#just going over everything in my life is causing me to reexamine *everything*

[gregmarriage]

genuinely, being manic has completely fucked my brain up, even as i’m mostly recovered. feelings, i’m doubting, not even stuff i knew was probably fake, like actual feelings i thought very much to be true.

[fazedlight]

What's Wrong with 5B?

(aka: how It’s a Super Life ruined everything)

The premiere of season 5 was simple. Kara fucked up, felt deeply sorry for it, and revealed her secret to Lena (driven solely by her guilt) after far too long of gaslighting her. Unfortunately, it was a bit too late, Lena was already (rightfully) pissed and about to exact a(n outsized) revenge about it. Easy peasy.

We see Kara struggle with it a little. She gives Lena the superwatch, looking super guilty the whole time. She brings Lena international treats, talks to Alex about how she’s nervous about interacting with Lena. But she seems to have underestimated the damage she’s caused - and Lena is going through a major disillusionment. 

Both of which are mostly in character from my perspective. But with the caveat that, I knew the basic summary of the Rift before I watched the show. So those were moments the characters were already building to in my head. (I know some people think that Kara’s reaction in season 3 was out of character, or that Lena’s reaction in 5A was out of character, and those are valid opinions that are worth exploring! If I watched the show unfold live, maybe I’d be in that camp too.)

We then see Lena’s betrayal and Kara scrambling to pull Lena back from the edge into an anti-villain arc. The Crisis happens, Kara visits Lena, and Lena calls Kara out - “What did you think would happen when you came here? That you'd tell me everything in a fit of selflessness, even if it meant that I knew how you betrayed me, and then I'd just keel over and forgive you?” Kara still knows she did something wrong, and vows to never do it again.

Aaaaand then It’s A Super Life (beloved/beloathed) happens.

I really liked the episode the first time I saw it. I was a supercorp shipper who hadn’t read a single fic. And on its face, I mean, they dedicated the entire 100th episode to the relationship between Kara and Lena and trying to repair it. It failed, sure, but they'd make up eventually (again, I was spoiled).

But that episode was really about absolving Kara. It was a bizarre conclusion. Kara no longer had fault, because any reality they tried out would’ve failed. … which makes no damn sense. Even if no reality could work (I’m skeptical), Kara didn’t know that at the time she made her decisions. She still has fault for the harm she knew she was causing (even if it happened to work out better than the alternatives she didn’t know about).

I think this is a narrative shift. This isn’t just about the in-universe “Kara believes she’s absolved”. This is a writer's ploy to change the narrative and make the audience think that Kara didn’t have fault. Writing this as a character flaw might’ve worked, maybe, if they had Kara reexamine her assumptions later. But as a narrative? … the shift fell completely flat.

The rift was canceled at this point. Suddenly it was no longer the story of two people’s flaws interplaying in the worst possible way. Suddenly it was: Kara is right, Lena is wrong, let us never speak of it again.

It makes everything that comes after really grating. The end of 5x19 (where Kara goes “maybe I’m ready to forgive you now” and shakes Lena’s hand) feels completely empty, because there’s no acknowledgement from Kara that she fucked up - a fact she fully understood at the beginning and middle of the season! It bleeds into season 6, where we never see Lena hash things out with the superfriends or with Kara post-return. It makes the finale (Lena’s “You made me a better person”) fall flat. At this point multiple people in the fandom have pointed out that it’s Melissa’s acting that is Kara’s saving grace (though even that has limitations, as many of us felt with Sadie). But Kara as a character really suffers - and with it, her relationship with Lena, and Lena's arc - because the writers did not make a convincing argument for their shift. 

The hero’s always right, I guess? The main character can’t have major flaws? (I hope someday we learned what instructions they were getting in the writing room 😂)

For my own sanity, I have a whole slew of conversations(/arguments) in my head that I place into season 6 to fix some of this (as well as making Mxy a liar who was trying to make his friend feel better, rather than those other timelines being real). But while they’re canon-compliant… they aren’t canon. What we needed was something on screen to make the relationship shine again, to have Kara revisit why her rationale absolving her in the 100th episode didn’t follow at all, and have Lena work through her issues with Kara and the rest of the superfriends. But we didn’t get that.

Which means everything post-100th will always feel wrong to me.

[daresplaining]

heya! getting myself back into daredevil after a few years and shotgunned everything post-waid in like, three nights. i am wildly interested in hearing your thoughts on, uh, everything, but anything in particular on goldy? it feels like such an asspull that never went anywhere.

Heya, I remember you, welcome back! (Three nights?! I salute you. ...Are you feeling okay?)

I think I can sum up my overall opinion by saying that I miss Waid's run. I was mostly so-so on Soule's run; here are some posts on elements of it that I really enjoyed, though: (Sam Chung, Muse, "Supreme", Echo's return, that Spider-Man team-up) and then one of many (many, many) posts about one of the best things I think Soule, or any other Daredevil writer, has ever done: "Double Vision": The (Re)birth of Mike Murdock.

Zdarsky's run was my least favorite Daredevil run to date, full stop. I have never had such a miserable time reading a DD comic (and it just kept going! Most runs I've disliked had the courtesy of being short). Here are a few posts about some of my major gripes (my initial reaction to volume 6, my feelings on volume 7 ("The Red Fist Saga"), my feelings on Zdarsky's handling of Elektra). Pretty much all of the posts about things I enjoyed in Zdarsky's run can be found in my modern Mike Murdock tag.

I'm reserving judgement on the current run. I have a lot of sympathy for Saladin Ahmed for having to work with what Zdarsky left him (he's done admirable work in trying to make Matt being a priest make sense), but it also means that key elements that I disliked in the previous run have carried over. I don't hate it so far, but I'm not enjoying it yet.

I honestly don't know what to make of Goldy. I found him such a frustrating-yet-uninteresting character that he left my head the moment I finished the story. For the record, the idea of introducing a new element that builds connections between previously unconnected bits of continuity is actually a concept that I find really cool, and that I think can be executed in powerful ways that invite compelling reexaminations of earlier stories. But I found "mwahaha, I actually caused every bad thing that's happened in your life in order to make you stronger" both unoriginal (is Zdarsky a Flash fan, I wonder?) and, in this case, an addition that actually sapped those previous tragic stories of some of their power. The idea of every bad thing that Matt has ever been through being artificially orchestrated by an outside force, rather than being a combination of bad luck, malicious antagonists, and his own trademark poor judgement, just fundamentally doesn't appeal to me. And then, yes, he just vanished. Maybe he'll reappear? Maybe not? I hope not. I don't know. Maybe another writer could do something interesting with him and with the idea he represents, but I'm not hugely invested in that happening.

In any case, it's great to have you back! I hope your experience of catching up was a mostly enjoyable one. The next issue of the current run is out this Wednesday (June 26).

[seradyn]

Royal Respite and Midnight Melody!

The two I’m most excited about 🤤🤤

I’m going to start with Midnight Melody cause I wAnT tOO

This is a short one shot I thought of when I reexamined some of Astarion’s lines post Cazador. When the player asks how he feels directly following the event, he explains he feels ‘numb’. From my own experience and what I’ve learned about surviving abuse, often people can struggle coping with a world where their abuser is out of the picture, because so much of their life was consumed by them, either physically or mentally. We see this not only in Astarion, but in Karlach too, who has similar feelings after Gortash’s death, because all the rage she built up around him has nowhere to go. It’s still there, but now it’s trapped inside without an outlet, instead of being healed when her abuser went away like they think it should have.

Astarion is the same way; without Cazador, where is he supposed to direct all his energy, his hatred, his rage over what happened to him? It’s still there, even though he’s dead, and it’s not fair. I wouldn’t be surprised if he struggled with his purpose after Cazador’s death. This happens with real survivors too; their whole world revolved around their abuser for so long, once they’re gone they just feel so empty and lost.

This fic is a take on that, where reader helps reassure Astarion that he doesn’t have to know what he wants right now, and they’re more than happy to help him figure it out. He tells them he doesn’t have a heart to guide him, but that’s not true. Is it not reader’s blood that flows through his veins? Does reader’s heart not beat for him? They remind him, hold his head gently to their chest so he can listen, can hear the heartbeat that is not only theirs, but one they give freely to him, too.

Basically more tooth rotting fluff and non sexual intimacy. Baby boy just needs to be held and I’ll be damned if I don’t smother him in affection. He deserves it.

Here is snippet:

~

“It’s nothing serious, of course…” he said quietly. Another lie, but you didn’t say anything, simply cradling his hand to your chest, a precious and fragile part of him. It gave him time to work up the courage to continue.

“It’s just that…When I was under Cazador,” he hissed the name, fangs poking out over his bottom lip, “every thought I had, everything I did was for him. He dominated us, mind, body and soul, and used that dominance to make our whole world about him.”

His eyes were wild with anger, that grimace back on his face, because it was so much worse to say it out loud, to acknowledge how much of his life belonged to his old master. You squeezed his hand to encourage him to keep going. This needed to come out, lest he push you away to protect you from the rot that did naught but burrow and consume down into his being.

“Even after the nautiloid, he inhabited so much of my thoughts,” he went on, his voice slightly rasped and shaking. “Though instead of fear or obedience, it was anger and determination to kill him. Even when he lost control of me, all I could think about was him. Even with his body rotting in the dirt, I cannot get him out of my head.”

“And now that he’s gone…I can’t help but wonder…what am I supposed to do?” His eyes filled with sorrow then, displeasure with himself. “With Cazador dead…I find myself losing all sense of direction.”

Your heart broke for him, jagged pieces of it left on the floor for you to step on. You cupped Astarion’s cheek, lifting his face to look at you. His eyes were wide, glistening in the dim candlelight as they filled with pain and worse: self loathing. You didn’t need the tadpole to hear that treacherous little voice in his head, one you knew like an old friend that whispered pathetic, worthless, weak. You knew he wanted to protect you, wanted to give you the life you deserved, yet he hadn’t the faintest idea how to do that, where to even start, and it pained him.

Gently, allowing him to pull back if he so desired, you led him into your arms, wrapping them around him so you could rub at the tension in his back. He nearly collapsed into your embrace in relief, immediately wrapping his own arms around you and crushing you to him. You massaged his shoulder blades while he pressed needy, frantic kisses into your hair, afraid you might pull away and leave should he stop.

“It’s okay not to know,” you said into his chest, kissing his sternum. “We can figure it out together. I’ll always be here with you, no matter what future you decide you want.”

He let out a tense breath, burying his face in your neck. “I know,” he mumbled. “I know whatever future awaits, I want you to be a part of it.” He leaned back, just enough that he could meet your eyes, so you could see into the dark abyss where his mind lingered. “The problem is, I don’t know what I want our future to look like. What I want it to look like.”

It was then you fully realized that what Astarion had been feeling since the confrontation with Cazador was lost. So, so lost, in a world without his master to contend with. The hopelessness you heard on his tongue was a knife piercing your tender heart, a sharp pain burning through your chest as it tried to beat around it, blood gushing from the wound and radiating out across your skin. What was freedom to one who didn’t know how to live with it, didn’t know how it felt? Though his chains had been broken, the memory of them still pulled him down and suffocated him. You wished so deeply to spare Astarion this pain, for he lived so long in the shadows of the world, you wanted to shower him in the light until he was blinded.

