on items mentioned that could be evidence to look for or weapons of choice, and so much else Hotch’s head feels like it’s spinning. Like reading the cliffnotes of a complex spy novel, with all the spoilers in one place. 

It takes him half an hour to read through everything Dr. Reid sent, meaning the professor had to have been typing a million words a minute from the moment Hotch had emailed him to get everything replied so quickly, and Hotch was baffled to realize that an old man with a handful of Ph.D.’s and no FBI training just solved his case.

Not a figment of speech.

Dr. Reid just solved the case, without even holding the file in his hands.

Hotch is dialing a phone number on his speed dial without even looking away from the screen. 

“Garcia? Call the team into the briefing room, and phone SWAT to mobilize. We’re going down to the riverfront in thirty minutes.”

“--Wait, what are you talking about? Did you figure out the unsub’s code?”

Not me, Aaron thought to himself, standing up and printing Dr. Reid’s email after forwarding it to the entire team and their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia. He didn’t have time to explain it that many times, and the amount of information in that single email would be enough to send any of them tumbling heels over head. But it solved every aspect of their case. Hook, line, and sinker.

And the clock was ticking. 

“Now, Garcia.”

He rushes from the room with the stack of files in his hands and his laptop open to Dr. Reid’s email. Not even thinking to thank the man for his help as he heads across the bullpen with profound determination.

They have work to do.

-

They catch the unsub that very day. 

Quick, efficient, completely by surprise. They saved Amanda Sutton and another girl they hadn’t even known was missing. No one died. None of his team was hurt. The unsub hadn’t confessed, but Rossi and Morgan had played him like a fiddle in interrogation and now all of his team members were walking to the elevators leaving for a long weekend where they wouldn’t have to worry about serial killers or another dead soul on their conscience. Today was a win. As close to a win as they ever can get, in their line of work. 

And it isn’t until he’s back at his desk, the hours ticking into the night, that he opens up his email and there in his inbox is the very reply that started everything. Dr. Spencer Reid. CalTech Department Head. Professor of everything under the sun. Expert on anything, even the obscure. 

The reason Hotch will get to spend the weekend with his son, without the overbearing aftershocks of a case gone so horribly bad plaguing him. 

His hands are moving before he can stop them. Opening up the email, typing out a response to Dr. Reid thanking him for his help. Relaying what happened, detail by detail much in the same fashion he had completed the paperwork piled on his desk. Letting him know that his information really did end up helping them. All of it. Even the side tangents. 

I don’t know how I can ever thank you for the extensive consideration you gave this case, or how to explain how it solved it so seamlessly, but your time and effort does not go unnoticed by me. 

Okay, so maybe he fluffs it up a bit more than the dreadful bullet-point list descriptions required by the Deputy Chief and the Director and SWAT Team justification reports. Just so it doesn’t look so inadequate in comparison to the man’s thesis-paper-length email he sent to aide Hotch and his team. The passion he has for his work leaps off the page, but it was a lot -- and if the old man put that much dedication into a basic FBI correspondence email, then he was probably used to it being a thankless effort. 

Hotch sends the reply, and continues with his work. He always takes a bulk of the paperwork, so his team can go home and rest and recharge. He needs them at their best for each case, and if that means he spends a couple hours longer after when they finish a case, it is worth every minute. But this time, once he finishes, he gets to take the coveted time off as well. 

It’s as he’s finishing up, everything stacked neatly and ready to be dropped at records, in the mailroom, Strauss’s office, the director’s, and he’s about to log off his laptop that he sees a surprise -- Dr. Reid replied to him, again.

It’s much more brief this time.

Agent Hotchner,

I’m so glad I was able to help you. 

You are one of the only agents to reach out and tell me how the case went after my consultation, and I’m very grateful to know that my information actually helped your team catch the killer. I know I tend to spout facts at random, but I do have methods to my madness and it’s such a nice change to correspond with someone who understands that. 

My services are always at your disposal. Anytime. Whatever I can do to help.

Sincerely, Dr. Spencer Reid

Hotch types out a brief reply. Thanking him for his offer, for lending him his expertise, and letting him know in not so many words --

I’ll have to take you up on that. 

He’d be a fool not to. Someone with that much knowledge and the ability to connect it all in the way Dr. Reid had in the span of an hour? He could be a real asset to the BAU, as a permanent consultant, even through email correspondence. 

He sends the reply just as he stands to leave. Turning off his office light, and his chest feels lighter for the interaction. For giving the professor that sense of assurance that what he had to say did in fact do some real good. Hotch even finds himself smiling softly, sadly, that he has also found a little bit of solace in helping another lonely old man across the country find a sense of purpose that night. Who was working late, as well, despite it being the end of the week. Speaking to not much waiting for him back at home, in whatever shape ‘home’ takes for the man. But Hotch can relate to that, too. Jack is at Jessica’s until the morning, and there is nothing at his apartment to greet him but silence and bare walls and memories he’d rather not dote on. Maybe this Dr. Spencer Reid is in a similar boat, finding comfort in his work when he can. He certainly seems to, with the amount of time he’s poured into his doctorates and degrees. In the number of departments he runs and monitors. 

Hotch can’t help but feel a connection, a companionship between empty offices. Thousands of miles apart, but maybe -- possibly -- at least similar in that aspect.

Not so alone, even if only for a brief moment.

-

(tbc...)

-

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls

[tomhardysteeth]

Counting Heartbeats

[ao3] Joe x Nicky 2.7k words During the time it takes Nicky to come back to life after an accidental death, Joe thinks back on their 900 years together. 

It hurts every time. 

The waiting, the tattoo of his heartbeat growing stronger and faster the longer the wait as a tangible reminder that all hearts permanently stop beating eventually.

This time is very stupid. 

Joe and Nicky were just eating a lovely dinner together in one of their safe houses when Nicky laughed at something Joe had said and subsequently began choking on the food Joe had cooked. Joe, of course, tried to save him, but it was a fluke accident that inevitably ended in Nicky’s death.

Joe counts the rhythm of his heartbeat as he waits. He holds Nicky’s head in his lap on the floor and strokes his thumb across his reddened cheek and hums a soft tune as he counts.

The first time Nicky had died was clear in Joe’s memory, because he had been the one to kill him and watching a man come back to life is not something easily forgotten (at least, not the first time). Joe thought he was just imagining things, until Nicky stabbed him through the chest and Joe experienced the nothingness himself, the unquantifiable dark emptiness of nonexistence before he impossibly breathed himself back to life and killed Nicky again. And again and again and again until other soldiers began to take notice, and there was a moment of understanding, a moment of looking into each other’s eyes for the first time not as enemies but as allies, and they fled together, wordlessly, into hiding because they knew that they were the same and that they were different.

They learned each other's languages patiently and painstakingly, and for a while they spoke a combination of Arabic and Ligurian, oftentimes switching mid-sentence and then switching right back. Once they could fully understand each other, the first real conversation they had was about what it felt like to die.

“Did you see what you were fighting for? Heaven?” Joe asked.

Nicky shook his head and smiled, his eyes cast down thoughtfully at the ground of the cave they were holed up in. “There was nothing. Every time. Nothing.”

“And when you wake, it feels like no time has passed, and that all of time has passed.”

Nicky laughed and nodded his head. “Yes. Exactly.”  He looked at Joe, considering. “What we were fighting for is meaningless.”

“Your religion? Maybe. The god you worship, did he rise from the dead?”

“He did. Perhaps he was like us.”

“So does that mean he was a man, or that we are gods?”

Nicky laughed again. Joe quickly discovered that he liked that small, quiet laugh and that he liked being the one to cause that laugh. 

It made sense, in their own little pocket of the universe, when Joe kissed Nicky for the first time. They had been living together, hiding together, running together for a year, maybe two, and they had met Andy and had some questions answered while others continued to pile up, but meeting her put things into perspective. They had an inherent bond with her, of course, but it was different than the bond they had with each other. Until they met Andy, they believed their bond was born primarily out of having the same affliction, but Joe remembered recognizing right away that he would never feel for Andy what he felt for Nicky, that the intensity of his affections were reserved for one person only. And he could feel it, too, without ever having talked about it, that Nicky felt the same. Their love began easily, with gentle touches and secret kisses, and it was altogether thrilling and scary, monumental and simple, and even if they had had just one lifetime together instead of a hundred, Joe would still feel like the luckiest man alive.

The next time Nicky had died was also clear in Joe’s memory, because he loved him, he loved him, he loved him, and he watched the light extinguish from his eyes, and Andy was there with a firm hand on Joe's shoulder, holding him back and yelling in his ear, Nicolo will come back, keep fighting! But it did not stop his heart from hammering furiously in his chest until Nicky came back. That time, Joe felt before he saw; the beat of his heart evened out before he even saw that Nicky was alive. His heart knew.

“When I die, do you feel it?” Joe asked Nicky, one night when everything was still new, when they still felt young and years still felt like years instead of minutes, when they had been together for a single year and it felt like a significant amount of time, a collection of moments, of firsts, to hold and cherish for the long future ahead of them. “Do you feel the pain?”

Nicky was on his back, Joe curled under his arm with his head resting on his chest. He could feel Nicky’s heart beating softly beneath him. “Of course I do,” Nicky replied.

“We began together, do you think we’ll…?”

Nicky squeezed Joe closer against his side. “‘Began,’ is that what you call it? I think of it as being born together.”

“You didn’t answer my question, love.”

“You know I don’t like thinking about it.”

“Humor me.” Joe lifted his head to press a kiss to the underside of Nicky’s jaw. “Please,” he mumbled against his neck.

Nicky huffed a laugh. “I sometimes wonder if it’s not the time that matters but the number of times we die. Maybe Andromache is still alive because she has only been killed 200 times, and maybe on the 300th time she will not come back. If it takes many millennia for that many deaths to occur, then she will live for many millennia.”

“By that logic, if she wanted to die, she could kill herself over and over until she reaches the magic number.”

A beat passed before Nicky said, “It is probably best if we don’t tell her this theory.”

“Agreed.”

“I know it is illogical, but I do keep count,” Nicky continued. “As much as it is possible, I want us to stay close to one another in how often we die.”

Joe traced a line with his finger down Nicky’s chest, the skin smooth and unblemished despite how often it had been stabbed. “Yes, it would be good to try to die as little as possible.”

Nicky kissed the top of his head, burying his whole face in Joe’s hair. “I know we are young, but I fear it will never get easier to see you die. I will worry every single time that it is your last.”

Joe squeezed his lover tight, in confirmation that he felt the same.

After a decade together, Joe began drawing. Everything. He still felt like a young man, but memories are tricky, and the one looming fear of his life was that the vastness of time ahead of him would make him forget all the good he had already experienced. How fortunate he was, to be scared of eternity not because of loneliness and heartbreak and loss but because of having too many good memories to recollect. 

Nicky became exasperated with him, with how often he stopped whatever they were doing so he could draw whatever they were doing, or just draw Nicky because “you made a face I like, I need to preserve it.” Parchment was not easy to come by, but Joe was relentless in his efforts.

He drew and drew and drew, a constant as rocksteady as their love for each other.

For a period lasting nearly 50 years, neither of them died. They still fought battles, with Andy deciding when and how they would fight, but they survived each one like very lucky mortal men. It was during a skirmish with a small group of religious extremists somewhere in Europe that Nicky’s throat was cut clean across, and Joe cried out in pain so loud that Andy pulled him against her body and held him tight until he felt his heart calm. 

That was the first time he remembered feeling old. He and Nicky had been together for so long, what felt like so long, they often acted like old men. Their love deep and settled and sure, they spent many days together not even speaking, only small touches, sexless for weeks without noticing. 

But after Nicky’s throat was slit, a fire ignited in Joe, a myopic feeling of impermanence making him hungry for every touch, every kiss, every fuck. He mapped his body with his lips for several nights in a row, kissing and licking every inch of skin, opening himself up while swallowing Nicky’s cock, bringing him right to the edge with his mouth before readjusting and sinking down, riding him slowly and surely because they had all the time in the world.

And after, lying naked together, Joe scooped Nicky into his arms, back to chest, and whispered against his ear the many ways in which he loved him. 

The next time, it was Joe who died a brutal death, and it was Nicky who experienced an existential crisis that resulted in many pleasurably sleepless nights.

When they grew past the age of a normal lifespan, they began counting in decades instead of years. There was a decade of boredom. A decade of bliss, and a second, third, fourth decade of bliss. Then a decade of bickering with one another. A decade of attempted relationships with others outside of Joe, Nicky, Andy—they tried having pets, they tried making friends, they even considered finding a way to raise a child together. 

But they were outcasts, and not because of their supposed immortality. They could lie about that, could know a person for years before it became an issue, but for the other reasons. The other reasons were not so easily overlooked. Christian and Muslim, holding hands—they avoided much of Europe for many years. Progress is not linear, however, and so they could spend several years in a place where they could be themselves, only to move on to a place where they could be killed for being themselves, and this was over and over again, for hundreds of years, and in the 21st century they both finally began believing that progress was a line and not a circle only to stumble upon a small town in the American Midwest where they were refused a room at three different hotels. The decade was the 2010s.

They had never broken up. Not once in 900 years had it even come up. They needed space sometimes, sure, but the one thing they had learned from living so long is that time is not real and that a decade together can pass in a moment while three days apart can feel like a year, and so they had never spent more than a couple weeks apart from each other in 900 years.

There was longing, yearning, stretches of time where they wanted to escape the life that was chosen for them, and there were many years that they did not fight any battles, that they did not even see Andy. They both went through periods of depression, mania, and every human emotion in between, identity crises and existential dread, and sometimes the only thing tethering them to reality was the steadfast surety of their love for one another, that when all else seemed lost, they had each other. They checked on Andy a lot during their lowest moments. It was impossible to imagine how she had survived all this time without an anchor.

Living so long rattled one’s moral compass. Any hard decision, any mistake would be forgotten or would prove unimportant with the ever patient and forgiving passage of time. Hundreds of years, killing countless men, it is not possible to feel them all, to remember them all and carry the burden of all that death. No matter how many wars they fought, Joe was never fully confident that they were on the right side or that there was a right side. There was always the nagging deep in his subconscious that there could be more, that they could be doing more with the time they were given, but he wasted years and years trying to figure out what. Once they became old enough to read about things they had lived through in history books, it seemed obvious that they should have done this, could have done that, focused more on this, ignored that, and the world would be a better place if they had just been able to see the big picture. Living through so much of the world’s history made it feel like the responsibility of the world’s trajectory was on their shoulders.

“We can only do what we can do,” Nicky would say, every time Joe had to get his jumble of thoughts out, and he somehow always had the grace to be gentle with him, even after having the same conversation hundreds of times. “We are only men, after all.”

They were not always careful, or they were not always lucky. They had been tested on by doctors, priests, scientists, witches; it was hard to keep track of all the times they had died on operating tables, only to be discarded when their secrets could not be revealed. These deaths were painful, like the others, but for some reason they made for the best sex afterward. We are only men, after all.

When Booker was born, they began fighting smaller battles. They were for-hire for any job that seemed like the right thing to do. After Booker’s last son passed away, the four of them lived together for many years. They all four liked each other, then they hated each other, then they loved each other. There was a sadness in the set of Booker’s shoulders that time could not heal, a grief somehow heavier than the kind Andy carried. It was through Booker that they learned that grief does not compound or diminish with time, it comes and goes as it pleases. 

And then came Nile.

It hurts every time.

At beat number one hundred ninety-nine, Joe’s heart evens to a steady pace. At two hundred twelve beats, Nicky coughs his way back to life, red skin fading back to white, blue eyes blinking open.