Abruptly, he shook his head, a growl ripping past his lips as he pulled himself away from you. It should be so easy, to move on and enjoy life now that he was allowed to. His desires could be fulfilled, instead of remaining the desperate wishes of a slave who longed for escape. The world was his for the taking, his life his own once more.

So why did he still feel so broken?

“Now that I’m free, I’m supposed to be able to do whatever I want. Follow my heart, as our companions said.” He spit the words; they tasted foul in his mouth.

“How am I supposed to know what I want without a heart to guide me?”

~

I’ll send you the full version once the first draft is done. Hope you like it 💕

Royal Respite has a similar vibe, and is also pure tooth rotting fluff/non sexual intimacy. It’s a one shot in which reader gives Ardyn a massage after he delivers the peace treaty proposal to the Lucian council. Just letting reader dote on him while he talks about his day, and letting him relax before everything goes to shit, basically. Ardyn has been working to make this plan come true for literally decades. I think he deserves some rest before it fully comes to fruition.

No snippet for this one yet, since I’ve been hyper focused on some of my Astarion fics *cough* see above *cough* but hopefully it doesn’t take too long to get on paper. You’ll be the first to know when there’s a rough draft 💕

[cadrenebula]

So I got rid of everything but some RP posts and writing entries over on the side blog I used to have for the Ishgard boys of mine. I might repost the writing over here cause I know reblogs with read mores are basically garbage if the original goes away. Debating on remaking that side blog for something a little more personal. I might go somewhat more self indulgent on that side blog. (Could I just create another side blog? Sure. But I like the name I snagged for that one an its just collecting dust.)

Like I haven’t really written much in the way of actual fan fiction since very early 2000s. I lost the exact date when I had to retrieve the original stuff off fanfiction.net when I lost the old PC. If I do go back into fan fiction I’ll probably make an AO3. But I can still use that old side blog for some XIV related self indulgence. (I used to have this whole elaborate Sailor Moon fan fiction series I was writing at one point. And some Legend of Dragoon and Cardcaptor Sakura stuff. Though with the Clear Card season, I’d have to totally reexamine if I want to continue that CCS one. I still have a lot of the stuff on my external drive.)

I mean this all assuming I have the energy. Or the drive. Often I find myself just in survival mode still. I’m hoping it might help if I do some self indulgence. I’ve done RP so many years but I started with fan fiction. An some days it just feels like a struggle. Mostly because it always depends on so many factors. It’s no one’s fault in this. Life is just a bitch is all. Maybe I need to throw in some self indulgent stuff that doesn’t depend on life letting things line up nicely. Something that won’t effect RP partners if I have an angsty day an put a character through hell for it.

We’ll see. XD It might end up like all the other projects I mean to do. Set off to the side waiting for me to come back to it at some point. But if you see writing posted to this one from years ago, it’s just me moving it over here where it should be now.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 04 (second part)

(Masterpost) (Episode 04, first part) (Episode 05, first part)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes

Continued from the first half of this very long post! 

Lets Go! Gusu

Wen Qing is lovingly exploring the magical wards of Gusu. She tries a little digital penetration on the ward at the waterfall, but gets the hard nope.

Note: Here at Canary3d we don’t ship Wen Qing with any cultivator ladies because we’re too busy shipping her with modern-day infosec-pro ladies, if you get what I’m saying and/or have read my bio.

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian is fishing with Nie Huaisang, using the method of sneaking up and grabbing fish with his bare hands. This actually works, because he is good at literally everything.  His “I’ll be the prodigy” speech to Lan Xichen, isn’t actually arrogant. 

Aw, Look at Xiao Zhan pretending this fish isn’t already dead.

Nosy Parker Wei Wuxian

Wei Wuxian goes to chat up Wen Qing and none of his crap works on her.

If I want to admire a pretty face I’ll go look in the mirror

His interactions with Wen Qing help to mature Wei Wuxian quite a bit over the months and years. Initially she’s a mystery to him, and he wants her attention and esteem. And can’t get either.

Look how stunned he is to encounter a boundary when she won’t let him touch her needle. “Wards are made to be broken” but she’s not going to let him past any of hers. 

Jiang Cheng, Insecurest Boi

Oh you beautiful sad angry boy. 

(More after the cut!)

Jiang Cheng is angrily waving the laundry around practicing his angry sword moves without a sparring partner, which is noteworthy partly because it shows how dedicated he is, but also because it shows how much he depends on Wei Wuxian for social interaction and cultivation practice. There must be 40 or 50 kids he could go practice with, but he’s by himself.

Camera Operator: Why you gotta take it out on me?

When he bitches to Yanli about his Dad preferring Wei Wuxian, she gaslights him.

Yanli is so gentle and kind, and she’s been the real mother for both of these boys when she didn’t have to be. But she ain’t perfect.

Yanli found this soup recipe on youtube. The ingredients are: water

Jiang Cheng has such a complex about Wei Wuxian he won't take the fish from him directly. He just looks hungry until Yanli grabs a stick and passes it to him.

Look, Jiang Cheng, we know you have reasons to be upset, but you need to get the fuck over yourself.

Aw, look at Xiao Zhan pretending this fish is cooked/palatable. (note: it is not)

Xiao Zhan deserves multiple awards for this performance. With bonus points for gratuitously eye-fucking Wang Zhoucheng into next week.

Wang Zhuocheng is an amazing actor who plays an incredible range of emotions, but selling the “delicious fish” lie exceeds his abilities. Look how he steels himself before he opens his mouth.

Yanli tells Wei Wuxian to be good starting tomorrow, and WWX gives her his patented lying-motherfucker salute.

This one has 4 fingers, unlike the 3-fingered boy scout salute he gave Lan Wangji on the roof in the previous episode. The extra finger is for extra lying.

Lan Lecture: Goofing off

Wei Wuxian is bored and spends the lecture time goofing off or sleeping like any other smart kid with ADHD.

Eventually he draws a bunny while Nie Huasang tosses him a nut wrapped in paper and he eats it. It’s the same kind of nut he eats at the beginning of his second life, when he remarks that they tasted better 16 years ago.

Don’t mind me, just putting Nie-Xiong’s nuts in my mouth

It’s cute how WWX and NHS are so vaguely gay for each other without bothering to be seriously gay for each other.

Several of the rules that are read out during this part of the lecture are things that Wei Wuxian is doing during this part of the lecture, or will become known for doing in the near future.

sitting improperly

causing noise

teasing others

ignoring others and being undisciplined

borrowing money

being late

Lan Lecture: Showing off

The question & answer part of the lecture arrives, which is when Wei Wuxian gets to show off his gifts. 

He is that classic kid who already knows the essence of the material, does not need stuff explained, and is super bored at rote learning.

Lan Qiren makes Lan Wangji show off his skills to the whole class, which would guarantee an after-school ass kicking for the teacher's pet except that LWJ is basically the most aggressive person in the entire Lan clan (thanks Mom for those "I'm going to kill you now" genes!) and is unbeatable. 

Lan Lecture: Going off

Next, Wei Wuxian introduces an idea for sustainable energy.

He starts off challenging Lan Qiren's hypothetical scenario, and as Lan Qiren draws breath to answer him, Lan Wangji starts speaking. LWJ has been listening very carefully and is speaking out of turn instead of letting the master speak, which is...probably not how he usually conducts himself?

From Wei Wuxian’s perspective, this is just the run-up to his next outrageous suggestion, but for Lan Wangji, this has to be an enormous moment. This boy who is unexpectedly a good sparring partner with swords and words is also an intellectual sparring partner - someone who can give Lan Wangji an actual chance to debate something.  

Wei Wuxian’s answer "it's such a waste" is directed to Lan Wangji, not to the class as a whole. Lan Wangji, Gusu’s loneliest boy, is suddenly in a relationship with an equal. The relationship is adversarial, but it's EQUAL.

Wei Wuxian carries on explaining his idea: How about digging up and desecrating corpses? No no no Not for fun, but in order to have massive, unthinkable power? 

Seems like a waste to just leave the dead to their rest when you could be using them for something. 

Lan Qiren: I can see we are going to have to kill you eventually, aren't we

Jiang Cheng: oh my god Wei Wuxian you can't just ask about decapitating corpses

Jiang Yanli: perhaps my unwavering loyalty to Dad's methods with my baby brother should be reexamined

Nie Huasang: my dude, conceal don’t feel, seriously

Lan Wangji: hmmm he’s not exactly wrong

Lan Wangji was a LOT more horrified at Wei Wuxian sticking a note on Lan Qiren’s ass than he is at this whole demonic cultivation thing. Lan Wangji is really really attracted to Wei Wuxian’s talent and intelligence, even when it's completely heterodox. You can see it much later when Wen Ning gets his personality back; Lan Wangji is impressed and congratulatory, unlike literally everyone else in the cultivation world.

Punishment

When Wei Wuxian gets sent to copy a chapter 1000 times, Jiang Cheng and Yanli are both horrified, whereas Wei Wuxian’s reaction is totally chill. 

Basically he knows that he has reached the part of the classroom discussion where he is inevitably sent for punishment, because he is totally used to that being how things go in his education.

Similarly, kneeling doesn't bother him because Madame Yu made him kneel for everything.  Wei Wuxian is the mascot for too-smart bored kids everywhere.

On his way out, Wei Wuxian hits Lan Wangji with this troubled look of yearning. In this moment where Wei Wuxian is sparking Lan Wangji’s interest and tentatively seeking a path toward Lan Wangji’s heart, he is also mapping out the unorthodox path he will follow away from him as they grow up.  

Lan Qiren in his rage does the dumbest and, frankly, most irresponsible thing the parent of a teenager can do in this situation; he sends Lan Wangji to supervise Wei Wuxian’s punishment. 

"This terrible WWX is a one-man bad crowd. Let me send my deeply conflicted, stubborn, intensely private, teetotling, abstinent and abstemious newphew to spend several days in a private location with him, being bored together."

Lan Wangji responds to this order with 100% calmness, not even an eyebrow furrow.

I'm sure no cussing, pornography, romantic portraits, flirty ink grinding, or changes in forms of address will happen.

Lan Lecture: Blowing off

Wei Wuxian meanwhile has fucked off to go make more friends, and is hanging out with Wen Ning. Wen Ning demonstrates his archery by hitting the worlds slowest falling rock in midair and Wei Wuxian earnestly praises him and offers to trade skill pointers.

I love how sweet and kind WWX is to this younger kid who is obviously a little different.

When Wen Qing shows up, Wei Wuxian takes another opportunity to get into her business, but he skips the charm this time. He also 100% correctly deduces what she is up to.

Swords by the Waterfall

Then comes another sexy sword fight as Lan Wangji sneaks up on Wei Wuxian and almost get his face sliced open as a reward.

Now that the swords are out it’s time for...homework, sigh. Summer school is the worst.

Outro

Writing Prompt: Lan Xichen’s letter to Nie Mingjue after meeting Meng Yao

Episode 05 Restless Rewatch is over here!

[nethandrake]

The Friendversary

stevetony. mcu. rated t. werewolf!steve & vampire!tony au. 2.3k words.

also on ao3.

*****

Tony barely registers the voice calling his name. He should roll over, get out of bed, and check. It could be an emergency. Hell, maybe the apartment’s on fire or they’re in the midst of being robbed.

But then, he could just keep his eyes closed and stay in bed. He can’t remember the last time he got a decent day of sleep. To take that away from him is daylight robbery.

Besides, Steve can handle things. Steve with the broad shoulders with arms that could probably bench press Tony if he asked. Steve who could tear limbs apart as easy as breathing because he’s a freaking—

“—ony. Rise and shine!”

But of course like everything in life, Tony could never get things his way.

He lets out a grunt, moving to cover his ears with his pillow. “Ugh, go away.”

Unsurprisingly, the pillow is yanked out from under him. His head hits the mattress with a soft thump, a quiet groan tumbling out of his lips.

“Tony,” the voice says, much more insistent and familiar.

Goddamn dog.

“Fuck off. It’s morning.”

“The sun just set, actually.”

As if by magic, some of the grogginess Tony feels dissipates. He cracks an eyelid open, meeting a pair of perfectly blue eyes and a perfectly cheery smile and a big dopey mug. It's a sight Tony never, ever wants to be greeted with this early in the night.

“I hate you.”

Steve smirks, leaning against his doorway with his arms across his chest. “You say this now but wait ‘till I drink all your blood.”

“You don’t drink blood.”

“I might. Just to give it a go.”

Tony scoffs, motioning to sit on the edge of his bed. “That’s what you said six decades ago,” he says, rubbing the rest of the sleep from his eyes. “And what happened after?”

Steve scowls. “You’ll never let that go, huh?”

“I would if you’d stop threatening me about it.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well, you can nag me about it later,” Steve says, detaching himself from the doorframe. “Meet me up on the rooftop.”

Tony frowns. “Rooftop? Why are we—”

That’s when he notices Steve’s getup – a dress shirt that brings out the silver in his eyes, slacks, and a pair of ankle socks. His typical tousled hair is slicked back. Tony’s pretty sure it’s gelled.

Steve doesn’t dress up often and since they’re meeting up on the rooftop, that could only mean one thing.

His lips twist into a smirk, taking a couple of steps backwards. He probably noticed Tony forgot, the bastard.

“C’mon, Tony,” he says in a sing-song voice. “We’re burning moonlight.”

Tony rolls his eyes, flinging the covers off his body. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry your pretty little head about me being— What?”

Steve startles, tearing his gaze away from Tony’s…body?

“Nothing!” he exclaims, his voice a couple of decimals higher than usual. “I just— Yeah.”

Tony couldn’t help but snort as Steve zips away. Sometimes, Steve would be reduced to a stuttering mess out of the blue for no explainable reason. There might be an explanation though if Steve doesn’t wear scent blockers.

Then again, so does Tony. He shouldn’t be annoyed with Steve doing the same. It’s only natural to wear them since they're living in a city mostly populated by humans.

Tony takes his time in the shower, getting dressed, and styling his hair. If anyone could see him right now, they'd probably think about how ridiculous he's being, how effort he's wasting. It’s dinner with Steve, after all. Tony could be wearing a rucksack and Steve wouldn’t even bat an eye.

To be fair, today's their anniversary. The occasion is basically screaming for cologne and hairspray.

“Time flies huh,” Tony mutters to himself as he fastens his cape around his neck. “Five hundred goddamn years.”

It’s a miracle that they’ve lasted this long as friends, let alone best friends, and roommates. He can’t imagine if they actually did something dumb like date each other. They probably would’ve only lasted a month or two. Maybe a year, at most.

Or maybe if you actually tried shooting your shot—

Tony shakes his head as he unlocks his balcony door and steps outside. There’s no point dwelling on that right now or ever, even. Steve’s a werewolf. And werewolves wouldn’t be wasting time on giving people like Tony a second glance. They’d be focused on finding mates.

Mates who’d be furry and smelly and enjoy roaming around in the woods for the rest of eternity. Not bloodsucking nocturnals who fly around and live in graveyards.

Not that Tony is living in a graveyard right now, but the notion still stands. They’ve been going strong for five hundred years. Why try ruining things?

Steve’s already on the rooftop, sitting on a picnic blanket with a basket by his side. He flashes Tony a broad grin, all canine and bright. In all his six hundred and eleven years of living, Tony’s never seen such a beautiful person be this dorky.

“You do know there’s a perfectly functioning elevator, right?” Steve drawls out as Tony lands on the edge of the rooftop.

Tony shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? I need to stretch my legs. Plus, it’s more fun to scare the humans.”

“Yeah. If you’re into endangering the whole mythical community.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He sweeps his cape behind him, spreading his hands. “Well, how do I look?”

Steve pauses, his eyes roaming around, drinking Tony in. “You look… You look…”

“I better looking dashing,” Tony interrupts. “You know me and mirrors. I wouldn’t have asked you if—”

“You definitely do,” Steve interrupts, a little too earnest than Tony deems necessary. “You look beautiful.”

There’s an odd intensity behind Steve’s blue, blue eyes. Tony makes a mental note to reexamine that later.

“So,” he begins, breaking the silence as he settles down next to Steve, “what’d you got for us tonight?”

They usually take turns getting dinner together. While Tony leans towards more expansive and refined options, Steve’s tastes are much simpler. This year, he's opted for burgers and fries for himself and a homemade blend of cow’s blood, pomegranate, and strawberries for Tony. Just the sight of the crimson liquid being poured into his wine glass has Tony salivating.

“Well,” Steve begins, raising his bottle of lemonade in the air, “here’s to five hundred years of friendship.”

“And five hundred more,” Tony adds, clinking their drinks together. “Until you meet your mate, that is.”

Whenever Tony brings up the M-word, Steve freezes up. This time is no different.

“Tony—”

“I know you hate all the mate talk but as I said before—”

“Tony—”

“—I don’t think you’d want to spend the rest of your life—”

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Steve interrupts, his time firmer. “Please?”

Tony sighs, taking a large gulp from his glass. He almost moans at the clash of flavors swirling around on his tongue. The irony of a werewolf brewing one of the best vampire drinks Tony’s ever tasted. “Alright, alright.”

Dinner goes without a hitch, after that. They fall back into their usual topics of conversation of work and friends, making sure to steer clear of any talk of romance and mates.

“You know,” Tony begins after the food has been cleared and they’ve finished a lapse of comfortable silence. “I always thought about how funny this is.”

“What?”

“This…” He gestures between the two of them. “This…thing. You know.”

Steve’s lips quirk to the side. “What? That we get along?”

“Not that. Although that has cropped up pretty often. I mean, us. Having an anniversary for our friendship. Like, who does that?”

“Carol and Maria do,” Steve points out.

“Yeah. And they started dating a couple of years after. Try again.”

“Does it matter?”

Tony sighs, waving his hand around. “I don’t know. I just— Isn’t this something you do with your mate?”

The smile on Steve’s face slides off. “Tony—”

“Or at least someone you’re attracted to. ‘Cause let me tell you, nothing kills the mood better than—”

“Tony!”

Immediately, Tony’s jaw clamps shut.

Steve’s shoulders sag but his blue eyes are still stormy with anger. “Jesus, Tony. I told you to drop it.”

“I know—”

“I don’t get why you’re so adamant about me finding a mate.”

Tony picks at the hem of his cape. “It’s been five hundred years, Steve. I just— Aren’t you lonely?”

“Why would I be lonely?” Steve asks, sounding puzzled. “I have you.”

If Tony still has a pulse, he’d be pretty sure it’ll be racing right now. “That’s different,” he says slowly. “We’re friends. Just friends. Friends with a capital ‘F’.”

A heavy silence shrouds them. For a moment, Tony feels stupid. Exposed. He shouldn’t have said that. Fuck, he really should’ve kept his mouth shut and—

“What if I don’t want to be friends.”

Wait, what?

“What if I want to be more than friends,” Steve continues, wringing his hands, his cheeks reddening with each passing second. “What if—”

“You want us to be mates?!”

If he isn’t a vampire, he probably would’ve chalked it up to him hearing things. Then again, being a vampire hasn’t stopped him from hallucinating and hearing things.

Steve winces, his whole face now turning crimson red. Hell, even the tip of his ears is a bright shade of blush. It’s goddamn adorable.

“Only if you want to,” he says. “I know we’ve never talked about it and I know you don’t feel the same way—”

Tony reaches out, curling his fingers around Steve’s wrist, putting a stop to his escape. Fortunately for him and his hand, Steve doesn’t fight him off.

“Woah, woah. What the hell do you mean I know?”

Steve frowns. “Don’t you?”

“No! ‘Course not.”

As quickly as it came, the color in Steve’s cheeks drains.

“Oh,” he breathes out, his voice barely a whisper. “I thought you knew. ‘Cause you know, super senses.”

Tony frowns, puzzled. “You wear scent blockers.”

“I don’t mask my heartbeat,” Steve counters. “C’mon. You’d had to know how it races when I’m around you—”

“That’s corny as fuck.”

“Just saying the truth, is all.”

“I—” Tony racks his brain, trying to recall something. Anything.

He comes up empty.

“I mean, I don’t have the best memory around—” Steve cocks an eyebrow. “What? You know I’m right!”

His lips tug to the side, staring at him with stark disbelief.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Cut me some slack, Steven. I’ve been dead for centuries. Excuse me for not remembering. I figured that was your regular heartbeat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, what about you, huh?” Tony shoots back. “You had to know I’ve been drooling over you for four hundred and ninety-nine years!”

Steve’s eyes widen, his lips parting. It’s times like these that the vampire that turned Tony all those centuries ago actually sucked him dry.

“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face in his hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not—”

“Someone kill me—”

“You’re already dead.”

“I know,” Tony moans. “Fuck. I can’t believe you’re attracted to a corpse. A fucking corpse!”

Steve snorts, mischief lacing his tone. “I don’t know. You look pretty lively to me.”

“Shut up. This isn’t funny, Rogers,” Tony mutters before lifting his head up. “Do you really want to shackle yourself to me for another five hundred years?”

Steve deepens his grin, a grin that Tony could only describe as wolfish. “I mean, we’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?”

“I guess. But we’d be together. In a relationship. Until you get sick and tired of me—”

“I won’t,” Steve insists like the dumbass he is. “Like I said before, we’ve gotten this far.”

“Yeah?”

He gets a kiss in answer.

Steve’s lips are soft and warm against him. Tony can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good, this thrilled, this warm.

He doesn’t know how long this goes on, losing track of time and himself into this moment, into finally. It’s only that when they do pause for Steve to catch his breath, Tony realizes he’s in Steve’s lap, his thighs clamping Steve in place and his cape pooling at his feet.

“You taste of wet dog,” he murmurs.

“And you taste of blood,” Steve breathes, tightening his grip on Tony’s waist and god, Tony wants. He wants and needs everything.