Joe’s face splits into a grin as he looks down at his lover. “That was all my fault,” he says as a tear slips down his cheek. "I finally cook dinner for once, and you die."

Nicky reaches up and cups his jaw, fingers pressing lightly into his beard. “It’s OK, that’s the first time in several hundred years that you’ve accidentally killed me.”

“I told you, it was Andy that accidentally shot you in the Revolut—”

"I know, I know." He smiles warmly up at Joe. Quietly, he says, "You're OK. I'm here."

“What are y’all doing?” 

Nicky and Joe both lift their heads at the sound of Nile's voice. Nicky sits up and leans his weight back against Joe’s chest, both of them still on the floor of the kitchen.

“Joe was waiting on me to come back to life. He poisoned my food to see what would happen.”

Joe playfully bumps his shoulder against Nicky. 

Nile raises her eyebrows at them. “Cool. Um, I was hoping I could talk to you guys for a minute.”

They help each other up and gesture to the kitchen table as they talk over each other with of course you can talk to us, anything you need, we’re glad you came to us. 

Nile sits across from them and folds her hands on the table. “You’ve been alive nearly a thousand years, right?”

They both nod.

“Do you remember what it was like? At first?” She scratches the side of her face, her eyes wide as she looks down at the table. “Because I’m 27 and I still feel 27 even though I know I’m gonna be 27 for, you know, a really long time. I don’t feel old yet, and I don’t feel like I’m gonna feel old for a while. But I can’t even imagine what it’s like to live for so long, like, am I even gonna remember any of this in a couple hundred years? How do I make sure I don’t...forget?”

Joe and Nicky share a look. Nicky nods his head, silently telling Joe to get up. 

Joe excuses himself. He has some drawings to retrieve. 

[lycorogue]

For your ask game... 7, 13,15 and 16!

Livrever! You're just as bad as @cyhyr! You should also be well aware of my wordiness! Welp. Looks like I'm dusting off that good old Long Post hashtag again today. 😂

[Fanfic Writer Ask Game Questions]

7. What story/headcanons do you feel the proudest of?

By far the headcanon (which became a story) that I'm proudest of is the origin story of the lucky charm bracelet Marinette gave Adrien in "Gamer."

She already had it on-hand, and she didn't seem to have made it specifically to gift to Adrien. She even said he could "borrow" it, but never got it back. I think the charm bracelet was a spur of the moment decision to try to cheer him up and build up his confidence. When I was a kid, my mom gifted me various inspirational cards and worry stones to help me through finals and remind me that I could achieve anything I put my mind to. It felt fitting that Marinette's parents would do something similar, and THAT is where the bracelet originally came from.

If you want to read the full headcanon-inspired story, you can find it here: Build Your Own Luck

I love this headcanon so much I'm making sure to work it into my "I promise, I'm still working on it" WIP One and the Same.

Honorable Mention for favorite headcanon would be the headcanons I came up with for my Plagg-centric/Plagg-Appreciation story Forever in Darkness. In particular, my headcanon that Plagg was Aladdin's "lesser genie of the ring" from the 1001 Arabian Nights tale. I basically had that headcanon since I first saw Origins and Plagg mentioned meeting a genie before.

(Also, ya know, I still consider my first completed multi-chapter story Peeping Tomcat my magnum opus... so... yeah... proud of that one too)

13. When did you start writing fanfic?

I've been dabbling in fanfic pretty much ever since I understood what fandom was. When I was in elementary school I would create a whole series of X-Men OCs (only to discover a decade or so later that nearly every OC I thought of is already a canon X-Men character, they just never made the cut for the 90s cartoon).

In middle school and early high school (so roughly ages 12 through 15), I created a self-insert Batman OC (and love interest for Dick Grayson's Robin). She was Selena Kyle's niece that moved in with her. She struggled between excitedly being her Aunt Selena's apprentice as a cat burglar, and using those skills to be a hero with Batman and Robin. I can't recall the character's name anymore, but she went by the alias Black Panther (because that was my school's mascot and I'm a nerd like that).

About the age of 16 or 17 I joined my first play-by-post role-play game where I played Harley Quinn. It didn't last long before the game master went to college and the whole thing fell apart.

Then there was a fanfic dry spell. I did work on original works almost constantly from the age of 10 straight through to college. Then I had a college professor that more-or-less broke my creative writing spirit, sadly. I still wrote for video production classes and scriptwriting classes, but I didn't write anything recreationally for over 5 years.

Then, in 2009 I got back into the "Hey, Arnold!" fandom. August 2010 I wrote my first fanfic for the fandom. It would be the first fanfic I would ever publish online. I've been working on fanfics again ever since. 😁 (if you don't want to read the story on FFN, you can find the import over to AO3 here)

15. What is the fanfic you’ve written that you’re most proud of?

As I said before, I still think of Peeping Tomcat as my magnum opus. It is the longest story I've written. It is the first multi-chapter story I was able to actually complete. There are a lot of moments in that story that I just love to reread myself. It's the first story I've written that I felt compelled to write a sequel to (sadly, said sequel, One and the Same, has been stubborn the past 4 years and won't properly form, so that's still a WIP). It's the only ML fanfic I've published that has inspired fanart (but it's not my first fanfic ever to inspire art. That honor goes to my sadly abandoned HA! fanfic What is Truly Meant to Be). Plus, I got to emotionally torture poor Adrien, but also give him a happy ending.

Runner Up, I think, would have to be Prescription for Love, which is my interpretation of what Adrien did off-screen during the season 3 episode "Backwarder." A lot of my reviews have stated how much people loved Kagami in that story despite not particularly enjoying her canon characterization at that point in the series. Plus, Adrien is an oblivious little mush.

Honorable Mentions to the aforementioned Build Your Own Luck as well as my first Christmas-themed story Woven Heartstrings. I am still amazed at how perfect the gifts are for all of the characters, and I was the one who thought of them!!!! Plus, I've had a surprisingly large number of kudos/comments on that story outside of the holiday season, so it must really resonate with people even outside of December. Final Honorable Mention goes to the aforementioned Plagg-Appreciation story Forever in Darkness.

16. What fanfic tropes do you avoid writing for?

Goodness. I actually don't write for tropes. Not really. I aim more for "how close to a legit episode can I make this story?" or just general "This plot bunny showed up and I guess I'm nurturing it now???"

I don't know if I even KNOW all of the basic fanfic tropes....

If I used the This or That (Fanfic Edition) game as a guide, I think the tropes off of that list I'd avoid would be:

Flower Shop AU - I don't know much about flowers for that to be worth trying

Historical AU - I am TRASH at historical anything... although I'm a HUGE steampunkest... go figure

Major AU reworks in general - I am perfectly content snuggled into the canon. I like this show for a reason. And I like fanfic because the world building has already been done for me.

Crack??? - I don't have anything against crack. I quite enjoy it. I just... I'm not creative enough to come up with something so bonkers????

Whump - Not intentionally, at least. I almost never go into a story with the goal to torture the characters. That just... kinda... sorta... happens??? Sometimes???

Enemies to Lovers - I ADORE this trope, but I don't know if I could ever manage to write Adrien/Chat Noir as Marinette's/Ladybug's enemy nearly as masterfully as the other works already out there. Especially when some of my "competition" includes Discordant Sonata by @edendaphne and Curiosity and Satisfaction by @imthepunchlord.

Whew! This was even longer than the 4-question ask from Cyhyr! You ladies sure do know how to get me to talk. 😁

Thanks so much for the ask! Anyone else interested in getting to know more about me and my writing style? Feel free to drop me those asks. 😁

[platypanthewriter]

Fic Writer Question Meme!

I got tagged by @ihni, @callieb​, and @magniloquent-raven​, probably because I haven’t blown up their inboxes in like a week and it’s a way of reaching through Tumblr and checking my pulse!  XD  THANKS GUYS it was fun reading yours!

How many works do you have on AO3?

I have forty works on Ao3...but a couple of them are compilations of separate, finished fics?  If I broke those up, it would be 71 stories.  Mostly Harringrove.  Huh, that is a bigger number than I expected.  Oh!  Wait!  My other account (my weird porn practice account) has seven works, so I have 78 works on Ao3!  I am glad my FF.net fics are disregarded here XD XD XD

What’s your total AO3 word count? 

705,045 on my main account + 38,466 on my secret porny account (sssh it’s secret) gives us 743,511!  From just this year, it’s (combined) 466,978.  I have a full-time temp job through November, so that will probably taper off!

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Ten fandoms on Ao3, though the two Superbat fics always get weird because one is from watching the animated series, and one is making fun of the DCU, so they come up as different fandoms.  Doesn’t look that impressive, laid out like that!  A lot of my wordcount is my monster fic Strangest, at nearly 200k. 

I’ve also got several Gundam Wing WIPs on FF.net that I wrote in like 2001 and posted in 2010.  My favorite fic there got deleted in the purge and I have no copy...*sob* *wail*  It was so funny, darn it!  I bet it wouldn’t read the same to me now, but I wish I could find out!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Baby's First Punk Rock Concert (Harringrove) is my top fic, which I credit MAINLY to @gravegroves​ art, because it was middle of the crowd until then!  It’s an AU where Billy’s mom gets him away from Neil and moves to Chicago, where he runs into Will at a very gay punk rock concert in 1984, and keeps an eye on him.  Will introduces him to Steve.

Blind as a Bat (Batman: The Animated Series) comes in second.  It led for a long time due to the age and size of the Batman fandom, but our boys Steve and Billy stole the show at last!  It’s a 5+1 fic where Superman tries to confess to Batman and Batman assumes he’s possessed, or mind-controlled, or something.  Superman nearly tears his hair out in frustration.

Strangest (Harringrove) down to third!  Oh, my heart!  My nearest and dearest knocked from first place!  My first and favorite Harringrove fic, a fixit I started in a rage after finishing season two.  After the night Bob dies, Steve finds Billy in the trunk where Max left him, and they come to a sort of truce, then friendship, and then more.

Five Conversations That Probably Happened, and One That Didn't (Teen Wolf, Sterek)  My first Sterek fic!  I suspect the only reason I have three fics with more kudos than this juggernaut of a fandom is that I wrote this as missing scenes, and it really makes more sense in and around the show.  Just reading it by itself is probably confusing...

Birdwatching for Dummies (Stranger Things) Max sees something lingering around the Hargrove house, and calls Steve in for demodog backup.  In the couple days he’s parked outside, he finds out a lot about Billy, and Billy finds out a lot about Steve.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I always reply to comments, though I may wait a few days until I have time to think about replies, or sometimes I use them as a reward to get myself to finish a chapter!  I want to thank people who are sweet enough to come up with something to say about my writing and tell me, even if it’s a keysmash or a smiley.  =D

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hrm.  I mostly write about characters working through things or getting their lives together, so a fic where they didn’t do that would be kind of unsatisfying, I think?  My fics aren’t uncomplicatedly fluffy, but I think all the endings are happy or at least hopeful--with the possible exception of the 5+1 Teen Wolf fic, where it’s fine unless you know the very next thing to happen in the show is Stiles gets possessed, and I ended with some line like “You know I won’t turn evil on you”...ahahaha it FEELS like a happy ending though

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I like fusions more than crossovers, and the craziest (unpublished) one I’ve started writing is Stranger Things/Sailor Moon.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really. 

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do!  I try to make it very, very specific to the characters and what they’re thinking and feeling, and they keep stopping to talk.  XD  Also it tends to be kind of funny, because sex is kind of a ridiculous thing to do, when you get into the details.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I doubt it!  I googled one just now, and I was surprised that a different Ao3 user came up and I didn’t, but it was just in their bookmarks with a nice comment.  ^^

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Noooo...one day, maybe!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I’ve sort of co-outlined a lot in chat, but I’ve never co-written a fic.  I’ve co-written a lot of original work with people, but the characterization on established characters is so subjective I feel like I’d keep wanting to time-out and discuss.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Kirk and Spock, or maybe Grantaire and Enjolras?  Neither of whom I’ve written for.  I mostly can’t read and write for the same ships.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I wrote (and finished) a huge long fairytale AU back in my GW days that was this dreamy, surreal cracktastic...I don’t know what, but I lost half of it in a notebook that vanished.  Only half of it was ever posted, and to this day I can’t remember what the ending was.  I’ve never been able to duplicate the bizarre energy of the first half.

What are your writing strengths?

I like characterization and dialogue.  I’m chipping away at plot, action scenes, and sex...slowly...

What are your writing weaknesses?

I’m very, very focused, so I’ll forget things that add lovely dimension like what they’re listening to, or to describe their eyes when someone looks at them.  When I remember sometimes I’m very proud of the emotional beat it reminded me to add!

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Huh.  I never really thought about it.  I don’t like when stories are inaccessible--like I don’t want to be expected to google translate entire exchanges in order to understand--but I do like when a character uses short phrases or exclaims in a native language as a way to deepen their characterization?

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The very first I invented stories for was the animated Thumbelina, because I returned from the theater so annoyed I spent all night rewriting the story in my head.  The first fandom I wrote words down for would probably be...Gargoyles, the animated Disney show, because my BFF that I co-wrote with used characters from it.  On my own, writing and posting stories, the first was Gundam Wing, way back in the forums on the site Gundam Wing Addiction.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh, Strangest, definitely, forever!  Lots of thought and love dumped wholesale into that monster of a fic!

Tagging, ohhh, @tbehartoo​, @susiecarter​, @waterhobbit​!  I feel like everybody in the Harringrove fandom who wants to has probably already been tagged...but this is your tag if you haven’t!  Do the thing!  =D  We wanna know!

[timelordthirteen]

Killing Time 22/35

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Belle is frustrated, tense, and annoyed with the case and with life, but Weaver once again knows how to get her to relax. .

Notes: So this chapter was not just an excuse to write some more hot smut between these two, I swear. Also the plotty bits that I intended for this chapter are now moved to the next one. The number of planned chapters is not changing however. Please note the additional smut tags for light spanking and a little anal play, which I am very nervous about. It just happened and I hope it doesn't turn anyone off. Sorry.

Warnings: Mention of miscarriage, light spanking, anal fingering

[AO3]  Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21]

Weaver sighed and pushed the folder away from him, shoving it across the conference table.

Belle sat at her desk across the room, her shoulders hunched as she typed and her eyes moving back and forth between a printout of Nevada adoption law and the laptop screen. She was, what Weaver would call, cranky. Of course, getting the information on Molly Macreedy’s adoption wasn’t as simple as calling up and asking for a favor, one ADA to another. First papers had to be filed locally and approved by a judge, then a request had to be processed through the Washington State AG’s office, which then came back to Belle to be filled with the Clark County District Attorney’s office, requesting, very nicely, one state to another, for them to open a sealed adoption record.

That had necessitated another call to Molly’s adoptive parents to get their signoff on opening a potential can of worms. They were very accommodating, though Weaver felt like every time he reached out, it was ripping the bandage off the wound again, one that he knew would never heal.

Since her meeting with Dr. Hopper, she’d been out of sorts. It was more than the tedious paperwork or the weight of serial murder case. Weaver got the sense that something had happened at her appointment, but he was hesitant to ask. He didn’t have a right to question her about her therapy, especially when he could see that she needed to talk to someone. He only wished she would talk to him as well, let him know what she was thinking and feeling, both about the case, about her own trauma, and about him.

She’d said she loved him.

Yet since that moment, it had felt like there was a ‘but’ waiting, a shoe that hadn’t dropped, and when it did would put them right back where they started. They hadn’t talked about where they stood, about what this continuing period of living together really was in the long run. He knew what he wanted, but it seemed like Belle did not. She’d been through a lot in the last few weeks, they both had, and perhaps she just needed time, though the more time that went by the less sure of that he felt.