“That gonna be a problem?”

“Nope. Not in the slightest.” He sighs against his lips and fuck, he is warm and he smells faintly of pine and vanilla – a combination Tony never thought could make him weak in the knees. He can’t imagine how overwhelming it’ll be when the scent blocker fades away.

“I can’t believe we wasted five hundred years,” Steve continues. “We could’ve had— We could’ve been—”

“Could’ve been mates?”

He blinks, his smile flickering. “I mean, only if you want to. You don’t—”

“Have I forgot to mention that I’ve been in love with you for four hundred and ninety-nine years?” Steve opens his mouth but Tony cuts him off. “And before you ask, no, I don’t care what people think about us. People have been assuming for years, anyway.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Steve says. “I was actually going to say I’ve been in love with you for four hundred and ninety-nine years and five months. So.”

Tony cocks an eyebrow. “And you say I’m stupid for a genius all the time.”

“I mean, I am a dumb dog.”

“A dumb dog who chose a bloodsucker as his mate.”

Steve scowls. “Hey. That’s my bloodsucker you’re talking about.”

Tony hums as he snakes his hands around Steve’s neck. “This bloodsucker is also in the mood to suck something else.”

“That was terrible.”

“Please. You love it.”

Steve grins as he tilts his head forward. “Guess I do.”

[bau-rookie]

a close examination of Hotch and Foyet

in which Hotch’s greatest strength becomes his fatal flaw.

(a/n: super long essay, because i don’t know how else to consume media apparently lol. i’ve been sitting on this since “100″ because it is really sad and I just wanted to make sure I get all my thoughts in order. It is, to my discovery, Aaron Hotchner’s birthday today, so what better way to celebrate than by explaining all the ways the Foyet arc reads like a Greek tragedy and how Hotch is an amazingly well-written character. Sorry the only way I can think about paying tribute is by making myself sad. Oh there’s GIFs too! I made them and that’s neat :D)

I. Ingredients for a Greek tragedy.

Greek tragedies stem from classical plays, usually about the nobility, and is centered around their struggle against the Gods/Fate. The noble character has a hamartia, or a fatal flaw, usually their own arrogance, that brings upon their own downfall.

Technically, Criminal Minds would fall under the category of modern tragedy which focuses more on common people and everyday problems. (Though you could argue that being a BAU profiler isn’t your typical career, which makes our characters noble not by blood, but in spirit.)

In modern tragedy, there is less of an emphasis on the involvement of a higher power or Fate. Every bad thing that happens is of mankind’s own making, and this is something that CM discusses often, that evil isn’t necessarily brought upon by a higher power. It’s brought upon by ordinary people choosing to do terrible things. 

And Foyet is no different. He chose to kill all these people because he wanted to, but his fascination with Hotch and how his plans for him play out, entrap Hotch in a tragedy more Greek in nature.

What Foyet ultimately does is take Hotch’s greatest strength—his stoic resolve to serve justice—and uses it to hold him personally responsible for the death of his ex-wife, all while bending the hand of Fate to his will.

II. Hotch as a noble character.

In “Omnivore” we are introduced to the Reaper and the many ways he tries to exert control and power over his victims. After killing so many times loses its appeal, the Reaper decides to toy with detective Tom Shaunessey by offering him a deal—if you stop hunting me, I will stop hunting them. 

While we sympathize with Shaunessey simply trying to save lives, he does so with the knowledge that he is deliberately letting a serial killer go free. The fear and the guilt eats away at him until his death.

Hotch, on the other hand, quickly establishes himself to be a resolute pursuer of justice. We don’t get to make those decisions. We don’t let them get away with it. He holds onto the idea that they have no right to decide who lives or dies and that the victims that unsubs like the Reaper takes, are not something he, or anyone in his line of work, should feel responsible for. Their sole responsibility is to stop them. 

This isn’t to say that Hotch is unaffected by the increasing number of bodies. When he turns down the deal and the Reaper attacks the bus full of people, he is visibly shaken by this, so much so that we see Hotch cry for the first time. It takes Rossi delivering some tough love to remind him of what’s important.

Look, if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, you go ahead. But that voice in your head—it’s not your conscience. It’s your ego. This isn’t about us, Aaron. It’s about the bad guys. That why we profile them. It’s their fault. We’re just guys doing a job. And when we stop doing it someone else will.

Hotch and the team in general, are faced with constant reminders that they are only human. They are fallible and cannot control every outcome. 

Not everyone can handle the stresses of being a profiler. Despite the horrors, the chance of failing, Hotch’s greatest strength is his stoic resolve. He’s become our beloved Unit Chief, the person on the team who takes on the most pressure, takes it upon himself to, at times, shield the rest of the team from the greater burdens. Personally, he’s arguably also the one who sacrificed the most to have this job, having lost his marriage.

Yet despite the horrors, despite the toll, Hotch shows up for the job anyway. Because he can’t imagine letting the bad guys get away with it.

III. Foyet as a representation of Fate

“The Eye of Providence. A symbol adopted by the U.S. Government with the words: Annuit Coeptis. Latin for “Providence or fate has favored our undertakings.” The Reaper seems to see himself as the personification of Fate.”  — Dr. Spencer Reid, “Omnivore”

From the beginning Foyet is shown to have a flair for theatrics. He leaves markings of the Eye of Providence, writes Fate in blood, calls himself the The Reaper. He has delusions of grandeur and posits himself as a higher power, one who gets to decide the course of other people’s lives. Everyone who has the misfortune of coming into contact with the Reaper, becomes another chess piece in his twisted game of Fate.

In another life, Hotch would never cross paths with Foyet. But because he did, Foyet acts as Fate, bringing down divine intervention in the form of driving Hotch into a tragedy of his own making.

Foyet acting as Fate is, paradoxically, also an argument against the actual existence of Fate. Everything that happens is a result of Foyet’s choices. It is him, a man, and not Fate who is choosing to kill, maim and be cruel.

When it came to Shaunessy, Foyet also emphasized pinning the blame of the death of innocent lives on the failure of law enforcement. It isn’t Fate when there’s something you could do to stop it. Shaunessy took the deal because he felt personally responsible for the possible loss of lives, an outcome that Foyet pretty much predicted, but one that doesn’t really affect him. Shaunessy agrees, he gets off on controlling the police. If he doesn’t, well, he can just keep on killing.

Foyet repeats the deal with Hotch. Offers him the deal, which Hotch refuses then immediately murders 7 people on the bus, setting a chain of cause and effect that makes it seems like Hotch’s actions led to this gruesome outcome. Again, placing the blame personally, on Hotch. And Hotch does blame himself, if momentarily.

Later, once Foyet escapes and corners Hotch in his own apartment, he makes it clear, you should have made a deal. Foyet acts as a vessel for Fate, a vehicle through which the consequences of Hotch’s actions are served. 

Foyet takes it a step further, when he puts Haley and Jack in witness protection. Left all the usual clues, to simply say your wife and child are in danger because you never took the deal. I hold all the cards here, your fate will come for you eventually.

Then Foyet disappears, and waits. Leaving Hotch filled with guilt over endangering his ex-wife and child, at the mercy of Foyet’s arbitration of Fate.

IV. Dominoes and fatal flaws

By the time “100″ rolls around, you’re so captivated by the action happening on screen that it’s easy to overlook how we got there. When I first watched this season, I had assumed that Foyet would be put on the back burner until the end of the season. His quicker-than-expected return seems to be happenstance, the writers behind-the-scenes doing some plot magic, but if you reexamine the events that lead up to “100″ we see Foyet’s greater machinations at play.

On the surface, the preceding episode “Outfoxed” seems to be a straight forward throwback to an earlier case. Faced with a family annihilator, Hotch and Emily visit the original Fox in prison, believing the current unsub might be a copycat. The episode seems to be about the mental toll being a profiler brings, with Emily contending with a sense of disgust at having to get intimate with a serial killer (post-”Lauren” this reads very differently, but I digress). Until right at the end, when they reveal the admirer letters were actually from Foyet, and the one being outfoxed is Hotch.

When the events of “100″ go down, we hear Foyet repeatedly blame Hotch for what happens with Haley, calls out what we see as a noble resolve to instead be Hotch’s fatal flaw. It was the same thing that led Haley to leave him, a failing borne from Hotch’s own ego, the part of him that insists that it be him who catches the bad guys, that it be him who risks it all. And Foyet uses that to his advantage, uses Hotch’s resolve to trick him into thinking that maybe he did cause all of this tragedy to happen.

One small detail that caught my attention, and set me on this Greek tragedy path, is when they try to track down Foyet in “100″, Garcia notes that he had set an internet search alert for the name “Peter Rhea.”

At this point, Foyet was ready to go after Haley and Jack. He already had pictures and surveillance of the U.S. Marshall in charge of them. He could’ve gone and killed them anytime, but that’s not how Foyet operates. He needs Hotch to feel personally responsible for things ending badly. He set the bait with the letters and simply had to wait for Hotch and the team to get close enough, to find Peter Rhea. This is, of course, incredibly risky. The team could catch him before Foyet gets anywhere close to Haley and Jack, but Foyet is sure of himself and is an extensive planner. He made sure he was always two steps ahead.

The irony is that Foyet would never have gone after Haley and Jack if Hotch and the team didn’t get close to tracking him down. There’s an added layer of Spencer figuring out Foyet’s alias using his genius anagram deciphering brain and Garcia’s expert tech analyst skills. Foyet managed to hurt Hotch because this specific BAU team are just too damn good at their jobs.

Foyet set up dominoes that only Aaron Hotchner could tip to fall. He does it so well it almost feels like Fate.

V. The inevitability of fate

“Men heap together the mistakes of their lives and create a monster called destiny.”  — John Hobbes, “Omnivore” closing quote.

A key aspect of Greek tragedy, is that Fate is often the result of divine intervention. They cause certain events to happen in certain ways so as to result in the most tragic outcome, usually death. It’s designed so that the audience is aware of what’s to come, and can see no other way for the story to end. The tragedy is supposed to feel inevitable.

One could argue, that there is no such thing as Fate. Life is simply a sequence of random happenstance, but our need to prescribe meaning to the chaos cobbles up stories of predetermined destinies. Especially when the idea of owning up to our mistakes and their consequences is too much.

All of this was the result of one sick man, George Foyet, choosing to be so cruel. And Hotch was simply a victim of circumstance because if Foyet wasn’t going after Hotch, he’d be going after someone else.

But what are the odds that Hotch’s first case as lead profiler happens to be The Boston Reaper? It was from that moment that Hotch’s fate was really sealed, he and Foyet would be forever intertwined. 

Hotch, being who he is, had inadvertently, made the Reaper personal. Even when his BAU team was sent away, his resolve wouldn’t let the Reaper simply disappear. It led him to build his profile, alone and over many years. Any other person might’ve just let the case go, but not Hotch.

So when Shaunessy died and the Reaper resurfaced, the only person in the world who knows enough about the Reaper to track him down, is Hotch. It’s what leads him to George Foyet, a victim at first glance, and Hotch comes to him unaware that he is promising The Reaper a new, worthy adversary, one a decade in the making. And everything, from his prison escape, to his attack on Hotch in his apartment, plays out exactly as Foyet expects it to, because as much as Hotch can read him, Foyet can read his behavior too.