He was tired of walking on eggshells, but loathed to stir the pot too much for fear it would push her away.

Belle muttered a curse, drawing Weaver out of his thoughts. He twisted his chair and met her annoyed gaze over the screen of her laptop.

“Interstate legal wrangling not going well?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes and then sat back in her chair, her body sagging against the leather. “It’s going fine, just at the same rate of speed as a glacier.”

“Did they say when they might get back to you?”

She made a face and shrugged. “Records that far back aren’t digital yet, only 2010 and after. Which means some poor county worker gets to dig through boxes in a warehouse. So...if they can find them yet this week, they’ll be reviewed Monday or Tuesday, scanned, and emailed to me by maybe Thursday? If we’re lucky.”

She sighed, heavily, and leaned forward again, closing the email she’d been glaring at. Weaver pushed to his feet and crossed the room, meeting her tired look of annoyance with what he hoped was sympathy. He came around behind her chair as she braced her elbows on the desk and put her head in her hands, her fingers sliding into her hair to hold it back from her face.

“I hate waiting,” she groused.

“I know,” he replied, fighting a smile.

Belle and patience were not things that went together, and that saying something coming from a cop who had been known to bend some rules in the past in order to speed up an investigation. He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“There’s plenty to do in the meantime,” he continued, gently pressing at the lump of muscle connecting her neck and back. “We should find out if any of the other victims were adopted, besides Molly and Nick, just in case that’s the connection we’ve been missing.”

She exhaled and bent her head further forward, encouraging his hands to work their way further up the tension in her neck. “Yeah.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, with her leaning on the desk and him kneading at her sore muscles, until he abruptly stopped. She made an unhappy sound and threw a look at him as he stepped away.

“I’ll happily keep going,” he said, smirking, “but at home. It’s half six already.”

Belle frowned and glanced down at her laptop screen, noting the time in the bottom corner. “Shit.”

He picked up his leather jacket from its customary spot, draped over the arm of her sofa, and turned back to her. “Frank’s tonight?” She tilted her head, already imagining the satisfying taste of the bacon chicken burger that was her usual order. “Split some mozz sticks?”

Weaver’s eyebrows lifted. “Split? Or I get two, and you get the remaining eight?”

She crumpled an extraneous piece of paper and tossed the wad at him before pushing back from her desk. He caught the paper easily, laughing, and shoved it in his pocket, to be deposited in the trash can on their way out.

Belle blew out a breath and closed the lid of her laptop.

They ate dinner at the counter in the kitchen while she searched county and state foster records for the names of the victims, but found nothing. Adoption records would take more effort, paperwork, and time. While it didn’t mean that wasn’t the connection between the victims, it was nonetheless another disappointment. It felt like the case was stalling, that the momentum they had after capturing Jack Branson was losing the battle with friction.

After dinner, she moved to the living room, and sat on the floor in front of the sofa with her laptop on the coffee table and papers spread out around her. She rolled her head to the side, frowning when it didn’t crack as she had hoped, and leaned back against the front of the sofa. Sitting on the floor had done her no favors. Ever since her appointment with Dr. Hopper there had been a vague tension in her body that if she just moved or twisted the right way would pop and bring sweet relief. Unfortunately, she knew that wasn’t the case.

Talking to Archie had been both cathartic and nerve wracking. She was glad she had told him about the miscarriage, and that someone other than Ian and her knew, but at the same time she wasn’t sure what kind of rabbit hole that would lead her down. There was no doubt that Archie would bring it up at her next session, which she hadn’t actually confirmed yet, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it. Revisiting that old wound, even in a small way, had taken a toll on her. She wanted to tell Weaver about it, yet held back. If she brought it up, he would want to talk about it, the same as Archie did, and all she wanted was to shove it down deep and pretend it never happened.

Obviously, that had been working well for her the last two years.

Weaver finished cleaning up in the kitchen, and sat down on the couch behind Belle.

“Still no luck, huh.”

“Nope.” She sighed, ignoring his question, and tipped her head back, resting it on the sofa cushion. “So about keeping that shoulder rub going...?”

He smiled and waited until she scooted forward before he moved over and settled behind her. Belle turned off the TV, which had been left on after the six o’clock news was over, and let her head fall forward as he laid his hands over the tops of her shoulders. His thumbs ran along the line of her neck, pressing harder on the way up than on the way back down, fanning out over muscles that feel as though they’ve been cramped for hours. He felt an unnatural hardness at the junction of her neck and shoulders, and worked his fingers into it in slow circles with steady pressure.

She breathed out and her head bobbed forward in relaxation when his fingers slid through her hair, nails scraping deliciously over her scalp, before trailing back down her neck.

"You're too good at this," she said as he eased her further forward, kneading the inside edge of her trapezius muscle.

His palms pushed gently, rubbing at the hidden tension. "And you're too tense.”

She exhaled again. “Yeah, must have slept wrong or something.”

He let out a grunting sound that was somehow both disbelief and agreement, in that order. It made her chastise herself that she still hadn’t brought up what she’d told Archie, and that she hadn’t called to make another appointment.

Weaver reached down, trying to find the spot at the base of her shoulder blade that always seemed to knot up, but the angle from the couch was awkward and there wasn’t enough space between her and the sofa to make it work.

He pulled his hands away and sat back. “Up.”

She frowned over her shoulder at him, and he repeated the command as he pushed to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, scrambling to her feet.

He paused and turned around in the doorway of the bedroom, smirking, and she rolled her eyes even as she stood and followed after him. He coaxed her out of the t-shirt she’d changed into after they arrived home, pulling up over her head to reveal the lace bralette underneath. His tongue pushed at his bottom lip when she undid the clasp and let it fall to the floor, followed by shoving her yoga pants down over her hips.

“You want me on the bed?” she asked with a cheeky quirk of her lips.

Weaver rolled his eyes, which made her giggle as she stretched out over the duvet, and moved to open the bedside table where a small bottle of her preferred body lotion was stashed. He popped it open, catching a whiff of vanilla and jasmine, and applied some to his palms, rubbing them together to warm it up before he touched her.

He knelt with one knee on the bed and began to slowly rub her back from shoulders to waist, up and down, slicking up her skin until it was soft and slippery. She groaned as his thumbs ran up her spine in a steady, even pressure that rolled over the muscles along her vertebrae. His fingers pressed against the prominent cliffs of her shoulder blades, jutting out as she rested her head on her bent elbows. Finally, he found the knot he’d been seeking earlier and kneaded it carefully, feeling the cramp in the tissue eventually give way and push a deep sigh from her lips.

His hands glided along her curves, easing away the tension in long, slow strokes, drawing out more little sounds. She shifted as he moved over the outside of her hips, massaging down the back of her thighs and calves, spanning them with both of his hands at the same time. She let out another low moan as he worked his way back up from her feet, and shifted her legs apart to work his thumbs into the muscles of her inner thighs.

He swept his fingers over her skin again and again, inching closer to the edge of her panties, and she let out a small whimper. The sound made his cock twitch, and he bit back a groan.

"So do I pay extra for you to keep going?" Belle asked, grinning as she stretched her legs against the bed, spreading them slightly.

Weaver’s hands moved slowly up the backs of her thighs, kneading the flesh gently and rubbing the last of the lotion in as she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder at him. He stopped below the curve of her backside, feeling the heat emanating from between her legs as she raised her hips.

He licked his lips. “Maybe, but I have some very flexible terms.”

His fingers slowly trailed up between her legs, lightly rubbing her there, her folds already swollen and wet beneath her underwear. She parted her legs a little more, and he pressed and teased her opening with his fingertips. Slipping under the inner elastic, he pushed a finger into her, sliding all the way into the knuckle, loving the way she squirmed and moaned, her eyes squeezing shut.

"This part of the massage too?” She tried to push back against him, but he pulled his fingers away to start tugging her panties off.

He tossed them aside with a grin, and leaned over her, pressing kisses up along her spine as his hand worked its way back between her legs. “I’m very thorough.”

Her eyebrow arched as she clenched around his finger, her hips pitching up off the bed. "Yes you are, Detect - oh -”

A second finger pushed inside her, and she heard the shuffling sound of his belt being undone, followed by the rasp of his zipper.

"You’re pretty tense here too, Counselor," he says, his voice low.

She can sense the smirk on his face just from the low, teasing tone of his voice, and she shivers with pleasure. Shifting up to her knees, she backed up against him, her bare ass rubbing against the front of his boxers and the hard ridge of his cock.

"Think you can rub that out too?" She smiled and turned her face to the side as he shook his head.

His hips jutted forward as she pressed against him, and he let out a light chuckle as he stopped touching her just long enough to remove his clothes. “Naughty.”

She hummed in agreement, smiling into the pillow as he returned to stroke her slowly. His cock slid between her legs, bumping against her clit and drawing out a shudder and a soft sound. Her legs spread further, her hips rocking back as he teased her. Her back and shoulders felt much better, the tension in them eased, but a new ache was building elsewhere each time he hit her swollen nub.

Weaver’s hands grabbed her roughly, holding her by the hips to still her movement. She let out a frustrated growl which slipped into a sharp gasp as he brought his palm down on her backside. He rubbed the spot, flushed pink and warm, and then continued up her back, tracing the same paths he had earlier when he soothed her muscles. She groaned and arched her back as she tried to push back against him at the same time, the contrast between the looseness of where he touched her and the burn inside where she wanted him made her head spin.

He drew his hands back, her skin silky from the lotion, and gave her another light spank. Her fingers curled against the sheets, nails scraping lightly as she bit her lip. The sting was a pleasant, prickly heat, a sensation she had felt in a long time. A part of her wanted to urge him to keep going, until she was shaking and crying out for him, but there was so much still between them that held her back even now.

He seemed to know that was all she could handle, and a moment later her legs were pushed apart by his knee, spreading her wide. She tensed at the first push of his cock, the head just breaching her entrance, teasing her with the idea of being stretched and fucked.

"Ian..."

A spark ran through him at the sound of his name, and he inched forward, thrusting into her in one long, slow stroke. She gasped when he hit the end of her and started to draw back, her breath catching on another gasp before he pushed back into her hard. Everything was tight and hot, and he groaned as she started rocking her hips back against him, begging him to move.

His thumbs rubbed little soothing circles on her lower back as he started a slow, steady rhythm, filling the air with the wet sound of their bodies moving together with the backdrop of the music from the other room. He drew his fingers down, brushing over the cleft of her buttocks, and she squirmed, flexing her pussy around his cock. She claws at the sheets as his does it again, panting and pushing back against him.

"I could..." he started to say, circling her ring with his fingertip. "If you want..."

He couldn’t complete the thought, the feeling of her fluttering around his length almost too much to bear.

"Yeah," she squeaked, with a thrust of her hips against his hand, against his cock. "Please."

He pulled out of her and leaned to the side, fumbling with the drawer on the nightstand to retrieve a small bottle of lube. She tried to slow her breathing, but even the sound of the lid snapping open had her pulse thrumming as she stayed there, bent over on the bed with her arse in the air. The bed shifted as he moved, and then there was a warm slickness between her cheeks, and his fingertip spreading it over her. She tried not to move, to fight the urge to force her hips back as he worked his finger inside with achingly slowness. Pressure gave way to pain which gave way to a fullness she hadn’t experienced in so long, and she let out a long, low moan.

Weaver was being as gentle as possible, waiting after each small bit of his finger slipped inside her arse for the little impatient wiggle that told him she was ready for more. Finally, when it was fully in, he turned it carefully, pulling back and stretching her before he pulled it back part way.

"Okay?" His voice was strained and he clenched his jaw at the tight, warm feeling of her flexing around his finger.

"Yeah," she whispered.

He took his cock in his free hand and eased himself back inside her pussy, groaning as his hips met hers.

"Fuck," he groaned, thrusting once to test the waters. “Tell me."

Belle took a breath, exhaling it slowly as he started to move, the rhythm between his finger and his cock just disparate enough that she couldn’t do anything except let herself feel everything that was happening.

“Belle -”

"Yeah,” she answered quickly. “Good, really good."

She started working her hips harder, encouraging him as he slid his finger almost all the way out of her ass, and his cock out of her pussy, only to push them back in, a little bit harder each time. He held onto her hip with his other hand trying to steady himself as his eyes rolled back, feeling his finger press through her inner walls, creating another sensation along his length.

Belle pushed up on her hands, and gasped out a shaky curse. She pushed her hips up against him, and he thrust harder into her, a warm rush of pleasure washing over her from head to toe. She tightened around him, crying out with each movement, her legs and arms beginning to quiver as the tension grew in her core.

"Oh fuck..."

The sound of her voice was louder than expected, and she bit her lip as she slammed her hips back against him. The pressure of his finger amplified the friction from his cock, letting her feel every inch of him, and every time he bottomed out inside her, a little squealing gasp was forced out of her. Full and stretched, she tried to keep up with his movements, but then her arms gave, and she turned her head to the side, resting it on her folded arms as he fucked her to the threshold of a blinding orgasm.

The twinges along his cock was driving him spare, and through gritted teeth he managed to slip his free hand around her hip and press two fingers against her clit. She came with some kind of groan and a bit of a squeal, a delicious sound he’d never heard her make before, but knew he’d love to hear again. Bracing on the bed, he pulled his finger out of her arse as he thrust one more time and came buried inside her, his thrusts slowing along with the twitch of her inner muscles.

They collapsed together on the bed, quiet save for hasty breaths and the lingering thrum of his heart in his ears.

"Damn," she sighed.

He smiled and kissed her shoulder. “Yeah.”

They cleaned themselves up, and then moved back to the bed in silence. He sensed there was something Belle wasn’t saying. She stretched out on her side, facing away from him, and he slipped into the bed, shifting until he was right behind her without touching her body with his. It felt much the same as it had that first night, when she’d woken up in a fit, scared of every shadow. She’d needed him close then, but he didn’t know what she wanted now.

“I told Archie,” she said quietly, “about the miscarriage.”

He felt the breath rush out of him and his throat tense, but at the same time there was relief in knowing what had been bothering her for the last few days. She moved, inching back towards him, and he reached out to pull her against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and felt her squeeze his arm where it lay around her torso.

“Okay,” was all he could manage.

Belle swallowed. “Yeah?”

He nodded, his face rubbing against her hair. “S’good. Right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Weaver’s arm tightened around her, and she felt his lips against her neck and then her bare shoulder. She’d managed to say the words twice in one week, and, strangely, it seemed to help. Perhaps tomorrow she’d call Archie and see if he was available on Tuesday. Maybe it was the intensity of the sex or the fact that she’d finally told Weaver what had been bothering her, but her body felt more relaxed than it had in months. As she breathed out, it felt like something more than just air left with it, something that maybe she didn't need to keep inside anymore.

[thekytchensynk]

Halloween Ghosts (Fictober Prompt 19)

Prompt number: 19

Fanfiction Fandom: DCU

Rating: PG

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of abuse

Read this story on AO3

The night had started out with Booster trying a few different Halloween-themed mixed drinks. The internet of the 2010’s might not be quite as useful as the one from his time, but it never failed to offer him creative new ways to get drunk. And if there was one thing in this house that deserved a superlative, it was the bar in his fancy living room.

At least this building didn’t let kids from outside come trick or treating. You wouldn’t even know it was Halloween, if it weren’t for the creative booze.

Well… at least earlier that would have been an indicator. At this point in the evening, his “Jeckyll and Gin” had just become straight gin. Though in deference to the ghosts in the house, he at least kept pouring it over ice instead of pulling straight from the bottle.