At the end of 5x03, “Reckoner”, Rossi talks about what could have been when it comes to his childhood sweetheart to Hotch. About how he was too obsessed with his job, with the hunt that he gave up his chance of having a family. Rossi warns Hotch, don’t make my mistakes, kid.

You have a family. When all this is over, what are you gonna do to make sure you’re not a lonely guy wondering why you let the purest thing in your life get away?

My initial reaction was that they were setting up for Hotch to leave the BAU for good. The man who hung on to the job so much that it cost him his marriage, for the first time, actually considers leaving it all behind him. Because what Rossi says to him, driven by the circumstances that Foyet has created, is too profound for him to ignore. Foyet is too big of a thing to just move on from once its over.

Of course, my hopes of Hotch riding off into sunset to live a quieter life and watch his son grow up were optimistic at best. It’s a fantasy that purposely ignores the reality of who Hotch is, simply because I want the alternative to be possible. By the time Haley is buried, and Strauss offers Hotch retirement, we already know what his answer is going to be. Because everything we know about this man can only lead us to one conclusion.

Aaron Hotchner is the man who goes after the bad guys, the man who doesn’t let them get away with it. No matter how much I yell at my screen about how Hotch should just retire and spend all his time with Jack, deep down I knew that was never going to happen. Him losing Haley and still going back to work, seems like the only logical outcome. It’s almost feels inevitable.

VI. Catharsis

The point of tragedy is, according to Aristotle, to achieve catharsis. The purging of emotion through the telling of another person’s suffering. And that’s what “100″ does (unless your heart is made of stone and you somehow did not tear up even once).

Others would say that tragedy is meant to teach us a lesson. Meant to teach us the limits of our mortal abilities, to warn against hubris and arrogance; to remind us that they are higher powers and unseen forces beyond our understanding or control.

Criminal Minds doesn’t try to give us that lesson. Like in so many previous cases, the premise of a crime procedural is really a way of examining human nature. Why do people do bad things? More often than not, though our profilers can figure out how an unsub goes from doing thing A to thing B, they don’t have a satisfying answer for why. 

In Foyet’s case, he does all of this to Hotch because he can, because he enjoys making him suffer. It is evil, unnecessarily cruel. There is no sense to be found in what happened.

But “100″ does not deliver pure tragedy. It ended in the death of Haley but it also provided hope in the survival of Jack. Hotch finally rids the world of Foyet, though the way it went down, you can’t help but wonder about the price of justice, if the cost is too much for this one man to pay. But then the show reminds the audience, that this one man isn’t bearing that cost alone.

Aaron Hotchner has his team, his family, and with their support, a chance to recover from the tragedy that Foyet wrought.

I used to think that, despite being dead, George Foyet still won. He set out to hurt Hotch, and that’s exactly what he did. We’ve only seen Hotch openly cry twice at this point, and they both were directly caused by Foyet. And I suppose that’s still partly true. It’s hard to really tell with our stone-faced unit chief, but it’s hard to see how Foyet wouldn’t linger.

But that victory isn’t absolute. Foyet is gone, and he loses every time Jack gets to spend another day happy and alive. Foyet loses, every time Hotch shows up for the job and doesn’t let another unsub like him get away with it.

And maybe that’s the lesson. That though good doesn’t always triumph over evil, there is a way to move past tragedy. And that path lies not in solitude, in carrying the burden alone, but in the solace of our friends and family who can bear witness to all that we must face.

For all all my waxing poetic about how Hotch is a noble hero, this entire ordeal just shows how human he is. Yet despite his flaws and the tragedy, the core unassailable truth of who he is, the values he represents, remain unchanged.

He is Aaron Hotchner. The guy who hunts down guys like Foyet. The guy who doesn’t let the bad guys get away with it. The guy who, despite everything, managed to save his son. The guy who will keep his promise to the woman he was once married to, to teach their son that love is the most important thing. The guy who makes sure that his son knows that good people do exist.

Aaron Hotchner is the guy who, despite all the hurt, the pain and the loss, chooses to be the hero. And that’s the farthest thing from tragic.

[welcome-to-afterlife]

I just read the obey me after life ell crossover and I'm so excited to see the next post because it was 🔥🔥🔥 but now my brain at 3 am is chugging out a custody battle for mc fanfic that I'll never write and I'm holding you accountable for it

Finally finished! This is a lot longer than I thought it would be, but I still had a lot of fun writing it.

AFTERL!FE X OBEY ME CROSSOVER

The air was buzzing with tension. Hushed voices filled the room as spectators poured into the courtroom, both from Devildom and the Otherworld. Humans and demons sat in the audience, waiting for the historical decision made today. No human from the Otherworls had ever been sentenced to work at Devildom, but that was about to change.

Both the defendants and plaintiffs sat at the front of the room. On the left side, the Morningstar family were checking over all their belongings to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything. Besides them was the future king of Devildom, Diavolo, and his butler, Barbatos. Lucifer was talking to Diavolo with great concern, pointing to Solomon, who was shuffling through the endless papers on his desk. Although the sorcerer had never touched a law textbook in his life, the Otherworld laws had a strict human-attorney-only (dead or alive) policy.  While Lucifer insisted on contacting his lawyer contacts in the human realm, Diavolo opted for Solomon. The future king of Devildom claimed that Solomon had the best understanding of their situation and that his slithery tongue would be the cause for their victory. Lucifer could only hope that he was right.

On the right side was noisy chatter from Nyang Lead Manager, Housemaster Sei, and the soul reapers from the 14th Department. Unlike Lucifer, the reapers were confident and relaxed. They had the upper-hand in the situation as Youssef, the lawyer with an record-breaking winning streak, was their attorney. The only being that was anxious was the Lead Manager, who was too busy hissing at Youssef to notice the judge entering the room.

As the judge walked into the room, the crowd became silent. Behind her was the manager of the 14th Department-- the focus of the case. The judge stood at the center podium while the manager positioned themselves behind the left podium.

"Welcome everyone. Today we will begin the formal proceedings for the civil case Morningstar vs. The 14th Department." The judge slammed the gavel on the podium. "I will decide whether the manager of the 14th Department should transfer to Devildom or continue their activites in the Otherworld. We will begin the proceedings by asking the plaintiff to state their case."

That was Solomon's cue. He stood up and cleared his throat. "Your honor, the Morningstar family-"

"Make it quick, dumbass. You guys are gonna lose anyways," Quincy shouted from the opposite side.

The entire court turned to him, including the judge. "Sir, I highly suggest that you compose yourself in this professional environment or else your will be forcibly removed. Mr. Solomon, you may continue."

Ethan rolled his eyes and whispered, "Great going, you brat."

Mammon and Levi snickered as Quincy crossed his arms and glared at them.

Solomon glanced at his papers once more, before continuing. "As I was saying, the Morningstar family believes that the 14th Department's manager is best suited for Devildom. They have already spent an entire year as an exchange student and returned for an additional amount of time. We believe that their managerial expertise would benefit the exchange program as the manager would be in charge of guiding new exchange students. As a human, they would be able to provide emotional support and act as a resource for information....."

The brothers watched in amazement as Solomon handled himself with poise and grace. Diavolo grinned and elbowed Lucifer's ribs. I told you he'd be great.

"Wow, he's almost as good as Lucifer," Satan said.

"Who knew that academia could be so sexy?" Asmo whispered.

"Looool so you're into nerds now?" Levi asked.

"I'm hungry," Beel groaned.

"Shut up, all of you. Or else I'll hang you from the roof by your feet," Lucifer hissed.

"Hey, I didn't say anything! Why ya threaten' me?" Mammon exclaimed.

Meanwhile, the soul reapers began to worry. Solomon was a lot more throughout than they had expected. The longer he talked, the more likely the judge would agree with him. Ell, in particular, was so anxious that he went on another sneezing fit. Although Licht tried to assure him that everything would be alright, Ell couldn't ignore the possibility of losing the manager. He was supposed to be their guardian angel. What type of angel was he if he couldn't protect them from other people? Fortunately, Housemaster Sei anticipated this, so brought a noise-canceling mask for the angel.

Once  Solomon finished presenting his case, the judge spoke. "Thank you, Mr. Solomon. Now we will ask the defendant to speak."

Yousseff shuffled his papers. He took a deep breath and stood before the court.

"Your Honor," he started. "The 14th Department believes that the manager should not transfer to Devildom. This the first manager in the soul reaper history. Consider it a test run, if you will. With the manager, we will be able to determine whether having a manager is effective in soul reaper activity, especially purification rates."

He took a paper filled with graphs and charts. "According to this report from the Reaper Archives,  the 14th Department had the lowest purification rates last 5 years."

"What the hell? Is he trying to embarrass us?" Sian shook his head.

"Have some trust in him. After all, he's the lawyer," Nine shrugged.

"With this in mind, the department leaders believed that we would benefit from additional managerial support. And ever since then, our purification rates have increased by 30%. Furthermore, we are the only department to have such a large in increase in rates while maintaining the ethical aspect of purification." Youssef continued.

"If that is the case, why not take another human as the manager? Mr. Solomon made it clear that the manager was the first exchange student who has extraordinary magical capabilities, so their presence is important in Devildom. What makes them so special that you cannot retrieve a replacement?"

"Yeah, why can't y'all just pluck another human from your Otherworld thingy?" Mammon leaned back in his seat.

"How about I pluck your glasses and shove them up your ass," Quincy snorted.

"Why use glasses when there are a whole variety of toys? That's much more fun, no?" Asmo said.

"Sir-" The judge started.

"There are children in the room, you filthy, narcissistic freak," Ethan snorted.

"Order!" The judge shouted.

"Don't talk to my brother like that!" Satan shouted.

"Then stop trying to steal our manager, or else I'll bite you!" Kati growled.

Mammon laughed. "Listen pipsqueak. You see Beel over here?" He patted Beelzebub's muscles. "He'd swallow you whole and eat the rest of your team."

"Well I'll be happy to inform you that I've got a whole magical book on how to control demons," Ghilley held up a golden book in his hands.

"Order in the court!" The judge shouted again.

Lucifer glared at the soul reaper, his wings slowly unveiling themselves from his back. "Where did you find that?"

The judge sighed. "Sir, didn't I just-"

Quincy snickered. "What? Now you're scared of some tiny book? I thought you were supposed to have big ego. You know, after God kicked you out of-"

Lucifer lunged for the younger demon. Mori pulled out his cards and threw them at Lucifer's direction. The Avatar of Pride dodged, shifting his target to Mori. But before he could cause further damage, Diavolo and Barbatos grabbed his arms.

"I'm so sorry for Lucifer's outburst. However Quincy, that's a large statement from a demon with a major inferiority complex," Diavolo's smile was tight and thin.

"Alright let me at this motherf-" Quincy ran, but Ethan and June held him back.

"Order in the court!" The judge slammed the gavel. "The next person to speak out of turn will be permanently banned from this establishment."