“Can’t do that,” he said aloud to the part of his mind that noticed it as he tossed back another shot. “Y’drink from the bottle, then yer a …”

And his mind clamped down on that line of thought.

Taking the gin bottle and his newly empty glass with him, he wandered across to the TV. A lot of history had made it through to his time, but a lot of these old black and white, corny horror movies? They’d been lost to time long before Booster Gold, superhero, had even been born. Sometimes he thought too hard about it, and it made for a surreal watching experience.

This one had a vampire whose only real nod to being a vampire was the long, black cape. He was slinking around a buxom young lady in a nightie who looked unconvincingly surprised each time the guy hovered just a bit too close.

Plopping down on the couch, Booster poured another shot and raised the glass toward the TV screen. “Here’s to avoiding people who only see you as things,” he toasted to the woman. “You’re too cute for him anyway.”

He downed the drink.

Out of all the things you could have gotten from me, you decided on the bottle instead of the brains.

Booster waved the glass in the air as though trying to swat away an insect. “You’re not here,” he said to the darkness. Even though it was Halloween, the day when the veil between real and ghosts was said to be thinnest. Could ghosts come through from the future? “Go away.”

Telling someone who’s ‘not here’ to ‘go away’? As I said…

Ignoring the voice, Booster stood abruptly, almost letting the gin bottle fall loose from his hand. Finally, finally people here in the past had begun to take him seriously. It was supposed to be great. It was supposed to be fun. Why was it so hard? And not the heroing. That was about the only good part, even when it didn’t go exactly as planned. No, it was … it was …

Living. Why was living here so hard?

He missed his sister. He missed his mom. He missed the few friends who hadn’t just abandoned him after his stupid, stupid choices. They were all gone, in his past, in his future, and the only voice he ever heard in his ear in these quiet, lonely moments was that one, the shittiest person who had ever crossed his path.

Impulse control never was your strong suit, not since you were a kid.

“Like you’d know,” Booster muttered, aware there was no one here, that he was talking to the air. But maybe that made it easier. “You left before you could learn what either of us would be like. You only knew mom was about to stop taking your shit.”

I made the right call, didn’t I? Look at you. Kicked out of school, dead end job in hand but you couldn’t even cut that.

“And whose fault was it?” Booster demanded of the silence. He prowled around the dark room, the floor made indistinct by the flickering light of the TV. “Who came to campus saying, begging me to help, because if I couldn’t help you get your money they were going to hurt you. It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask you. Remember saying that?”

And you bought it. If you were smarter, stronger, you would have said no. But you were a pushover just like that-

Booster threw the glass. It flew a perfect arc, dead on as ever, and smashed into the TV. The device let out a worrying squeal and flashed a few sparks before dying completely. The move cut the voice off, but it didn’t matter, did it? Because he knew what it was going to say. Because it was mis own mind, replaying treacherous thoughts from his youth when he didn’t understand why his mother let this man who hurt her back into their lives over, and over, and over. And he’d been so sure he was smarter, that while he might tell his mom to never even look at the asshole again, he’d somehow been convinced that he could tell if his dad was lying. At least his mom had listened to him out of necessity. Booster had listened out of … what, pity? Misplaced, broken love? A thought that maybe he could actually work out some sort of relationship with that…

And now you’re here. Somehow even more of a loser as a superhero than you were as a janitor.

A loser. Booster blinked. Looked down at the bottle of gin, still in one hand. Thought, I need to call someone. I really, really need to-

But who? Dirk? He would let Booster ramble, but he wouldn’t listen. May as well talk to the wall for the good it would do. Trixie … who could tell. She might listen, but she reminded him a little of his mother -- kind and accommodating and putting other people first. He’d just be burdening her if he called her. So then…

So then who do you call when you have literally no friends? When you’re all alone. When you can’t even visit the graves of your loved ones, because they won’t be born for lifetimes yet? Every single thing that had gone wrong, both before the whole hero thing and since, seemed to be knotting around his spine and making his whole body heavy. Or maybe it was the alcohol. What had possessed him, what on earth had possessed him to think drinking this problem away could ever be the right solution? It was his solution. Booster should know better.

The gin dropped to the floor. Tipped over, spilling its contents across the expensive carpet. Booster stared down at it, watching the discoloration grow as the liquor flowed smoothly out. “What was I thinking?” he asked the air. “I can’t do this anymore. I can't…”

But what else was there? So he sat up the better part of the night, staring out the window at the impersonal lights of the city until he passed out. He didn’t remember when it happened, just that he’d gone from idly tracing patterns with his eyes in the lights to waking up with the taste of stale booze in his mouth and his alarm going off.

He couldn’t do this anymore? It didn’t matter. The alarm was going off. People were waiting.

Booster got ready, pasted on his smile and headed out the door to face the world.

[fourdaysofrain]

A Short, Sharp Shock

Prompt:  “You just called me Dad.” 

(This is my gift to @aslanscompass for the IronDadGiftExchange! I had a lot of fun writing it, I hope you enjoy!)

Read on AO3

Peter would have to wear sunscreen next time he came to the lab. That, or convince Tony to buy some curtains. The summer sun cut perfectly through the window and beat down on the back of his neck as he leaned over his workspace. He rubbed it absentmindedly. There were too many small parts on the table in front of him to move to another area if he wanted to escape the heat. Besides, he only had to wait another hour or so for the sun to set past the window. He shook his head, trying to ignore the heat as he continued to take apart his drone. 

If he ignored his uncomfortably hot neck, it was actually turning out to be a good day. He got out of school a week earlier, and this was the first of hopefully many days spent in the lab while May worked a shift at the hospital. Even though he spent most of his free time taking down criminals with no back-up, May still didn’t want him to be by himself in the apartment for too long. Thankfully, Tony was willing to step in and babysit (his words, not Peter’s). 

Tony was working on the table behind him. If Peter were to describe this to himself from a few years ago, he would have been sure it was a dream. As it was, the only way Peter knew he was still there was from the intermittent clinks of tools being picked up and placed down. Their companionable silence was only broken by the soft music playing through FRIDAY’s speakers. It took Peter a while to admit Tony normally played music that was too loud for his enhanced senses, but once he did, Tony made sure to keep it at a comfortable level.  

They had just finished with their lunch break and Peter had snuck in another couple of slices of pizza back into the workshop despite Tony’s only-semi-joking glare. He continued to eat them as he worked on his project. His suit’s drone had been a little jerky the last time it flew, so he was hoping to get it back into working order by the time the night was over. A drop of sauce fell onto one of the bigger pieces and, without thinking, Peter licked his thumb and swiped it across the spill to clean it off. As a reward, he got a short, sharp shock from the piece. He hissed through his teeth.

“Bad…” he scolded, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together to try and get rid of the buzzy feeling. 

“Yeah, Pete?” Tony called from a few feet away. Peter looked up at the mention of his name just to see Tony freeze. 

“What’s up, Mr. Stark?” Peter cautiously asked, his forehead creasing. 

“You just called me Dad,” Tony spoke as if he was talking down a wild animal. Peter’s eyebrows flew upward. 

“I--” Peter blinked a few times. His brain was having a difficult time processing the words Tony said. He shook his head a bit, hoping to make sense of the situation. “No, I--”

“It’s okay kid, I know it must be weird having me be so involved in your life. I can back off if you want me to.” Tony took off his tinted glasses as he stood from his chair. 

“No, Mr. Stark--” Peter was about to say he wanted anything but that when Tony interrupted him, continuing with his rushed speech. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m replacing your father for you. Or your uncle, for that matter. I figured it was only a matter of time before this happened.” Peter felt like he was going to get whiplash from this conversation. Tony was starting to pace around his desk and Peter could tell he was getting anxious. 

“Only a matter of time? Listen, Mr. Stark--” Tony was a freight train. Peter couldn’t get a word in. 

“If you want to call me Dad, I’m okay with it. Really. It’ll just take some getting used to, but as I said, I’m trying to break the cycle of shame. There’ll be some ribbing from Rhodey, but I can handle that. I’ll make sure I get the brunt of it. Wait ‘till he sees me tell you about the time I caught him cuddling his pillow like a--”

“Tony!” Peter’s shriller-than-usual voice finally got his attention. Tony’s head snapped to Peter, his mouth hanging slightly open before he shut it with a click. Peter huffed out a breath before saying, “I didn’t call you Dad.”

Tony’s eyebrows drew together as he said, “No, you did. I just heard you say it.”

“I said bad, with a B. Droney shocked me.” Peter looked back over his shoulder at the offending piece of tech. This was all Droney’s fault. 

“I definitely heard Dad. FRIDAY?” They didn’t have to wait more than a second before FRIDAY came online. 

“Peter’s right, boss.” FRIDAY’s Irish lilt washed over the room and Tony slumped back into his chair. 

“Oh. Nevermind then, forget I said anything.” Tony cleared his throat and put his glasses back on before returning to the tools laying on his desk. 

Peter turned back around and looked at the drone guts in front of him. He tried to remember where he was at in the process, but couldn’t stop thinking about the way Tony looked at him when he thought he had called him Dad. For just a moment before he closed it off, Peter saw a look of pure affection and pride on his face. He could count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Tony look like that, and he wouldn’t need most of his fingers. 

The same piece shocked Peter again while he was lost in his thoughts. He made sure not to say anything out loud this time, instead just letting the slight zing make its way through the tip of his finger. 

Tony was the main male adult in Peter’s life. It didn’t help that he had looked up to him since even before he saved his life at the Stark Expo in 2010. Peter did see him as a father figure, but he couldn’t just say that to him. Tony’d probably be weirded out by the creepy Spider-Kid that’s overstepping his personal boundaries. He sighed. 

They had to talk about this. Peter knew how Tony avoided anything to do with emotions. If he didn’t say anything now, they would both just ignore it and never bring it up again. He had to bite the bullet. It was the mature thing to do-- May would be proud of him for being so adult. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he thought about where to start. 

“Mr. Stark,” Tony looked up from his hands at the sound of Peter’s voice, “do you want me to call you Dad?”

There’s a dull clang as Tony loses his grip on the screwdriver he was holding. 

“Give a guy some warning, Pete,” he finally sputters, his voice reedier than normal.  

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Yeah, I’m avoiding the question, it’s a big question!” Tony sputters out nervously, and Peter tries to hide his discomfort at the slight increase in volume. 

“That’s-- I’m not mad at you.” He lowers his voice back to a normal level. He sighs and runs a hand over his face, removing his glasses in the process. “Listen, you can call me whatever makes you comfortable. I just assumed that at some point, you’d call me Dad on accident. I did it to Jarvis a few times when I was younger, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Plenty of tykes call their teachers Mom or Dad, and I’m certainly teaching you enough.”

“I’m not ashamed. I just haven’t called anyone Dad in almost a decade, so it’s not going to happen by accident.”

 A beat of silence. Peter hated the sad look that crossed Tony’s face when he alluded to his dead parents. There was only so much pity he could handle in one day. He pretended to be focused on the hem of his shirt so he didn’t have to look at Tony. 

“You still haven’t answered the question,” Peter murmured. 

He didn’t know why he was pushing this question so hard. What did he want Tony to say? It’s not like Peter wanted to call him Dad, he just… wanted some validation, he supposed. It was so hard to get a read on Tony. 

“I don’t know, Pete. I don’t know. Calling me Dad is a lot of pressure and I’m definitely not the ‘Dad-type.’” Tony punctuated his words with finger-quotes. He looked away from Peter and added in a lower voice, “For a while, I thought that I could be.” 

Peter looked back up to Tony to see him leaning over his desk. He looked tired. Peter had read the articles online about him and Captain America. He’d also read a few of the many stories published about Tony’s life. He knew that the people close to him kept slipping through his fingers. Peter didn’t want to be another name on that evergrowing list.

“I mean,” Peter let the words flow slowly out of his mouth, feeling the curve of every vowel, “you don’t have to be called Dad to be a big part of someone’s life. I never called Ben my dad and I don’t call May my mom, but they both still mean a lot to me even though I call them by their names.” 

He let his nervous words hang in the air, hoping that Tony would understand what he was saying without him having to explicitly say it. Tony was his family in a way that didn’t have a label on a standard family tree. He was paternal in an estranged uncle sort of way, with just a dash of older brother. Peter could already picture him being there for his graduation, his wedding, the birth of his child… But he’s only been actually spending time with him for a handful of months, so he couldn’t shove all of his emotional orphan-baggage onto him. He glanced up at Tony, expecting the worst. 

Tony was looking at him with warmth in his eyes. The tension in his shoulders had finally started to dissipate and he looked away with a small grin. Whatever message Tony had interpreted, he must have liked it. Peter found himself smiling in return. 

“Alright kid, back to work.” If Peter didn’t know better, he would have thought Tony was ignoring what he said. But he knew that Tony kept his cards close to his chest; he showed the majority of his affection without words. “I want that drone to be in ship-shape before you go on patrol again. Can’t have Queens’ favorite vigilante going around with a faulty suit, imagine what the press would say.”

Peter couldn’t suppress his smile as he turned back around and started working again. He was finally able to focus clearly on it. As he continued searching for the fault in the electronics, Tony started to hum along to the music. 

After a few hours had passed, Droney was finally flying smoothly around the lab. Peter was busy piloting it around the machinery when he felt Tony clap his hand on his shoulder. 

“Good work, kid.” Tony’s words caused a flush of pride in Peter’s chest. He mumbled a thank you. “And for what it’s worth, I like having someone else around in the lab. I’m looking forward to the rest of the summer.” Peter tried to control his inner child at being praised by Iron Man. He knew a statement in passing like that was the Tony Stark equivalent of singing praises from the rooftop. 

“I am too. I’ve just got that Decathalon field trip to MoMA next week, ‘cause they scheduled it for after school got out for some reason. But after that, I’ll be over here practically every day. I mean, if that’s cool with you. I don’t want to--” Tony cut him off with a slight squeeze on his shoulder.

“Kid, May and I already talked about it. You can come over whenever you want. God knows she deserves a break from putting up with a certain spiderling.” Peter huffed dramatically as Tony took his hand off of his shoulder and leaned against the desk. “Speaking of a certain spiderling, we need to take a break so you don’t get scoliosis, hunched over the table like that. What do you want to do? Your choice, as long as it involves a bit of movement.” 

Peter thought for a second before lighting up with an idea. 

“Do you want to go patrolling with me?” He hoped he didn’t come off as too excited. He leaned back in his chair casually (he hoped). Tony smiled knowingly at him. 

“I was thinking of something more along the lines of walking to the freezer to get some ice cream, but huh. Saving kittens from trees, helping with directions, returning bikes? I certainly don’t have anything better to do.” He gave Peter’s shoulder another pat before walking back to his own workspace where his nanotech housing unit sat. Peter couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face. 

“Go get your suit, Underoos. We’ve got some petty criminals to scare the bejeesus out of.”

Peter wasted no time in grabbing his backpack and finding a bathroom to change into his suit. Once it was on, he gave himself a moment to bask in the state of his life. He thought he would never recover from losing Ben. But now, about to fly around New York with Iron Man, he felt happy. Genuinely happy. He grinned at himself in the mirror from behind the mask before rushing out to meet up with Tony. He hoped summer would never end. 

He had all the time in the world. 

Tag List:  @ironfamjam @addi-is-amazing @mysterio-is-a-little-bitch

[sparkly-angell]

Prompts, you says? 🤩 I saw you wrote for torchwood, how about some janto? Maybe post s3, Jack runs into the doctor again (maybe 11? Now that’s a fun dynamic!) and there is some very angry/angsty conversations... Jack talks about how much Ianto meant to him for the first time and Eleven fits Jack into his timeline. Sorry for the long message!! This plot bunny won’t go away

It took me longer than I want to admit to sit down and write this, but once I started, the story seemed to write itself! Thank you for the wait!