Everyone sat back in their seats, sending glares to the opposition. The judge looked at Youssef, who continued his case.

Once Youssef ended presenting his case, the judge thanked him and reexamined the paper on their desk.

After a minute a long minute of silence, the judge removed her glasses. "Well both sides make compelling arguments with the manager's prescience needed at both locations. However, we're missing the most important part."

She turned to the manager. "My decision is entirely based on your response to this question, so I'd like you to answer it with some thought."

The manager nods. "I'm ready."

"Do you want to stay in the Otherworld or live in Devildom?"

[mittensmorgul]

What do you think about Samwena now? Do you think they can still be endgame?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The TNT loop has brought me up through 12.21 today, and it’s wild what new canon can do to recontextualize the past.

I’m putting this under a cut, so that saileen shippers won’t have to subject themselves to my rambling about Eileen and Sam in a way I know they’ll dislike... but I’m tired of feeling like I can’t talk about canon how I see it on my own blog.

Back when these episodes originally aired, with the week to week meta cycle in between, a lot of context was left up to us and never explicitly clarified in canon. Many of us were just thrilled at the notion that Sam had made one (1) friend that he seemed as close with as Dean did, if not closer. We were all ready to read way more into their interactions than was actually there, because Sam just gets so few of these sorts of personal relationships, at all, with anyone.

Things have been provided with clarification now in s15-- like the previous nature of Sam’s relationship with Eileen, and Sam’s repeated insistence to Dean’s teasing that they’re “not like that.” Which seems to be urging me to go back and reexamine everything from the past connected to her without the erroneous assumption that they already had a romantic relationship going offscreen. And let me tell you, that puts an entirely different spin on Eileen’s prior purpose in the narrative. As a parallel for Mary. Which is why I suppose I’ve been finding so many weird Mary parallels for her since her resurrection (starting with the fact that the spell that brought her back was designed to resurrect Mary instead and going right on through all the BMoL Free Will Erasure brainwashing plot literally in the episode where Eileen was murdered by Hellhound).

Lady Bevell: Well, not about this illusion of you that you hold on to. The perfect life. Loving husband and kids. But it never really was perfect, was it? All those secrets you kept from your beloved John – that you were a hunter. That you invited Azazel to visit when he spared John's life.Mary: How do you-Lady Bevell: I have sources, Mary. Everywhere. After you died, your beloved John was a man slowly going mad, searching for revenge. What? Your boys didn't tell you? The drunken rages? The weeks of abandonment? Child abuse, really. It's no wonder they're... damaged. So... enough with the fairy tale. We are returning you to a more pure version of yourself – Mary Campbell, natural born killer.

The “illusion” of the perfect life, the illusion of Free Will, in essence (especially now that we know Chuck was also behind the whole BMoL narrative). Not to mention that in this episode, Toni will later heavily imply that Mary was in fact the one who killed Eileen (even if it wasn’t true... Sam and Dean STILL don’t know who actually killed Eileen). I mean, the fact they found Mary in the process of attempting to murder Jody Mills probably sealed the belief that at the very least, it COULD’VE been Mary who’d done the deed. Even Mary wouldn’t know for sure if she had, because brainwashed:

SAM: Why you spying on us? Oh, and what do you know about Eileen Leahy?TONI: Who?DEAN: Did you – did – did your people, did they kill her?TONI: Probably. Rule of thumb – if you think we killed someone, then we probably did. Speaking of, you do realize that by attacking me, you invite the retribution of the entire British Men of Letters? Investigation, no trial. Just punishment and ruin. Possibly at the hands of Mary Winchester.DEAN: The hell is that supposed to mean?TONI: Your mother – she's our permanent guest.SAM: She's your prisoner? Why?TONI: Prisoner? Who said anything about prisoner? No, Mary's joined the team. Even has her own super secret decoder ring.SAM: You're lying.TONI: You're right. There is no ring. Oh, boys and their mums. See, you see her as Mummy. We see her as one of our best killers.

Sam’s main drive during s12 was doing whatever he could to desperately create any sort of relationship with Mary that he could (even willingly working with people who’d TORTURED him), and this is what haunted him into s13, as well, after destroying the BMoL to save Mary, and then almost immediately losing her again to the AU.

Do I think that Sam is considering the possibility of a real relationship with Eileen? Probably, yeah, after Dean’s prodding, especially. But Dean was fundamentally misunderstanding the nature of Sam’s “agreement” with Eileen there. It wasn’t about a romantic arrangement.

Because they aren’t like that.

Eileen propositioned Sam in 15.07 (in the name of doing something “fun”), yes, but I still can’t see Sam’s reaction there as anything but surprise and consternation. He seems almost relieved that Cas showed up when he did to interrupt what would otherwise have been an uncomfortable and probably embarrassing talk.

When Dean asked about Eileen in 15.08, it felt to me like Sam’s comment about them having an agreement was directly about the opening scene... where Sam had secretly followed her out on a hunt, and then nearly getting himself killed both by Eileen AND the vampire, all because he didn’t trust her to handle it or ask for help if she needed it.

Their agreement gets further contextualization via Sue’s comment to Eileen, taunting her about having to “get permission” to come out and help her on a hunt. Because that’s exactly what she had to do. That was the nature of her agreement with Sam-- that she wouldn’t just leave without at least leaving a note (Sam’s exact words to her in that opening scene... “You could’ve left a note.”)

DEAN: Yeah. Eileen did good, right? Getting us back from hell. She doing okay?SAM: Yeah. I guess.DEAN: You guess?SAM: If she needs something from me, she'll tell me. We have an agreement.

It felt like Sam was telling Dean that he didn’t know how Eileen was, because part of their agreement was that Sam... not pester her over this sort of thing. Sam seemed... disappointed over the whole situation. Dean immediately turned this into a relationship thing, though, leaving Sam slightly confused, but probably considering the option, at least.

DEAN: You have an agreement? That's adorable. Look, man, I didn't want to say anything, okay, 'cause I was kind of in... in a bad place, and, uh, yeah, I didn't want to jinx it or whatever, but, you know, I tried the family thing, right?SAM: Yeah, me too. And that's not for us.DEAN: No, not really. But I'm just saying if it was to work, Eileen, you know, she gets it. She gets us. She gets the life. She's hot.SAM: Dean. I mean, I'm not even...DEAN: Look, all I'm saying is you... you could do worse, okay? And she could certainly do better. Like, so much better. I'm happy for you, Sammy.

If only Dean hadn’t framed it as essentially “settling” for someone just because they conveniently ticked off the most basic “someone in the life” box.

And if only this hadn’t come two scenes after Sam found Rowena, dead, in Hell. And literally flinching at the change that he saw in her. Almost as if Dean was trying to give Sam the “it’s not so bad. You couldn’t save Rowena, but at least you have a backup romantic interest, since you can’t resurrect Rowena and make everything okay with her, because you already used Rowena’s own spell to resurrect Eileen...” It felt like a weirdly hearty consolation speech in that context.

And if this hadn’t felt like more of a comment on DEAN’S recent mental turnaround after his experiences in 15.07, and his tentative hope that things between him and Cas aren’t completely kaput, that Cas hadn’t completely written him off, after Rowena’s little Marriage Counselling session with them (again, two scenes earlier).

Now is this to say that Sam’s emotional investment in a relationship with Eileen can’t change going forward? Absolutely not! He might really, truly invest himself in a relationship with her!

I’m extremely interested to see what happens in 15.09, because I think that episode will hopefully give us so many of the answers we’ve been waiting for. Not necessarily about endgame love interests, but about Chuck’s involvement in the first half of the season’s unfolding drama. And I think Rowena will have a continuing part to play after that point.

Does that mean I think Sam’s emotional investment in a potential relationship with Rowena can’t be rekindled? We’ll have to wait and see, but as it stood after 15.08, Sam, at least, seemed to be shaken by the change that had come over her after her sacrifice.

SAM: Rowena, I...ROWENA: Samuel, please. You killing me was one of the best things that ever happened. Yes, there are things I miss about being alive. Flesh-on-flesh sex. Amazon doesn't deliver here... yet. But, lads, I'm queen. My subjects revere me. Well, fear me, which is better. I should have died a long time ago. Samuel, be a dear.SAM: Yeah.

This has to be like a knife to him, you know? He’d been so invested in her redemption, as the Fated Agent of her final demise. And for Sam, who knows what she feared and who she loved (but Sam doesn’t know he’s on that list, she told him flat out he wasn’t right before she told him to kill her), she represents his current biggest failure, you know? He capitulated to Destiny, because he had no other choice. And that is still the worst thing anyone on the show can possibly say.

THIS was the final straw that drove Dean to anger with Cas, too. Rowena’s death was the direct result of Cas’s choice to kill Belphegor rather than let him complete his spell. It’s all interconnected, and it’s all painful, and it’s all a direct result of Chuck’s breaking the story the way he did in 14.20.

So make of this what you will, but I’m tired of not talking about these far bigger themes to avoid upsetting shippers who want saileen to be endgame. We’re not there yet, and until we are, I want to talk about all of this in a nonjudgmental way, because I think it’s all interesting, not because I have some shipping agenda.

I know I have more to say about all of this, but this is a good start, at least.

[mychemicalficrecs]

Do you know of any good poly fics? It can include members from other bands.

hiya! any poly fics (no waycest pls)?

I hope you don't mind me answering these together. Tbh the only other band I read occasionally is FOB, so most ships on this list include Lindsey and/or Jamia! I didn't always include every ship each fic is tagged with (especially if there are 'sub ships'), but the main one should always be included.

Polyfic

Whatever a Moon Has Always Meant, Whatever a Sun Will Always Sing by melusina, Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 7k, Explicit. "Maybe I want you to steal my boyfriend. Or. . .I don’t know -- borrow him?"

All That Shit Seems To Disappear When I'm With You by gala_apples, Frank/Patrick/Mikey/Pete, 26k, Explicit. Frank’s been attracted to Mikey for awhile, a feeling that he’s kept carefully to himself. Other people don’t have the same compulsion for secrecy. On the first day of school there’s a short angry boy standing at Frank’s locker, condemning him for making Pete’s life hard. September quickly turns into a month of bad decision making as Frank, Pete, and Patrick deal with Mikey not feeling the same way they do. Except, that’s not true. After all, none of them have actually asked Mikey his side of things.

Love: The Package Deal by jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, Lindsey/Gerard, Frank/Jamia, Lindsey/Frank/Gerard, 30k, Mature. Gerard gets a special kind of amnesia. Frank gets to reexamine his idea of acceptable relationship structures. Lots of people fail to communicate effectively, but they all sure remember how to kiss.

Backstage Blowjobs by mistresscurvy, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 9k, Explicit. Gerard should be thinking about the last show of the fall tour. Instead all he can focus on is Frank's mouth.

Fuck the Snow (Repeat as Necessary) by mistresscurvy, Frank/Gerard, 6k, Explicit. "Remind me why we came to New Jersey in January to practice rather than staying in L.A. where it's warm and not, you know, snowing," Ray says, staring out the front door at the white flakes coming down.