🌻  Prompt me | Ko-fi | Commission info | AO3 version 🌻

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wales Millennium Centre had a different aspect at night. Maybe because when its huge words shone in the dark sky, it looked like a lighthouse from the sea. A flatter, smaller and golder version.

But if it was a beacon of light, that would make Jack the lost boat.

He sat on the edge of the building, legs dangling out in the air as he watched the black clouds moving fastly over his head and towards the sea. The waves were tame tonight, they usually were this time of the year. A couple of people were walking the plaza, going home from late work shifts, probably. But Cardiff was at peace. 

If the same could be said for him, he sighed.

“Ah! There you are, Jackie boy!” a man said hurriedly behind him, startling Jack to his core. He turned and instantly frowned, as he watched a clumsy englishman climb the building with visible difficulty.

From the bowtie to the bad fitting suit jacket and the messy hair, it was pretty easy to tell who was approaching, but what really gave away was those sad, old eyes, once the man was face to face with him. Jack hadn’t personally met this version of the legend yet, but there’s always a first time. 

“Doctor! Good to see you!” he smiled, finding it harder to maintain the smile than normally. And it was, good to see him, that is. He’d missed the Doctor. Really. Just maybe not today.

“Come, I need your help. There’s a time and space fluctuation happening in the 27th century here at Cardiff and I thought, who best to deal with the rift than the person who’s been dealing over thousands of years? So, really, I thought it would take me half a decade to find you but here you are, at the first place I look for. What a lucky day.” The Doctor’ rambling stopped and he stood behind Jack, looking ready to jump the way he came from, but sticking an arm for him, a silent invitation for this and more adventures.

Jack’s heart fell heavily. In any other day he would have taken the Doctor’s hand and let him fly them away from one planet to another. In any other day he would be making lewd jokes and flirting nonstop with the time lord.

In any other day…

“Can it wait?” he asked, watching a street lamp flickering near the old torchwood entrance.

“Can it wait? Oh my God, you are not serious, are you?!” Jack didn’t need to turn around to see the Doctor throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Pshh, can it wait-- Of course it can’t wait! It’s happening! Right now!”

Jack chuckled. 

“What’s so funny?” he gave up and grumply sat next to Jack.

“It’s funny ‘cause the thing you are so worried about won’t happen for millions of years.” Jack shook his head as a smile grew on his face. “Sometimes I wonder you say something is urgent so you can continue running. You convince people of its urgency and you run, run, run, until you win. But there’s no resting, right? There’s no sitting in the edge of a building, looking down at the waves, admiring how peaceful things are, ‘cause then, ooh no, then you have to think, and thinking… thinking is never an option.”

“Well, someone’s grumpy today.” The Doctor mumbled, kicking his legs in the air childishly.

A heavy silence fell over them, and Jack watched his words being taken away through the wind. A few seagulls flew towards the harbor, beating gently their wings in the air.

“You know, I feel like you are talking more to yourself than to me, Jack.” the Doctor sobered up at a snap of a finger, voice all soft to dampen the truth, and Jack would have been shocked if he hadn’t already met his two previous versions. “Who was it, this time?”

“It’s not a this time situation.” he snapped, fingers curling around the copper edges of the building’s roof. Jack took a long breath. This was no way the Doctor’s fault. “It’s an anniversary.” 

“Oh? What are we celebrating?” he chirped.

“Ianto’s death.” there’s no reason to beat around the bush. Not today anyway.

When the Doctor looked at him with no recognition in his eyes, Jack slumped his shoulders.

“Remember 2010, when you found me drinking alone in a spaceshift bar?”

“I gave you Alonso’s number, yes.” Doctor’s face turned sad all of a sudden. Jack nodded.

“Ianto had just died.” Jack looked at the sky, catching a few glimpses of light from the stars behind the clouds. “I ran away. It’s the first time I’m back since his death. Five years without saying a proper goodbye.

“I don’t think you two ever met,” Jack snorted, now that he was talking, he wouldn’t stop. “he knew almost everything about you, though. I told him. Ianto was our coffee guy, assistant of shorts, well-” Jack smiled, more genuinely this time, remembering Ianto’s antics, “he did hide his cyber girlfriend in our basement once.” he ignored the Doctor’s choking sounds and continued. “But he was good. Too good. Very gentle, too.” The Doctor hummed.

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

Jack nodded, trying to work his way around the knot in his throat.

“More than that, Doctor.” his eyes stung. “I love everyone I meet, you know that. I love Rose, I love you, Martha… all my colleagues. I never thought there was more than that. But when I think of Ianto… I see us setting in together, creating a home, growing old. He’s… no, he was the one.”

The Doctor pondered something quietly for a moment before he got up and clapped his hands together, with an air of finality.

“Well, then I believe you should really be coming with me.”

“Doctor… just leave me. Come again tomorrow.” he avoided the Doctor’s hand when it tried to touch his shoulder.

“I might have a way of bringing Ianto back, Jack.”

-

Long story short, the Doctor did end up taking him to the 27th century after all, even if begrudgingly. Jack had forgotten how much he hated his century, but good thing they only had to focus on the rift.

“We just got to connect this cables from the TARDIS core into the Torchwood main frame and voilá!” The Doctor said as he opened the doors to the old Torchwood hub, that still looked exactly like it did last time around, except from the havoc being caused by the rift breaking apart.

Jack helped him set the cables with much difficulty. Every step into what felt like a hurricane was strenuous, his legs ached, burned with every movement, until he got to the mainframe. Connecting the cables were the easy part, which really was a blessing. 

“Doctor,” Jack said over their linked con, “it’s all set, you should be able to work your magic.”

“Wonderful!” Jack hissed at the high pitch the Doctor let out. “Come along. I need you here.”

Jack mentally cursed the Doctor for making him cross the mess the hub was twice, but when he entered the TARDIS all thoughts were forgotten. The Doctor was running around the console in a maddening pace, mumbling a few explanations unders his breath.

“What can I do to help?” Jack caught the Doctor’s attention then.

“Finally!” He sprinted over to him and lead him to sit on the benches. “You sit here,” the time lord said as he hooked a few electrodes on Jack’s forehead, “and just think of Ianto, you hear me? Think of that last time you saw him, the date and time specifically, oh-- and the place.”

Jack nodded, set to get to the task. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, remembering Ianto’s trembling hands over his as a couple of tears fell on his cheeks. Jack’s heart squeezed. He had been trying to forget for the last half a decade, but now all the memories seemed to run free, washing over him ruthlessly.

Every time Ianto smiled, or rolled his eyes. His stupid comebacks and sweet, oh so sweet lips. His cute crumpled face when he opened his eyes first thing in the morning, or how he loved to cuddle, held tight under Jack’s arms. Jack missed his button nose and his stupid soft belly.

He missed being taken care of, being loved, his caresses, his assertion and attention. He loved Ianto and wanted--needed him back.

“Just a few more seconds!” the Doctor screamed somewhere in the middle of the mess, and Jack focused again on that terrible day, feeling Ianto’s silky hair under his palm as he hugged him close, pretending for a few moments he wouldn’t die, that all was going to be alright.

The main console exploded, sparks flying everywhere, but that didn’t stop the Doctor for getting the job done. With one last push on a few buttons, everything went silent. Jack opened his eyes, focusing on the Doctor’s fast breathing as he looked eyes widen to the floor in front of him.

His heart stopped when his eyes drifted downwards and he promptly lifted from his seat, kneeling down in front of the limp body.

“Ianto!” Jack’s hands flew over his chest, clumsy opening his tie and the top buttons from his shirt. No sign of him waking up. “Doctor, Ianto was killed by a poisonous gas those aliens threw at us. I think it’s still in his system.”

The Doctor let out a series of curses under his breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” he ran downstairs and fumbled with a few boxes before he found what he was looking for. In what felt like two steps, he was by Jack’s side, giving him a flask. “Make him smell this. It’s an air purifier, easily finds and kills whatever is making his body shut down.”

Jack nodded and opened the flask over Ianto’s nose. After a few seconds when nothing seemed to happen, Jack pressed the flask closer still.

“Come on, Ianto, wake up.” his voice cracked slightly as his eyes burned. He couldn’t lose Ianto again, not when he had everything to save him. 

A strong hand rested on his shoulder, and Jack stifled a sob. This couldn’t be happening.

“Let’s take him to a guest room, Jack. He needs to rest.” 

“Does it mean he’ll survive?” he looked up hopefully at the Doctor. Normally, he would be the one doing the comforting, but normally he wasn’t desperately trying to revive a lover. No, not any lover, Ianto.

The Doctor hesitated, and Jack’s hope left him like a punch to his guts instantly. The stinging in his eyes morphed into tears which ruined Ianto’s beautiful dark suit. His shoulders shook silently as he rested his head over Ianto’s unmoving chest.

“Wake up, Ianto, please.”

-

When he opened his eyes, Ianto was very aware of his unfamiliar surroundings. He jolted out of bed, instinctively searching for his gun on his waist, not really surprised that his holster was empty. With trained eyes, he scanned the the room for anything that looked threatening, and was confused to find nothing strange.

His suspicious only grew when he tried to open the door, which opened swiftly with no struggle. So maybe he wasn’t in a hostage situation as he first thought. Damn his Torchwood training, always teaching to wait for the worst.

Once outside his room, as he took in the alien-ish designs of the corridors, he realized he might not be on Earth anymore. Ianto gulped and didn’t let that new piece of information get to him, at least not for now.

He heard a set of murmurs coming from his right, and decided the best way to find out where he was, was by finding out who had him, hostage or not. Little by little the corridor morphed from the frigid light tech blue to a warm orange, until he was confronted with a significant console room.

If it could be called a console room. 

He carefully climbed the glass stairs to the main floor, where the alien console laid in the middle, but froze when he saw two people standing with their backs to him behind the alien tech. One of them, the taller, slender one stiffened for only a second, but he knew the man had noticed Ianto approaching.

The other one hadn’t yet. He had his head down, short hair spiking in every direction as he murmured something. He sounded sad, even if Ianto couldn’t catch what he said.

The taller man nodded, flicked his eyes in Ianto’s direction and winked conspirationaly when their eyes met. Ianto froze as he watched him whispering something into the sad man’s years before taking a few steps back. There was something in the sad man that was familiar, Ianto realized, his neck, maybe, the hair too.

Sad man straightened his back, suddenly aware, and recognition flashed in Ianto’s mind.

“Jack!” he shouted, sprinting in his direction just in time to see him turning, wishful expression in face. It quickly morphed into something more heartwarming.

Ianto latched his hands behind Jack’s neck as his lover cupped both his hand on his cheeks, bringing their foreheads together. They swung in place, synching their movements as their breathed in the same air again, in what felt like an eternity.

“I thought you had died.” Jack whispered, voice raw with emotions. Ianto closed his eyes and nodded. 

“I thought so, too.”

He smiled then, by each second that passed he felt more alive, stronger than before. He leaned in and captured Jack’s lips, erasing from their memories the last kiss they shared, when Ianto’s lungs were giving out, and his face too cold and lips too dry.

A few tears got mixed into their kiss, and frankly he couldn’t tell who they were from. They broke apart when the tall man cleaned his throat.

“Very well, hi, Ianto, I’m the Doctor. Nice to meet you.” he stretched out a hand, which Ianto shook, if a little confused. “You are welcome, by the way. I saved you, well, we both did, so you’ve got to thank Jack properly later.” The Doctor smiled through his rambling and Ianto snorted. If Jack hadn’t told him the Doctor was prone to talk a mile per hour he would have been overwhelmed, “Oh, by the way, Jack, Ianto, something I forgot to mention before. Ianto is now a child from the TARDIS, which means, theoretically, his lifespan is indefinite. That’s my present to you, Jack.”

Ianto’s mouth fell open. Was he hearing it right? He was immortal now? He quickly glanced at Jack, afraid the man would find this new discovery horrifying, but the look in his face told a different story.

He had a genuine smile on his lips, and his eyes shone with gratitude, he turned to Ianto and interlaced their fingers. When he spoke, his voice trembled.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

[kanyniablue]

fic writer tag meme

i was almost finished when i lost this post TWICE!!! TWICE

tagged by america-oreosandkitkats, which tumblr is not letting me @ !  i love new updated tumblr!  it’s my favorite!

AO3 name: kat_blue, however i haven’t actually uploaded anything.  it was #newyearsresolution2020 to start uploading some writing, just to say “i’m D O N E im not going to touch it again” but...2020 got in the way

Fandoms: overwhelmingly hetalia where i set up camp back in 2010-2011 and never moved on, harry potter but only in headcanons/crossovers, Discworld but don’t test me, uh, The Outsiders, yes that book we read in middle school, Coco (2017) because im a corporate sellout

Tropes: 30 AU Pileup, Historical AU, 20 Minutes into the Past/Future, Gen, Enemies-to-Lovers, Friends-to-Lovers, Hookup-to-Something-More, Enemies-to-Lovers-But-They’re-Still Enemies, Unhealthy/Codependent Relationship (romantic, platonic, familial...), Breakup Fic, For Want of a Nail, Everyone’s Dead Dave/Tragic End, Postcredits Scene/whatever you’d call it when you write what would happen after canon says “the end,” Character Study (not sure if that’s a trope but it’s mostly what I write)

Number of fics: ...a bunch.  i write in several documents, some of which are inaccessable to me because of a computer crash.  i honestly have no idea

Fic I spent the most time on: considering it’s not even finished, Sun Down (WWI Prussia that was supposed to be PruHun but turned into an extended character study/war novel/just torturing the guy but he kind of deserves it) has been limping along for 2+ years...although mostly nowadays I just poke at it occasionally

Fic I spent the least time on: i have no idea, i’ve got a bad habit of coming back to a “finished” fic months or even years later and messing with it.  Maybe The Witch Dreaming, a weird little Nyo!EnglandxGreece fic that needed more notes explaining what it was about than it had actual words.  it was one of those *sudden inspiration* *scribble scribble scribble* “wait, what the fuck is this?” fics

Longest fic: Brother, Can You Spare a Dime (RusAme domestic fluff & death threats in the Great Depression/Stalinist USSR, burns so slow they barely manage to kiss right before WWII breaks out, ends badly) clocks in at roughly 21K and it’s not even half finished.  technically my main WIP but i don’t focus

Shortest fic: The World in the Palm of Your Hand, a tiny little Revolution!America character study, 147 words including its entire title?  i know i used to write drabbles & flashfics but that document is...problematic right now

Most hits/Most kudos/Most comment threads/Most bookmarks: yeaaaah, about that...see “haven’t uploaded anything.”  i think i uploaded a couple of fics to tumblr, possibly an old account, but if i did nobody ever read ‘em

Total word count: eeesh, probably at least 150K if we’re counting everything

Favorite fic I wrote: it changes but im still fond of Skin, a bunch of little spamano...vignettes? that i started back around 2014 and still enjoy, which isn’t something i say about a lot of my old writing

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: ...all of them.  if i have to choose probably Take the Long Way Home, a partially-finished NorwayxSouth Italy Human!ExchangeStudent!AU that i used to love back in its day of ~2012-2014 but now is very...dusty.  writing style changed a lot from what it was back then, lots of “new to the fandom” tropes, lots of “real humans don’t act like this it’s just more dramatic” plot holes...i could do a lot with rewriting it, i just generally work on more recent things and i leave it fossilized and occasionally say “but what if”

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on:  

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime:  What was supposed to happen was that they’d be met by the secret police at the train station, and U.S. Personification Alfred Jones would be arrested as a foreign spy.

What actually happened was that after giving up at the train station, one of Ivan’s bosses’ secretaries met them at the front of Ivan’s office building, where he waited and kicked his heel against the wall because he couldn’t light a cigarette without dropping America’s wrist and no amount of exasperated sighs from America was going to convince him it was safe to do so, and when the human secretary did get out there all he said was, “The police aren’t coming.”

Ivan closed his eyes.  “Why are the police not coming?”

“They say you seem like you’ve got it handled, Comrade Braginsky,” said the secretary.

“How am I supposed to handle him?” Ivan said through his teeth, waving America’s arm, “Keep a grip on him like he’s a child until they feel fit to interrogate him?”

<<Hi,>> said America sardonically.

The secretary pressed his lips thin.  “I don’t know, comrade.”

“He’s an American spy!”

“I am not being spy!” America said.  “Not!”

The human looked between them, then said to Russia, “I don’t know what else to tell you, Comrade Braginsky.  I don’t have the authority to override the chief of police.”

Slowly, Russia rubbed his eyes.  “...I know, comrade.  Very well.  Take down a message for me, will you?”

Russia’s bosses received a note, in lieu of Russia returning to work as he’d planned:  Have in custody suspected American spy, name of ALFRED JONES (note English spelling).  Contact American consulate as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, Russia would take America to the only place he knew he could keep an eye on the foreign nation.

--

[and then they were roommates.  I don’t know nearly enough about Soviet Russia to depict it with any amount of accuracy but I’m writing gay country anime boys, this isn’t the place to look for a documentary.]

i know a lot of people who follow me write fanfiction so if you do and you see this, you’re tagged!  let’s try to tag people who i know write:  @gothicmagpie @knowledgequeenabc @convenientalias uhh I don’t know how many of my other followers are both active & writers

[bymyside-fic]

Question (~2700 words) read on AO3 // AFF

- January 22, 2010 -

"Alright," O'Neely said, clapping his hands together at the sound of the bell. "Stay put for a moment, please. Come in!" he added, his voice raising slightly.

Kibum's eyebrows shot up and he glanced at Minho, who met his gaze and shook his head. He looked past him, his brow furrowing when the other seventh years who hadn't passed their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s filed into the classroom.

"Don't worry about sitting," O'Neely said, and Kibum tore his eyes away to look back at him. "We won't be long." The door closed behind one of the Gryffindors, and O'Neely sat against his desk garnering everyone's attention with his small smile. "So, I know it feels a bit early in the year, but it's time to start thinking about graduation."

The murmurs that erupted at the announcement were soon quelled by O'Neely clearing his throat. "We just need to get an idea for how many people to expect at King's Cross, Muggle or otherwise, on the sixth of June. So, what you need to do is figure out how many guests you'll be having here and get that number to me by next Friday. Sound good?”

Kibum nodded, Minho and others doing so as well. “Alright. You’re free to go. Enjoy your lunch!” he said as benches started scraping against the floor as everyone started to get up.

“Too bad we can’t just pop down to Hogsmeade to tell your mom.”

“Pop down,” Kibum said, chuckling and shaking his head.

“What?”

“You sounded so British for a second.”

“Fuck off,” Minho said with a laugh as he switched to Korean. “It’s your fault.”

“My fault?” Minho nodded haughtily, which made Kibum roll his eyes with a smile. “We couldn’t, anyway. She’s back in Nottingham right now, since the Tournament is on a bit of a hiatus.”

“Ah.”

Kibum didn’t have to glance at Minho to know that he tensed up. Even if he didn’t know him as well as he did, he still would have understood how stressful it must be for him, despite having won the last task. There was still one more task to go -- that they knew of -- and no one knew when it was going to happen. He, Miloni, and Turner had yet to be called away for even an interview after the obstacle course.

It was only a matter of time before they were, but the not-knowing…

“Do you want to call her after lunch?”

“Sure.” He glanced up at Minho, trying to read his expression from his profile as they paused in the threshold of the Great Hall. “Will you call your parents?”

Minho sniffed a mirthless laugh. “What do you think?” For Kibum’s part, he hoped that meant fuck no, but again, knowing Minho like he did, he couldn’t be sure.

He surveyed the Great Hall before he met Minho's gaze again. "Wanna have lunch with me?" Minho's expression brightened, and he followed him over to Slytherin's table.

They made their way upstairs as soon as they finished eating. Minho opened the study closet door for him to enter first, enclosing them in darkness until Kibum lit the first of the candles and both were shivering as they finished lighting the rest. Kibum grabbed Minho's phone while Minho situated the blankets, wrapping the biggest one around both of them as Kibum settled beside him.

His hands trembled from the cold as he dialed Mom's cell phone number. Minho's arms wrapped around him, sharing what little heat he had. Kibum relaxed in his embrace, letting his head rest on his shoulder as he held the phone closer to them. He had turned the speaker on, so the bored-sounding dial tone filled the closet. Mom picked up a few seconds after Minho started kissing along the slope of his shoulder, so it took a few seconds before her questioning Hello? registered in his mind.

He shrugged quickly, making Minho stop with a chuckle, before he said, "Hi, Mom!" Minho echoed him, and Kibum's eyes blew wide as he turned to meet Minho's smug gaze.

"Hey, you two," Mom said, sounding distracted, and Minho kissed his cheek as Kibum returned his attention to the phone. "What's this about?"

"Uh…"

"Graduation," Minho filled in when Kibum's mind blanked.

"Uh, yeah. It's June sixth, and O'Neely just wants to get a headcount to see how many visitors the school needs to expect."

"Ah, okay." Something clattered on the other end, and she muttered shit under her breath. "Anything else?"

Kibum shook his head. "No. Are you okay?"

"Yeah." The word came out as more of a sigh. "The Wiggentree is just overgrown now. Whatever you did, Minho, worked a little too well."

"Sorry…"

"Oh, don't worry about it, honey. It just means I have more clippings for Mrs. Prue."

Kibum looked back at Minho, the question Do you have anything else you wanna ask? hopefully in his eyes. Minho understood because he shook his head without lifting his chin off of Kibum's shoulder. "We'll let you go then, Mom. See you soon?"

"Romilda said something about another Hogwarts trip coming up, so, yes."

"Okay."

Minho leaned a little closer. "Bye, Mom!"

"Bye! Have a good rest of your day!"

"Bye!" Kibum hung up the phone, letting it drop to his lap as he looked back at Minho again. "What was that about?"

"What?"

"Mom?"

He sat up, putting some distance between them as he searched Kibum's expression. "Did it bother you?" Kibum shook his head, his cheeks flaming as Minho started to smile. "I mean...I know we just started dating so I don't want to get ahead of myself, but…" He let the word linger in the air long enough for Kibum to repeat it back to him in a question. "...But, I figure she will be...you know...someday...so we might as well get used to it, yeah?"

It was Kibum's turn to smile, which only grew as Minho's gaze turned bashful. "Yeah."

Minho's eyes met his again, bright and hopeful in the warm candlelight. And then they were kissing, though before they could really get started, Minho pulled away to catch his breath. "I should call my parents before we get too distracted."

Kibum sighed into a dramatic pout, which made Minho smile and lean in for a quick kiss. "Come on, it won't be too long. Believe me."

"I suppose…"

"I'll make it up to you?"

Kibum's pout turned into a smile so bright that his dimples must have appeared, given the way Minho's gaze darted down to his cheeks before he met his eyes again. "You'd better."

Minho shrugged the blanket off of his shoulders, letting it fall around their waists as he took his phone back from Kibum. He watched over his shoulder as he scrolled through the contacts, his eyes catching Minseok as Minho passed it select Home.

Kibum grabbed Minho's hand as they listened to the dial tone, kissing it before someone picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mom," Minho said, his voice sounding more exhausted than it had a few seconds ago. Kibum knew better than to pipe up and interject like Minho had. "How a -- "

"It's been so long since you've called or written, we were starting to get worried. Is everything okay?"

Kibum tightened his grip on Minho's hand, which was met with an appreciative squeeze. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, final year is just a bit crazy."

"I'm sure it is," she said, and paper fluttered distantly on her end of the phone.

She started on some other topic, but Kibum wasn't paying attention to what she said. No, he stayed focused on Minho and his reactions, readying himself to snatch the phone and hang up if he needed to. All of the sudden, Minho squeezed his hand tightly again, then laced their fingers together, and Kibum blinked, tearing his gaze away to look back at the phone.

Mr. Choi's voice filled the chilly silence. "Hey, son," he said, so painfully casually that Kibum wanted to chuck the phone across the closet. "You haven't contacted us in so long!"

There's a reason for that, you fucking piece of s --

"Yeah, sorry," Minho said, his voice higher pitched than he had ever heard it. "Just got caught up with school, I guess. How are you?"

Kibum stroked his thumb back and forth against Minho's hand, listening to Mr. Choi ignore Minho's attempts to cut the conversation short. "I'm sure it can't be that important, in the long run," he said dismissively when Minho brought up the essay he needed to get started on for Defense Against the Dark Arts. That was, until the bell rang to start the next period of classes after lunch.

"Do you have to go?" Mr. Choi asked when the ringing died in the air.

"Yes," Minho lied. They didn't have another class until last period: him, Flying and Kibum, Alchemy. "It was good to talk to you again."

"You too! Don't let it get so long between calls and letters, okay?"

Minho let out a nervous chuckle. "Yes, sir." Silence settled on both ends of the line, and Minho cleared his throat to break it. "Love y -- "

"We'll talk again soon. Bye, son."

"Bye, Dad…"

Mr. Choi hung up first, and Minho immediately slumped forward, letting out a long groan. He didn't let go of Kibum's hand, and Kibum reached around awkwardly, patting Minho's back until he sat back up. "Are you okay, Min?" he asked eventually, waiting for Minho's nod before he added, "You didn't mention graduation."

Minho started to shake his head, sighed, then sat up, finally meeting Kibum's gaze. His eyes glittered with tears that he seemed determined not to cry. "I don't want them here for it. I realized that as soon as Mom answered the phone."

Kibum nodded mutely, relieved. It definitely sucked, he couldn't deny that, and he couldn't help but wish that circumstances were different...but, in the end, he knew this was for the best.

He reached out, cupping Minho's cheek and leaning closer to him when Minho's eyes closed reflexively. His thoughts involuntarily slipped back to that night, all those months ago, when Mr. Choi had struck him. The rage boiled back up, the urge to protect, to attack roiling within until Minho's heavy sigh tickled his skin.

"I'm fine, Bum," he said, slowly opening his eyes, and the soothing, calming waves of his love for Minho washed over him as their eyes met, cooling the white-hot concealed rage.

"Are you sure?"

When he nodded, Kibum leaned forward, guiding Minho into a simple, tender kiss. It went no further, Kibum instead hugging Minho as he tucked his face in the crook of his neck. Kibum's eyes slid closed, his breaths settling into the cadence of Minho's. He let Minho take the initiative to move away, not wanting to rush him if he needed the comfort. He didn't bother to keep track of the time -- it was unimportant.

But he did move away, and luckily, he looked more at peace than he had after his mother had picked up the call.

They really did have to work on that essay, but they also had a full week before it was due. Still, they had two more periods before their final classes for the day, so Kibum grabbed their Defense textbook and curled up next to Minho. They read through the information about werewolves, which they were reviewing before their upcoming N.E.W.T.s.

"I wish we had eaten," Minho said, swinging their joined hands between them as they took the long way downstairs.

"Me too. At least it won't be that bad in Alchemy. Will you be okay with Flying?"

"I think so. I'll just eat a bunch at dinner."

Kibum nodded and he slowed his gate as they reached the main floor. He peeked out the door and into the corridor, watching the others mill about on their way to their last class of the day. Before he let go of Minho's hand, he looked at Minho expectantly, smiling when Minho read his mind and kissed him goodbye.

"I'll see you after," Minho whispered before he kissed him again, and Kibum tried very hard not to let himself get lost in it.

"Okay," he said, sighing as Minho started down the stairs. "Don't do anything stupid during class."

"When have I eve -- "

"Minho," Kibum said flatly, which made him burst out laughing. "Bye."

"Bye…" Minho drew out the word, bringing a smile to Kibum's face as he walked away.

He tried to stay focused on the Alchemy lesson -- Slughorn was getting into the history of philosopher's stones -- but his thoughts kept wandering back to the phone call with Minho’s parents. There was a lingering sense of...well, sadness. No one from Minho’s life would be there to watch him graduate. Like, sure, Mom and probably Jonghyun would be there, and he was definitely close to them, but it wasn’t the same and Kibum knew it. If only --

Wait.

Minseok’s name in Minho’s phone flashed to the forefront of his mind. Would...would it work? He couldn’t ask Minho, because if it didn’t, he’d be devastated. No, this would have to be a secret.

When the bell rang, Kibum didn’t bother going back to his dorm room right away. Instead, he swept back upstairs, using the secret passageway and letting himself into the study closet. He grabbed Minho’s phone, opening the contacts and scrolling down until he reached Minseok’s names. After a second of hesitation, he dialed.

He picked up after two rings. “Minho?” Mr. and Mrs. Choi sounded surprised in the background.

“No, it’s Kibum.”

Minseok didn’t speak for several seconds, but when he did, Kibum’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Hey...if you’re supposed to be studying, why are you butt-dialing me, huh? We can talk later.”

“Wha -- “

“Bye!”

Minseok hung up before Kibum could say anything else. He blinked rapidly and settled back against the wall, frowning at Minho’s phone. That was...an interesting conversation, to say the least. Should he try to call back? Evidently, he didn’t want to talk, so maybe he should just --

The phone rang again as Kibum was starting to set it aside. Minseok again. Kibum immediately answered it. “Is Minho okay?” Minseok asked, his voice slightly hushed. He was somewhere quieter now, Kibum assumed, given that he could no longer hear his parents.

“Yeah, he is. Sorry to worry you.” Minseok let out a huff of a sigh and, from the sounds of it, sat down on his bed. “I just had a quick question to ask you, that’s all.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, graduation is coming up, and I was wondering if it’d be possible for you to come up to the castle for it. Just you.”

Kibum’s eyes darted around the room as he listened to the silence, waiting for Minseok to fill it. “Is that why he called today? To ask them?”

“Yeah. He...he couldn’t, though.”

“I see.” Minseok cleared his throat. “I can try, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to come up with a good enough excuse for them.”

“I understand. I’m not telling Minho. I want it to be a surprise if you can come.”

“Okay. I want to, don’t get me wrong…”

“No, I know.” Oh, wait… “Do you still have my mom’s number?”

“Yeah?”

“If you have any more questions or need help figuring out what to do, just ask her.”

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks, Minseok.”

There was a hint of a smile in his voice when he said, “Yeah, no problem. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Minseok hung up, and Kibum set the phone aside. Hopefully, everything would work out and Minseok would be able to come to Hogwarts. He’d really like that, given his obvious interest in their stories over the years. Kibum smiled as he got up and started heading back downstairs. As much as he hated to keep secrets from him, he could already picture Minho’s surprised expression.

And that was definitely something to look forward to.

[queenofmoons67]

2010s Collection

I’ve been writing fanfic for almost an entire decade!! So I decided to celebrate by putting together a collection of links to my most significant and/or favorite work per year! (By original posted date)

(All links go to AO3 except the ones noted FFN)

2011: “Things Change,” (FFN) Alex Rider; 6k+; After Scorpia Rising- Alex Rider never left for the States with Sabina and her family. What happens when Mrs. Jones sends a folder to the media? Alex is sent to the SAS with K-Unit and Fox?