Went Out Looking for the Rainbow by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone, Lindsey/Jamia, 13k, Explicit. When a stressed out Jamia shows up at her front door, Lindsey decides what they need is a weekend away.

A Light to Burn All the Empires by Arsenic, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Mikey/Pete, 32k, Explicit. Mikey and Frank are outed. There are, as one might imagine, repercussions.

With Words I Thought I'd Never Speak by brynnmck, Frank/Gerard, Lindsey/Gerard, 11k, Explicit. It's like being with Lindsey has switched on some sort of current inside him, and when he gets up onstage it comes crackling out, lighting him up, sparking off the sweaty upturned glowing faces of all the kids out in the audience, and he couldn't shut it off if he tried. And Frankie is, well, Frankie, only turned up to eleven, somehow, flailing all over the place like a downed power line, leaving a trail of blissed-out destruction in his wake. And his face in Gerard's crotch.

A State Of Orange by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, 20k, Explicit. Being a halfling in a red state can sometimes cause issues for Frank Iero. He’s the weakest at Jett Clement High School, and probably the entire state (not counting the meal plans). His moods are oddly stable, as much as he tries to be mercurial. And being able to withstand the sun for up to twenty minutes only allows him more time to be forced into chores. Still, his parents are insane if they think he’s going to be happy about their decision. Frank doesn’t want to move to a Mixed state. How is he supposed to get great friends? How is he supposed to find great food? How is he supposed to have great sex? But Frank doesn’t have a choice. He’s New Jersey bound for the next year, if not longer. He’ll be surrounded by tame vampires who have been nagged out of a sex drive, and humans he’s not allowed to eat. Mixed states suck. Lucky for him, not every person in Jersey sucks.

Just because you're pregnant... by greedy_dancer, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 998 words, Explicit. Written in the First Lines Meme, for the prompt: how about a Frank/Gerard phone sex story? :D which became a Jamia/Frank/Gerard story instead.

Blueprints For Building Better Boys by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Ray/Mikey, 7k, Explicit. "Eight years ago," Amanda begins, "Dr. Monae and myself began work on the ArchAndroid project. By the time they were ready, we'd designed and tested everything, right down to the cybernetics and the synthetic organs. Two months ago, we switched them on for the first time." Frank, Gerard, Ray, and Mikey are the ArchAndroids. Frank's got a faulty personality circuit, Gerard's primary memory chip is kind of temperamental, there's a bug somewhere in Mikey's speech protocol, and Ray's anger response lags like a motherfucker. They're also the world's most potty-mouthed robots, although with any luck there won't be any occasion for the world's press to find out about that. Written for Bandom Reverse Big Bang @ livejournal.

In the Morning by greedy_dancer, Frank/Jamia/Gerard, Frank/Jamia, 21k, Explicit. Threesomes don’t normally happen to Gerard, especially not repeat threesomes with the hot new punk couple in town, but it’s not like he’s going to complain. It’s only a bit of fun – what else could it be? And yet… if it’s really that simple, why can’t he bring himself to tell Mikey about it?

Give Me a Reason by mistresscurvy, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 38k, Explicit. July 2007. Frank is fucking stoked for the next tour. This one will be the best ever, because his wife's gonna be with him the entire time. They've been married for less than six months, and he still can't fucking believe he got to marry her. This summer is going to rock. But life never happens as he plans.

Neon When You Come and Go by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone, Frank/Jamia/Gerard, Frank/Jamia, 21k, Explicit. All Gerard wanted was someone other than his mom doing his hair.

Work Husband by the_ragnarok, Frank/Jamia, Frank/Gerard, 7k, Explicit. “Oh, honey,” Jamia says. “You think I don’t know you? You’re like a puppy, you need someone to play with you or you start chewing the furniture and peeing on everything.”

[thejollyroger-writer]

Love After Death: The Afterlife Hotel

a/n: it’s HEEEEEERE, my first piece for this year’s CSSNS! I’m so excited to share all three stories I have for you all this year -- it’s just the beginning! Extra special thanks to @captainsjedi for her lovely, perfect art that conveys a sense of spookiness that I didn’t even know I was going for, and to @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ and @kmomof4​ for being my eternal cheerleaders -- plus all the ladies in the Discord chat! And, of course, @cssns​

Tagging those who showed interest when I posted a snippet in March, or who asked me to -- thank you all for your readership! @winterbaby89​ @teamhook​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @jwolf18791​ @killianjones4ever82​ @superadam54​ @kingofmyheart14​ @aprilqueen84​ @capswantrue​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @gingerchangeling​ @welllpthisishappening

SUMMARY:  Emma Swan has spent sixty years in the afterlife believing she was never going to meet her real soulmate, after believing in the wrong name tattooed on her wrist. But when she keeps seeing the same new blue-eyed guest of the Afterlife Hotel around, might she be able to learn how to love again?

Also on AO3!

--/--/--/--/--

Emma Swan stands at her desk, staring down at the calendar that she’s not sure why they even bother to have in the first place. Time is meaningless here. Sure, the "sun" rises and sets on opposite sides of the building on a 24 hour cycle, but time doesn't actually pass anymore. 

Except… if there wasn’t a desk calendar, if she was only going by the date in the corner of her monitor screen (though also unnecessary), she probably never would have realized that it was once again the third day of July in the real world. She almost definitely would have allowed the day to pass by uneventfully, would have completely forgotten the same way she wishes she would have forgotten every other year. 

Sixty years. It’s been sixty years to the day since the first time she entered this very hotel. No family, even when she was alive. Abandoned as a child, never finding a family of her own beyond the sole person she believed was her family, the one that she believed was her soulmate — but, in the end, he was her demise, the name she should have avoided instead of married. 

She had a fifty-fifty chance, like everyone else in the world. It was a stupid concept, she always thought it was: her soulmate’s name on one wrist, and the name of her enemy, very likely the name of the person that would cause her death, on the other, just like everyone else in the world. But she learned the hard way that she made the wrong choice, and by putting her trust in the name on her right wrist and not her left, she suffered more than just heartbreak. By trusting Neal instead of running away the moment he introduced himself — perhaps even before that, now that she's had time to look back over the time they spent together — she was killed.

She remembers the moment her names appeared as if it wasn't almost seventy years before. That's the funny thing about being dead, she guesses (if there was anything funny about it) because the sixty years she's been dead have felt like nothing compared to the nine years between the time her names appeared on her twenty-first birthday and the moment Neal smiled above her as he slid his dagger into her heart. His handwriting on her right wrist, the curling letters of his signature, seemed much more attractive than the scribbles that she stopped trying to decipher before she turned 22. By then, she had already met Neal Cassidy, had already convinced herself that she loved him beyond the presence of his name on her wrist, and he had conned her into believing he loved her, too, up until that very last moment. 

Sixty years. Sixty years since her death. But it was dying that led her to find something really worth living for, even if she never got the chance to meet her real soulmate. And it was still just the "beginning."

Emma still remembers that first day, greeted by a smiling Mary Margaret Nolan. Smiling, as if there was something to be happy about. Emma knew that she had died, was very aware of it, given Neal left her to die a very slow and painful death — but the last thing she expected after the “bright white light” was an elevator ride down to the lobby of a hotel, especially one with a smiling brunette behind its counter.

“Hello!” Her voice was chipper, almost fake, but her smile most certainly was not. “Welcome to the Afterlife Hotel!” 

“Really?” Emma remembers quipping immediately, not even trying to hide the look of disgust on her face. She was already trying to do too many things to control what was showing on her face.  “You couldn’t even come up with a better name?” 

But Mary Margaret was resilient, moving on without so much as acknowledging Emma’s comment, and when she asked Emma what she wanted to do — if she had any family she wanted to wait for, anywhere in particular she wanted to be — all Emma felt was empty. Sure, the emptiness tried to veil itself with snide remarks and humor, as it always had, but none of it got any further than her own mind.

“No.” Her voice was soft. “No, I — I have no one.” 

It was Mary Margaret’s job to lead her through the afterlife, to help her decide where she will spend the rest of eternity. But, instead of a decision, Mary Margaret helped her find a “family” for the first time in her life (well, uh, death), people that actually cared for her. Mary Margaret and David Nolan, the first parental figures Emma has ever had, and all she had to do was die to find them. 

Thinking back on this memory, she smiles down at her desk, unconsciously drawing a light circle around the “3” with her pencil. 

And that’s why she doesn’t immediately notice when the doors to the elevator right in front of her open, revealing perhaps the most awestruck man to have come through those doors that Emma had ever seen. 

“Bloody hell!” he yells, literally falling out of the elevator and onto the floor, simultaneously pulling Emma back to reality. 

Well, that’s certainly interesting, Emma thinks, her eyebrows flying quickly up her forehead as she watches him, dumbstruck, as he struggles to get up off the floor. In all the years she’s spent here, she’s only ever seen people walk through the elevator doors, usually slowly and questioning everything around them just as she did sixty years ago (to the day). 

But she’s never seen anyone fall out of it. They’ve always been on their feet after the long, slow ride down, able to pull themselves together a bit until the doors finally open and they find themselves in the lobby. 

“Pardon me, lass, where — what the hell happened to me?” His deeply-accented question pulls her out of her stupor, and she blinks a few times before completely returning to reality — and when she does, she almost finds herself in a daze again as she takes him in. He’s tall, muscular, but lean, his grey jeans tight against his legs and low on his hips with a plain white t-shirt under a black leather jacket, the v of the neck falling low enough to show what Emma assumes is just the beginning of a sea of black hair covering his chest, matching the shade that covers his head and the stubble on his cheeks. 

“You’re—” she starts, but looking down at the desk, she remembers where she is, what her job is, and pulls her best customer service smile to her face. “Welcome to the Afterlife Hotel!” she says, her voice much cheerier than she intended it to be, though she blames it on the confusion quickly filling the air of the lobby. 

Slowly, he takes a few steps towards her as he swivels his head from one side to the other, taking in the sights of the lobby around him: the grey stone floors, the deep red walls and high white ceilings, the crisp white and grey furniture and abstract paintings on the walls. Then he stops just a few steps away from the desk, and when he turns his eyes to her, the air in her lungs suddenly gets very heavy — because in them, she finds the brightest blue she has seen, definitely since the first time she walked across this same lobby, but she believes probably since the day she was born. 

“Come again?” he asks, one dark eyebrow raised high on his broad forehead, almost lost under the strands of dark hair that fall close to his eyes. 

“You’ve found yourself in the afterlife,” she replies, dialing down the chipperness of her voice, but not losing it entirely. “This is the Afterlife Hotel, for lost souls and those waiting for others to join them.”

“The Afterlife Hotel,” he repeats, the same skepticism in his voice that she remembers from her own that very first day, though she manages to keep the smile off her face that she feels trying to start. But when he adds, “You really couldn’t come up with a better name?”, she is useless against it anymore, and the smile comes paired with a small laugh. 

“What’s so funny about that?” he asks, moving to fill the rest of the space between himself and the desk. 