The second fic I ever posted (though only by two days), and the first multi-chapter fic I finished!

2012: “A Well Earned Rest,” PJO x Avengers; 3k+; The Avengers are in New York City when the Battle of Manhattan happens, and they don't go to sleep. Also, Clint has a secret. Will the Avengers make it through?

One of my earliest fics, but also one of my most popular! I still get favorites for it. ❤️

2013: “Life Isn’t Our Style,” (FFN) PJO; 43k+; sequel to No Vampires Here! Not! Percy and Nico run away from their lives at camp and NYC and the underworld. Twenty years later, they're back with some family.

One of my first attempts at a long fic. I never did complete it, but working on it taught me a lot, from molding my ocs and plot to writing romance.

2014: “Off the Beaten Road,” Hardy Boys x SPN; 5k+; What would have happened if Joe Hardy was one of Azazel's children, and arrived in Cold Oak at the same time as Sam Winchester?

This fic went on hiatus for awhile, but I did eventually come back to it and fight to complete it.

2015: “That One Time Alex Rider Met the Avengers,” Alex Rider x Avengers; 2k; Alex Rider is in NYC the day Loki attacks.

I’m kind of in shock that I was still writing Alex Rider fic in 2015, but just like 2012’s fic, this one still gets frequent favorites!

2016: “The Road (Has Got No End),” Merlin x The Musketeers; 7k; Lancelot wakes up in 1630s France and creates the identity of Aramis. He makes a new life for himself, and then one day he spots a man with familiar wild black hair and blue eyes.

One of my all-time favorite fics. I really tried to do something different stylistically with it, and I got so much fantastic feedback on it. ❤️

2017: “The World Knows Our Name,” Teen Wolf; 4K+; More than a decade in the future an incident reveals werewolves to the world. As the True Alpha, the American 'wolf community pushes Scott forward as their main representative, throwing the entire McCall Pack into the spotlight as people try to figure out what to do with this revelation.

So many choices for 2017!! The other years did, too, but most of them had clear standouts. 2017 had too many standouts. But in the end, I had to go with this one. I really put my heart into it, and I think that shows in both the quality and the feedback I received.

2018: “this world we live in (wasn’t built for the living),” Hardy Boys x SAO; 13k+; The last thing Frank and Joe expected was to find themselves trapped in the death game known as Sword Art Online: a Virtual Reality Massive Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game where if their avatars die, they die in real life. The only way out is through one hundred levels of Bosses, Player Killers, and emotional turmoil.

This fic is also known as my baby. And that’s really all that needs to be said.

Ok but, seriously: This fic challenged me like no other to consider how loss and trauma affects a character and their actions. My writing evolved even while writing this fic.

2019: “if the sky comes falling down,” Yona of the Dawn; 2k+; Sometimes brotherhood is kicking boulders off each other’s chests, and sometimes it’s deciding the others need a good cuddle.

The number of times I reread something I’d just written and then forced myself to delete and rewrite it because it was out of character qualifies this fic all by itself. This fic pushed me characterization-wise, and I still go back and reread it (for fun this time).

Did—did I say 2017 had too many standouts? Clearly I jinxed myself, because 2018 and 2019 are also chock-full of standouts, and it’s really tempting to list them all. I won’t—but only because I plan on doing a year in review post, too. But that doesn’t include 2018 and this fic, and that would leave my decade review without a Daiya fic which would be a crime, and I’m short a fic from ten anyway because I didn’t start posting till 2011. So here it is!

2018 Bonus: “strike the match (let it all burn),” Daiya no Ace; 8k+; Eijun, Furuya, Haruichi, and Raichi find themselves in the middle of a hostage situation.

This entire series is my baby, but this fic especially is. The final product is about twice as long as I planned on it being, and like 2019’s fic, it was a challenge in characterization since I had multiple POVs. It also challenged me to write tension.

I may have only been on tumblr for about a year and a half now, but thank you everyone for following and supporting me! See you in the new decade! (And lookout for that year in review post!)

[lycorogue]

Latest Story: “I Don’t Care”

I had posted this via an AO3 share on Friday, but it hasn’t had any notes, and I usually get at least one like on my ML stuff. Maybe it’s because it’s a Gabriel and Emilie Agreste love story instead of following one of the teens. Or, maybe because people can’t find the AO3 shares? I thought they were specifically designed to hit the Tumblr algorithm, but maybe I got that backwards?

So, in case it’s because I used the AO3 share button, instead of sharing as I normally would, I’m trying again my traditional way.

Summary: Gabriel Agreste's life was safe, stable, predictable, and boring. That is, until he literally ran into a strange woman at a club; a club he didn't even want to go to. He felt instantly that this Emiile woman would forever change his life. He didn't realize how true that feeling was.

Word Count: 5406; In-Progress

Chapters: 2 out of ?

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences  (mostly because I don’t know where I’ll be going with this.)

Ship: Emilie and Gabriel Agreste

Characters: Gabriel Agreste, Emilie Agreste (before she was an Agreste), and a bunch of OCs. Perhaps Nathalie and/or The Gorilla will make appearances at some point.

You can find the story at my normal 3 spots: on AO3, on FFN, and on DA

In this story, Gabriel is probably about 21 or 22, and Emilie is roughly 20 or 21. Also, since Adrien is 14 in the late 2010s, then he must have been born around the turn of the century. Assuming Emilie and Gabe were together for a little bit before having him, this story is taking place mid- to late-1990s. I’m picturing some time between 1997 and 99.

**Disclaimer: I never intended this story to be more than a one-shot, so I have no clue how frequently I’ll work on it; nor do I know how long it will be once done. This will be a nice palate cleansing side-project whenever I’m stuck in my main writing. So, enjoy this casual ride through Gabriel and Emilie’s romance, and see how Gabriel once was: an actually loving man.

This story actually originated as my Tumblr Exclusive one-off: Stranger in a White Dress. However, I was inspired by Ed Sheeran’s acoustic of “I Don’t Care” and decided to come back to this universe.

For those who wish to read the full story here on Tumblr

Again, “chapter 1″ can be found here

Chapter 2: Alone at a Party

Of course she wasn't there. Why would she be?

Gabriel nodded his thanks to the rented bartender, and walked his glass of whiskey to the far side of the apartment great room. The party was in full swing. A party for someone Gabriel didn't even know. He hated that he let his flatmate Sylvain talk him into coming along. He didn't belong there. He belonged at home.

Or, perhaps with her.

The memory of a slinky white dress and golden Hollywood loose curls flashed in his mind. His phone number on a bare arm. The mysterious fleeing of an astonishing woman. She was his Cinderella, but she hadn't bothered to leave him a glass slipper.

Gabriel settled onto one of the few collapsible chairs scattered about the perimeter of the room. Around him, people were dancing, and laughing, and joking with each other, and catching up on wild tales, and even making out. He didn't want any part of it. In a room stuffed with people, he was alone.

The majority of the party loomed before him. The small rented bar and accompanying bartender were in the opposite corner, past the picture windows and French doors to the balcony. Off to Gabriel's right was the main entrance, constantly flowing with party-goers. There was a chance he'd be able to sneak out unnoticed via the crowd, but if he got bogged down at all Sylvain could spot him and wrangle him back into the party. The hallway behind his left shoulder lead to the bathroom and bedrooms. Gabriel could sneak back to one of them. There had to be an emergency exit; a fire escape or something. He could use that.

Except it was probably off one of the bedrooms, which were all most likely preoccupied already by some promiscuous twenty-somethings enjoying their youth. Something Sylvain swore Gabriel should also be doing.

Gabriel took a sip of his drink. It wasn't top-shelf whiskey, but it was at least smooth with a nice flavor to it. Also, it was free; thank god for hosts who had the decency to set up open bars. Eyeing up the crowd once more, Gabriel plotted his excuse for Sylvain. Would he even notice Gabriel's retreat? He'd most likely go home with at least one person at the party, and wouldn't be bothered to check for when Gabriel made it to the flat. He could just tell Sylvain that he made it home around two. That seemed customary for one to enjoy a "night out."

Maybe he'd go to that club again instead of going home. Could he meet her there a second time? What would the odds be of that? What if she were a university student? Should he walk the campus and hope she's on one of the great lawns? Would he seem like a creep if he did?

First, he had to get out of this blasted apartment.

"Don't have much diversity in your wardrobe, huh?"

Gabriel startled. Something about the voice rang familiar; a tone that he couldn't quite shake out of his head for the past week. He turned, and standing by his right shoulder was the blonde woman he met at the club; the woman he was just thinking of, the woman he couldn't stop thinking about: Emilie.

She had her hair in a ponytail this time, and she wore a simple, Merlot-colored, off-shoulder, long-sleeve t-shirt covered by a deep-dyed, fitted jean vest. Her matching skinny jeans were tucked into black knee-high stiletto boots. A thick, black choker with a silver heart charm dangling from it wrapped around her neck. She looked casual and dressed up at the same time, the gorgeousness of someone who just "threw something on."

She held her warm smile for a few more seconds, but when Gabriel didn't respond, her face fell.

"Oh. Right. The whiskey. You probably don't remem-"

"I definitely remember you." With Gabriel's hand on his lap, he was actually about even with Emilie's hand, which was dangling temptingly by her side. His hand inched across his thigh as he debated wrapping his pinkie around her index finger. Would it be too forward for him to reach out and take her hand? She did kiss him within five minutes of them meeting. Gabriel had no clue what the protocol was for their relationship, if one could even call it that.

Emilie's smile returned, and she sat in the chair to Gabriel's left, forcing him to pivot again to keep eye contact.

"You look like you're having a good time," she teased.

Gabriel huffed. "Flatmate's idea. He's under some impression that he's in charge of my social life, and that I don't have enough of one."

"I have no clue where he could get that idea when you clearly give off such party-animal vibes." Emilie gestured at Gabriel's khakis and rust-colored cable-knit sweater over a white button-down.

"That's true." A smile started tugging at the corners of Gabriel's mouth. "Did you know, a sweater fairly similar to this very one got me ambushed by a complete stranger last Saturday?"

Emilie laughed as a pleasant blush pinked her cheeks. "What can I say? Thick sweaters are like catnip to me."

They shared a short laugh. Emilie inched closer, and crossed her left leg over her right knee. As she settled, her left toes brushed against Gabriel's shin.

"So, tell me about this flatmate of yours. He just kick you out the door like at cat at night?"

"No. He's here. Dragged me with him to this party."

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Emilie popped upright, planting both feet to the floor. Gabriel instantly missed the feel of her boot against his leg. "I didn't realize he could go invisible!" She leaned around Gabriel, to where she was standing when she greeted him. "How do you do, Mr. Flatmate." She smiled at the air.

"What on earth are you doing?" Gabriel glanced past his shoulder – half expecting to actually see his flatmate standing there – before staring back at Emilie. "Of course he's not invisible, what kind of nonsense is that?"

"Well." Emilie squared her shoulders and puffed out her chest. "I thought to myself 'Gabe's flatmate brought him here, and yet I don't see him. So either he abandoned his flatmate while at this party, or he's invisible and I was rude to have ignored him this long.' I simply went with the more pleasant answer." The right side of her mouth curled up in a playful smile.

Gabriel laughed and shook his head. He took another sip of his drink before using the rocks glass to gesture towards the cleared out living room floor. A small mob of party goers were dancing, but they were too tightly packed for Gabriel to find Sylvain within the pack.

"He's in there. Somewhere."

"Did he even last ten minutes before lassoing some cutie to grind against?"

Gabriel choked on his sip of whiskey, coughing it back into his glass. He let out a few more chuckles.

"It's fine," Gabriel told her lightly. "It just means I can sneak away without him realizing I cut out early."

"Oh? You're leaving so soon? But I just re-found you."

"Well, I-"

"We can't have that." Emilie stood up and grabbed Gabriel's drink from his hand. "Whiskey again?"

Gaping, Gabriel slowly nodded. Emilie shrugged, and then downed the rest of his drink.

"What are you-?"

Emilie placed Gabriel's now-empty glass down, grabbed his hand, and tugged him out to the dance floor.

"Come on, you have to at least have some fun before you run away."

"Who said I wasn't having some fun just now?" Just like the first night they met, Emilie easily flowed through the crowd, whereas Gabriel, dragged behind her, bounced off nearly every person they passed.

"We didn't dance at the club. We should dance here." She halted to the right of the crowd. Her chest rose and fell like she was panting, even though they didn't do anything terribly strenuous.

"First of all, we didn't dance because you mysteriously disappeared back onto the dance floor without me, and without so much as a proper goodbye. Secondly, I don't dance."

"Alright. I accept your first point, but I refuse to believe the second one. Everyone dances, even if it's goofily while alone in their bedrooms."

"I do structured dances; ballroom dances."

"Ballroom?" Emilie nearly screamed with surprise. "Alright, that I definitely have to see. I doubt they'll let us put on Chopin, however. Either way, it still means that you do indeed have a sense of rhythm. So, come on, don't be shy."

She started bobbing her head and shuffling her shoulders to the synth beat of the club music playing. Adding in some snaps on the downbeats, she wiggled her hips. Raising her hands over her head, Emilie slinked around Gabriel as she danced. As her hip passed his, she bumped them. With a quick spin behind his back, she bumped his other hip with hers, then continued to dance in front of him.

Gabriel was thrown off balance with each hip bump, and not just literally. The contact from her short-circuited him each time. All he could manage was dumbly watching her dance before him. Suddenly, he once more wondered what he was doing at that party; with her. At the same time though, he didn't wish to be anywhere else.

"Well?" Emilie giggled, "Are you joining in?"

Gabriel bashfully shook his head. "I told you, I don't dance."

"Actually, quite the contrary. You just told me that you do dance. So let's see it." She then smirked and grabbed each of Gabriel's hands. "Here, I'll even help you get started." She altered pumping each of their arms over their heads, then she leaned away from him so she could wiggle their arms as if they were swinging double-dutch rope.

"What are you doing?" Gabriel laughed.

"Helping you dance to prove that you can do it. Your shoulders are still a bit stiff though." She dropped his hands and instead grabbed his shoulders to shake them to the rhythm.

He laughed harder and grabbed her hips to try to stop her. Instead, she smirked and rocked her hips more enthusiastically. Her own hands shifted from his shoulders to the sides of his chest in an attempt to get that to move as well.

"We look ridiculous." Gabriel shook his head, and stubbornly didn't move his feet.

"Exactly! That's how you know we're having fun."

"Okay, enough 'fun' though." Gabriel chuckled and pulled her against him so she had no room to keep moving. It kept him a second too long to realize what he had just done.

They stilled as they stared at each other, their arms wrapped around each other's backs. Somehow, Emilie's jade eyes seemed a richer green than Gabriel remembered. The scent of lavender enveloped him. His body burned, and their chests rose and fell in sync.

A smooth jazz song with an electronic bass started up, causing the crowd to slow down and pinch close to each other.

Very much like how Gabriel and Emilie already were.

The song was in three-quarter measure, and had a sultry flow to the notes. Gabriel eased at the familiarity of the rhythm. He pulled Emilie's left hand off his back, and placed it on his right shoulder. He then tugged gently on her right elbow to coax that hand off his back as well. Sliding his fingers down her right forearm, he took her hand in his.

"Gabe?"

He smiled and gave her a quick wink. Mentally counting the start of the next measure, he began twirling her around their little circle of the floor. He smoothly lead her in a simple waltz. There was more space between them then there was a moment before, but somehow it felt more intimate; dancing with her like that. Her eyes enlarged and sparkled as a grin grew wider and wider across her face.

"Does this mean I know how to dance the waltz as well?" Emilie teased.

"It means you have a good partner."

She bit her lip as her smile kept crawling up her face. "I do, do I?"

Gabriel blushed and averted his gaze. Emilie quickly cupped his chin in her left hand, and redirected it back towards her. Running her fingers along his jawline, she then brought her hand back to his shoulder so they could continue dancing.

"Tell me about this mysterious flatmate of yours. Why does he feel like he's your keeper, and why the need to force socialization onto you?"

"He's one of those exhausting people-persons who needs stimulation every waking moment, and he's quite confused as to how I can enjoy our little flat, and be content with just my drafting table. So he shoves me out into the world and demands I take part in it."

"Drafting table? Are you some sort of architect then?"

"Fashion designer. Aspiring, at least."

Emilie leaned further away from him, eyed up his outfit, and giggled.

"Please tell me this isn't one of your designs."

"What's wrong with it?"

Emilie grew red, and pulled against Gabriel's hold, trying to shrink away from him. "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to insult you, I just figured the outfit was sort of plain, especially for a party like this. But I'm wearing a t-shirt, so I shouldn't judge what's fashionable. It was so insensitive of me, I just-"

Gabriel burst into a laugh. "I was just joking." Emilie backhanded his shoulder, and Gabriel reflexively muttered 'ow.' He laughed a bit more at her surly pout, but quickly settled. "I focus mostly on women's clothing designs, although you are probably right that I should start dressing the part a bit more myself. I might have to branch out into men's clothes as well."

Emilie's head slowly rocked side-to-side as she studied him. "You know, your blue eyes are almost a silver color."

"They are?"

"Yep. You would look really sharp in an ivory, or maybe a nice royal purple. It would really make your eyes pop."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

Gabriel pressed gently on Emilie's back, directing her into a spin under his arm. He held her at arm's length, and she leaned away from him, waiting to be pulled back in.

"Why did you let him bring you here? Your flatmate. If you weren't going to enjoy yourself at this party, then why come? Why not stay at your drafting table designing the next great fashion trend?"

Gabriel tugged gently to again spin Emilie under his arm, and caught her back in the standard waltzing pose.

"He was persistent. Also, perhaps a part of me hoped I would stumble into you again."

"You didn't even know I'd be here. I bet you can't tell me who invited me to this party."

"That's true, but it had been a week, and clearly you didn't need more cheering up. So, I decided to leave our meeting up to Fate, and Fate seems to have delivered."

"So you're saying it pays to leave the flat every now and again."

"In this one instance, yes, but don't let my flatmate know, otherwise I'll never get any rest."

"I'll be sure to avoid the topic, however I still don't know who your flatmate even is."

"Good. We should keep it at that."

"Afraid he'll whisk me away?"

"More that he'd scare you away. He's a bit... intense."

"Damn extroverts."

"Precisely."

Emilie giggled as the song ended. Tucking a non-existent stray strand of hair behind her ear, she tugged on Gabriel's hand. Silently, he allowed her to lead him out onto the balcony.

"You have a thing with balconies, don't you?" Gabriel hung back by the door as Emilie continued towards the railing.

"I enjoy taking in Paris. Your flatmate is right; you need to be out in this glorious city, not trapped inside with a drafting table. How could you not be inspired by all of this?" She swung her arms wide as they overlooked a sea of dazzling lights.

"It's not much different than the view I have by my drafting table. I did make sure to place it by a window."

"But it's not just the view! It's the people! The experience that is Paris!"

"The experience? You sound like a tourist."

"That's the point!" Emilie grabbed his hands and pulled him to the railing. She then gestured out towards the grand view, pointing to a large spire poking out in the distance on their left. "The majesty of the Eiffel Tower." She then pivoted Gabriel to face to their right. "The romance of the Love Locks on Pont des Arts." She stretched in front of him, pointing to the large tower looming just past their peripheral on their right. "The breathtaking views of Paris seen from atop Montparnasse." Gesturing to her left again, she pointed in a vague direction. "The history of the Place de la Concorde."

"You don't know where the Place is, do you?"

"Eh, it's over there somewhere." She wiggled her fingers roughly straight ahead. "I'm not the best with cardinal directions. I do know it's to the east of the Eiffel Tower."

Gabriel smiled, keeping his eyes on Emilie instead of the view she was trying to show off.

"But it truly is the people of Paris that makes this city special. You have to walk among them; greet them; rub elbows with them-"

"Kiss them?"

Emilie blushed. "Uh, about that. I didn't mean-" She turned towards Gabriel, and found him pressed against her side. "-to, uh, offend." Gabriel leaned in, and her blush deepened. "I'm sorry I never called you."

"Did you not want to?"

"No. I did. I wanted to so badly."

"You don't seem the type to hold back when you want something."

"You had been drinking. I didn't know if you'd want to hear from me again. Didn't know if you would even remember me."

"I don't think I could ever forget you." He ran his hand across the railing, and rested it on top of hers.

Emilie's eyes darted to his hand, then back up to meet his intense gaze. Her hand grew hot under his. Her lips parted slightly; welcomingly. Gabriel ran his index finger across the edge of Emilie's swooped bangs, following their line to her ear. He then brushed his thumb down the side of her face, their eyes never breaking contact. His thumb continued across her chin, and stopped just below her lips. He could feel the gloss of her lipstick, and wondered if it tasted of anything. Maybe the remnants of his whiskey that she had downed before they danced.

Emilie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out to kiss the tip of Gabriel's lingering thumb. It made his own breath catch.

"We both had some whiskey this time," Gabriel whispered.

Emilie hummed in response.

"I don't think that's why I feel drunk though," he continued.

Emilie's breath was sharp and loud. Her eyes darted open, and her hand wrapped around the nape of Gabriel's neck, pulling him hungrily down to her. Gabriel's hand quickly shifted to Emilie's back so his thumb wouldn't be in the way.

She seemed so tiny in his hands, and yet she was so fierce. He still barely knew her, but he wanted to more than anything else in the world. Every second he was with her, he craved more. He hated the world, hated being in it, but he'd gladly stand in the middle of a crowded Tokyo if it was to be with her.

He didn't understand what his appeal was to her, but he'd figure that out as well. He'd learn everything about her. He'd spend the rest of his life as her student; mastering every nuance, every scent, every movement, every tone, every kindness, every flaw; everything that made up Emilie.

They pulled apart after Gabriel had no clue how long, but he knew it was too soon. He rested his forehead against hers, his thumb running across the hand still tucked under his.

"I think you should give me your number this time, since clearly you can't be trusted to pick up a phone."

"Does that mean you'll leave your Fortress of Solitude again; join society?"

"As long as it means spending time with you."

She smiled and pulled away from him. She slinked her hand free of his, and held it palm up to him.

"In that case, I hope you have a pen on you."

[solli]

a season 2 au where seblaine is in vocal adrenaline because why the hell not  (part 1 - tina)

here’s what happened on glee - vocal adrenaline verse: it’s 2010 and vocal adrenaline are still relevant. seblaine are taking up the mantle after jesse st.james graduated. Sebastian is vicious, Blaine is ruthless, and together they are a nightmare.

or: a story told trough short episodes in multiple povs by the new directions kids. a bit voyeuristic in nature but i love me some outside perspective.

will loosely follow any storyline i can remember about season 2. if anything rings weird just roll with it.

(ao3 link)

Tina isn't sure how or why they fooled themselves into thinking Vocal Adrenaline would be a joke this year.

Sure, they lost Jesse St.James to UCLA and apparently their coach with him- Show Choir blogs supects illicit affairs- but more than half of the members didn't graduate and their coreographer is apparently still in the game.

Moreover, they apparently pulled a shorter, more hyper, more top 40 Jesse St.James out of their ass.

It's just an invitational, and it feels like they're doing the half show at Super Bowl.

Just when Tina thinks she’s had enough, that’s it, it can’t get any worse than a sexy voice crack strategically planted in the last verse of Teenage Dream, here they are, wrapping the Katy Perry up and diving into Don't Stop Me Now. She knew there had to be a reason why they're all dressed in thight leather pants. 

The Queens performance is clearly a message to anyone who ever tried and made the assumption Vocal Adrenaline was dead. The new lead might not be Jesse St.James, but he doesn't try to be. 

He doesn't need to when he’s that good.

The second the song dies and the boy let himself fall from the top of the stairs into the arms of the other members, Tina decides that A, they're doomed, B, she needs to go to the bathroom in case the nausea really turns into puke.

All the New Directions follow her when she sprints out of the auditorium, instantly flocking up in dire times.

"Who is that?" Rachel shreeks, off tune, marching into the bathroom.

It's a stupidly nice bathroom. There’s a shared hall with unbroken mirrors and some sink, girls door on the left and boys on the right. It's big enough they can all fit in there.

Tina would fill Rachel in with her show choir blogs knowledge, and tell her his name should be Blaine Anderson, but Santana is bitching.

"Where do they pull them from? Are they a metrosexual mop head business?"

"Metrowhat?" Finn asks off topic, and Kurt fills him in, and the whole conversation breaks in small bursts until Rachel is putting her foot down.

"We have to do something! What if we meet them at Sectionals? They're gonna end us!" she panics, and Tina does have to give credit when it's due: Rachel is a mood setter.

Usually, it's a positive attribute. As annoying as she is, some of her determination rubs off of them and give them confidence even as she tells them they suck. There’s always a backhanded compliment to be gripped, as she tell them they have the potential to be great, if only they didn’t have misguided work ethics. But when Rachel is panicking, there's no light at the end of the tunnel.

Tina sobs. Mercedes shouts. Puckerman punches the wall.

"We could make aliens abduct them." Brittany shrugs.

"Or we could poison them." Kurt follows.

"Or get them all mononucleosis." Santana adds.

"Or send the lead singer to a crack house!" Rachel lits up, pointing a finger to nobody.

There's some silence as they all turn to her.

Tina doesn't know the numbers exactly, but she knows while some are shocked, some are actually considering the plan. She herself isn’t sure where she stands on the topic.

"Or we could, you know, reharse." Quinn muses with her breathy indoor voice, somehow managing to sound the loudest.

All heads turn to her.

"Cheerios aren't National champions because we're hot, and Vocal Adrenaline aren't that good because they were born with it. I know sweat when I see it." 

Somehow Tina's brain suggests her the very notion of reharsing is outrageous, but rationally she knows Quinn's right.

"Yes!" Rachel point at her. "That's the attitude I’m searching for!"

"Shouldn't we, like, have fun? They don't look like they have fun." the new blonde kid asks and everyone blinks at him.

Just as Rachel is shouting back that show choir is serious business, the bathroom door opens and Tina almost has an heart attack.

It's Blaine Anderson.

She's seen photos online, but they don't give him justice. He's a fucking disney prince. There's sweat on his forehead, and his hair are acting out around his hairline giving him a vibe reminiscing of post orgasm. He pulls off neon yellow suspenders like Tina didn't know was possible to do, and most of all it's absolutely, outrageously unfair how he wears those leather pants. He's too short and his legs to torso ratio shouldn't make him any favour, and yet his thighs look sinful and Tina would reach for Mike's abs to steady herself, if she wasn't paralized.

Because if other than looking unfairly hot, Blaine is not looking particularly treacherous, Sebastian Smythe is standing behind him, an arm around Blaine's waist and a finger hooked in the belt loop of Blaine’s pants.

She heard the stories.

Coreographer. Son of a state attorney and a french actress. Enough mean, creative quotes to have a dedicated fan page in the show choir blogoshpear.The worst thing is, Tina can see it all- the moment Sebastian's smile turns to a smirk, the way his back straightens, his eyes narrows, and the cruel unforgiving way he gives them all a onceover. There's something familiar in the way he's looking at them.

"Oh, look." he says in a drawl, ducking his head. "The lovable little band of mistfits. Here to ask for some private lessons?"

Oh, yes. It's like being double targeted by both Quinn and Santana. Vicious and condescending.

"Sebastian." Blaine raises a hand to tap his knuckles against the other's chest. "Be nice."

Sebastian rolls his eyes but he scoots Blaine closer to him, his hand palming Blaine's hips and damn, that is an unfairly narrow waist.

"Tina?" Mike whispers in her ears when she feels his abs up. It's washed down by Santana snickering, loud enough to make Sebastian know it's mocking.

"Someone's on a leash."

Blaine closes his eyes like he's preparing for the worst, and Tina can tell Sebastian's weighing his options, but he's seemingly in a good enough mood.

"Kinky." he shrugs off, his thumb hooking in the waistband of Blaine's pants and oh. Oh. Oh.

Blaine sighs and Tina aks herself again why she's underestimating Vocal Adrenaline.

"You do look like you'd know all about leashes,-"

"Sebastian." Blaine cuts him off, and the tension's is thick enough Tina can feel it weighing down her chest.

"We didn't come here for this, did we?" he asks, titling his head up to look at him, and Tina hates those lashes and that soft jaw with a burning passion.

"Fine. I'll be nice. Hope you enjoyed the show." he flashes them a toothy smile that couldn't ooze more sarcasm.

"I think you were great at Regionals." Blaine smiles to them, and it's sickenly sweet how genuine his small, polite smile looks. "I'm really sorry we got drafted in the same turn last year, I would have loved to see what you’d have done at Nationals. Let's hope we can all make it this year."

The silence is thick as they all wait for the punch.

"I think you broke them." Sebastian smiles, and it's weirdly not hostile. "What is that they say? Kill them with kidness?"

"I'm serious." Blaine says, but there's a little smug line in his smile that wasn't there before. "We might be rivals, but there's no reason for us to be enemies. Well, not anymore." he adds, scrunching his nose, his eyes going up to his right like he's reviewing their history.

"The espionage was mostly for personal reasons that aren't on the table anymore, and Blaine is against egging, so that's also an off deal. Right, killer?" Sebastian elaborates.

"No bullying or assaults this year." Blaine confirms, and it's reassuring. "The one who'll win will do it fair and square." he adds, his head tilting and those doe-eyes of him wide and friendly, his smile perfectly polite, and suddenly Tina's bones are chilling and she's never been more terrified in her life.

They all stare as Rachel flips her hair and steps towards Blaine, extending her hand. He takes it and they shake on it.

"Deal."

"Deal." Blaine smiles, and suddenly the air turns breathable again. "Oh, and they're opening a new karoke bar down the fifth. We should all go sometimes. Have fun together."

"That sounds like a great idea." Rachel replies with a stage smile, and no one moves a muscle.

"Are you going to stay in the bathroom much longer?" Sebastian asks. "Because I have at least ten jokes about why yall apparently like to stand in here so much, but I wouldn't want to ruin Blaine's lesson in diplomacy."

There's a nervous jitters of limbs as Rachel fumbles with perfect enuntiation: "Oh, yeah. Sure. See you soon!"

Sebastian and Blaine step aside and look at them going trough the door, and Tina makes sure to be the last one in line. She turns over her shoulder and tries to sneak a last peek of Blaine in the pants, possibly from the back.

She almost freezes when she sees Blaine turns in Sebastian's arm, a hand behind Sebastian's neck to get him to lean down. He stands on the tip of his toes, flushing their bodies together, and their mouth crash against each other in a kiss that wouldn’t be allowed on national television. Sebastian’s hands are quick to lift Blaine’s shirt until his hand is flat against Blaine’s unfairly tanned and muscular back, and she’s pretty sure Blaine’s free hand isn’t so free where it disappears between their bodies.

It’s an image she won't forget.

When she lets the bathroom door close behind her, the New Direction are some feet down the hallway. She jogs to catch up, just as Rachel's march reaches her top speed.

"Fair and square my ass." Tina hears her say not using her indoor voice. "We're sending them both to a crack house."