She begins to shake it off, ready to tell him that it was nothing, but something in his bright blue eyes makes her snap her mouth shut and reexamine this choice. She doesn’t realize that she has remained silent until his eyebrows slowly move up his forehead once more, wordlessly coaxing her to say anything. 

So she does. 

“It’s just… moments before you came through the elevator, I was thinking about the first day I ended up here, and I — when I heard the woman behind the counter tell me where I was, I asked her the very same thing.” 

“Is that so?” he asks, the beginnings of a smile forming on his face, and it is, without a doubt, one of the most brilliant smiles she has ever seen, even half-formed. “So, what do I do here, love? Tell me more about this hotel of yours,” he says, the smile staying as he leans forward onto the counter, resting on his elbows. She realizes that one of his hands is a prosthetic, but a very technologically-advanced, real-looking one.

“Well,” she says, playing along and leaning towards him, as well — though she will absolutely refuse to admit how much she enjoys it. “This is the first stop of the afterlife. From here, you can choose to move on to the place of your choice, depending on what you believed during your life, you can wait here for your loved ones to arrive — of course, if you have loved ones waiting already, I can find them for you —  or you can just… stay here.” When he says nothing, she feels the need to fill the silence that settles between them. “Do you…” she starts, but when his eyes flash up to meet hers, her breath gets caught in her throat for a moment and she needs to start over. “Is there anyone for you to wait for?” She doesn’t mean for it to, but her voice is barely a whisper, again thinking of her first day here and the fact that she had no one, either. Is that what she recognizes in this man’s eyes: loneliness? Sadness? 

He shakes his head, failing to hide the way his thumb presses into his left wrist for a moment, and when his tongue flicks out of his mouth to wet his bottom lip, she finds herself oddly distracted by the movement, unable to tear her eyes away, especially when a shadow of a smile appears on those very same lips. “Afraid I only have one, and that asshole had the audacity to continue to live his life when I was taken prematurely.” Emma just nods, not entirely sure how to respond to that, though when he opens his mouth to speak again, all worries about that have faded away. “So, I can just… stay here, until my brother gets here?”

At this, Emma smiles, leaning against the counter once more. “Well, yeah. That’s the main purpose of this establishment, and if you give me your name, I can direct you to your room.”

“Of course, lass. Killian Jones, at your service,” he says, holding his hand out between them, but when she takes it, instead of shaking it, he lifts it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the edge of her knuckles. 

She stills for a moment when he releases her hand before turning her attention back towards the computer as she tries her hardest to not let her response to his actions show on her face. “Emma Swan,” she breathes, typing his name into the system. Looking away from him, she misses the way his eyes widen at her revelation, his eyes falling to his still-covered right wrist resting on the counter, though he pulls himself together quickly enough to wipe the look from his face before she turns back to him.

When she sees what the screen is telling her, she is useless against the smile that spreads across her face. “Well, Mr. Jones, room 715 has been all set up for you, and you can get there with the elevator behind the desk.” 

He smiles at her and moves to leave, but before he does, his eyebrows knit together, and Emma can sense a question on the tip of his tongue.

“Can I ask you something, love?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Does every person that dies come through here? Because, forgive my bluntness, love, but isn’t that a hell of a lot of people?” 

She smiles at this, too, remembering that it took her close to two months in this very hotel before she even thought of the same question. But here, this gorgeous, handsome man — Killian, she reminds herself, realizing that it somehow fits him perfectly, if names can do that to people — has thought if it within his first few minutes. “You’re right,” she says, directing her smile towards him. “If everyone came through here, that would be a hell of a lot of people. But we don’t get everyone. If people have a chosen afterlife, no one to wait for, or if the person they are waiting for has already moved to a specific afterlife, they don’t come through here. Here, we only get the lost souls.” 

“Well, darling,” he says, his voice just above a whisper, leaning across the counter until she can feel his warm breath on her cheek. “I’m glad being a lost soul has led me to you.” 

When he winks, by far the most straightforward flirting that Emma has ever experienced, she feels her breath leave her lungs, her heart beating heavily in her chest — and then it is gone, the man backed away from the counter, the sparkle that she noticed in his eye disappeared. 

“I’ll be getting to my room, then,” he says, taking another step away from the desk. “I hope to see you around, Miss Swan.” He flashes her a momentary smile before passing the desk, and she ignores her desire to turn towards him as he walks away from her, even as the bell for the elevator dings on its arrival. 

“I sure hope so,” she whispers finally, only allowing herself to turn in the direction he walked in when she hears the elevator doors closing. 

 --/--/--

She does see him around, somehow more than she sees all the other guests at the hotel. She sees him two more times that same day, both on her lunch break and when she eats dinner with the family she has found here. Of all the places available to eat, he chooses the same one as her, not just once, but twice in one day. 

As she sits between Mary Margaret and Ruby at the table, trying not to stare across the room where he is sitting against the wall, a book perched on the table under his prosthetic hand which his other holds a mug, Emma tries to ignore the mathematical improbability of the two of them being in the same place twice in one day, in an area as large as not just the Hotel, but the whole area around it. 

She tries to ignore it again the next day as he’s sitting in the corner of her regular coffee shop, sitting in the same position as the night before when she shows up to get her morning coffee. 

And when he is sitting on a bench in the park when she chooses to go there instead of to lunch. 

(And then that same night in her dreams, but that’s not something she wants to admit to anyone, even herself.)

Three nights later, sitting at their favorite bar, Emma can’t stop her eyes from wandering to where he is sitting in the corner, his attention still on the book sitting in front of him. 

“Emma, come on,” Ruby says, nudging her shoulder with her own, and Emma turns her eyes back towards her friend. “What’s gotten into you? Every time I’ve seen you this week, you’ve been distracted.” 

She just shrugs, taking a sip of her beer. What would she even tell Ruby? That ever since this man fell through the elevator doors, she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him — not to mention the handful of times she has seen him since he showed up? That she has never felt as connected to anyone as she feels connected to this man, who she hasn’t even had the nerve to talk to since she first saw him? She stopped believing long ago that she would ever be able to find the same happiness that she thought she found during her life with Neal — but how would she ever admit to anyone, even her closest friend, that just being in the same room as him has been making her hopeful again?

This, of course, is when she realizes her eyes have turned towards him again, and when Ruby swivels her chair around completely to follow her gaze, the man in question raises his eyes from the book held in front of him and finds Emma’s embarrassed gaze, the corner of his lips turning up in a smile. 

When Ruby turns back towards Emma, she is smiling, as well, though hers is much more malicious than Killian’s. 

“Oh, he’s a hottie!” she says, perhaps a little too loudly, and it does nothing to help the blush that has already started rising up her cheeks. “Do you know who he is?” 

Her eyes flit back towards the bar, her index finger slowly running around the rim of her glass. She knows she is useless against Ruby’s ability to find information, to pull her darkest secrets out with just a question and a flick of her eyebrow, so she does not even try to hide the answer to this one, though even this does not stop the sigh that escapes her lips. 

“His name is Killian. He just — he just got here a few days ago.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Ruby says, swiveling in her seat once more, not even trying to hide the obviousness of what she is doing. “I’ve seen him around a few times.” 

“I’ve been…” she starts, then drops her eyes down to the bar, pursing her lips. 

When she stays silent for a moment too long for Ruby’s liking, she begins to beat on Emma’s shoulder with her hand. “Come on, Emma, spill!” 

“I’ve seen him far too much for it to be a coincidence,” she says finally, the words practically spilling from her lips, though when she does say it, it’s as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, from letting out what she has been keeping in for the past few days. 

Ruby’s eyes go wide, a smile spreading across her face. “What do you think it means, Em?” 

She leans closer to her friend, allowing her eyes to flit up to Killian for a moment, relieved to see that his attention is back on his book. “At first I thought he was following me,” she admits, releasing her glass to hold her head in her hands. “But then he started already being in places I spontaneously decided to go, and I knew — it definitely wasn’t that anymore.” 

Ruby’s eyes are wide when Emma finally turns towards her. “So you just keep running into this incredibly beautiful man and doing nothing about it?” 

“What am I supposed to do about it?” 

“Christ, Emma, have you even tried talking to him?” 

“Well, no, but — how — “ she sputters, and Ruby reaches between them to cover Emma’s hand with her own. 

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, smiling at her friend. “How long has it been since you flirted with a man?” 

She presses her lips in a tight line as she tries not to think about the answer to this question. Sure, there have been a few flirtatious moments since she got to the Afterlife Hotel, but the last person she really flirted with was Neal, the man she fell in love with during her life — the man that killed her. 

And what is even the point of flirting in the afterlife, when she’s already missed her chance to meet her soulmate?

In place of responding, she just shakes her head. 

Ruby smiles, a soft, gentle thing, as Emma finishes her beer, Ruby flagging down the bartender for another. "I promise you, Em, it really isn't that difficult."

"No offense, Rubes, but that doesn't really make me feel any better, coming from you."

"I mean, I could always go over and flirt with him myself just to show you how it's done, if that would make you—"

Emma stops her before she can say anything else. "No, that's... that’s not necessary."

Ruby turns around once more, her eyes flitting to the handsome man in the corner. "Are you sure? Because it’s certainly a sacrifice I would be willing to make for my best friend."

"I'm definitely okay."

Ruby's shoulders visibly sag. "What a shame." When Emma has no response to this, Ruby turns back to her, taking a moment to look at her friend's face, though her attention is still on the man in the corner. A beat later, Ruby says, "You know what that means, though, right?"

When Emma finally pulls her eyes back to Ruby, the first thing she sees is the grin spreading across her face. "What?"

Ruby leans over and gently bumps her shoulder. "This means you need to go talk to him yourself."

Emma feels her cheeks redden upon understanding this. "You're sure there's no way for me to get out of this?" she asks, a shy smile forming on her face in hopes her best friend will let up.

"No chance. Either you go talk to that gorgeous specimen of a man, or I'll do it myself."

Emma takes a deep breath, then a quick gulp of her beer, before pushing herself off the stool and, beer in hand, walking across the room. 

With his attention still between the covers of the book sitting in front of him on the table, he does not notice her moving towards him until she slides into the booth across from him, the cheap pleather groaning beneath her movement. 

“Are you following me?” she asks, and for a moment he thinks she’s serious, until his eyes move from the pages in front of him to her smiling green eyes. 

“If I remember correctly, love, I was already enjoying a nice quiet night in this pub with my rum and my book when you and your friend showed up here.” 

“It’s not just here, though,” she says, not even meaning to lean towards him with her forearms on the table, but she doesn’t stop herself when she realizes this is what she does. “Have you noticed that?” 

“Aye,” he says, the corner of his lips ticking up in a momentary smile. “I have noticed that you and I always seem to be in the same place at the same time.” 

“And you haven’t even said anything,” she jokes, pressing her fingertips to her heart in mock indignation. 

Here, he leans forward, as well, the tips of his fingers brushing against her knuckles. “Either have you,” he whispers, pausing for just a moment before he leans back against the booth behind him, which groans under the shifting weight. “What finally got you to build up the nerve?” 

Emma tries her best to smile at him, but she feels the edges of her cheeks heat up as she realizes she is about to tell him the truth. “Well, my friend Ruby over there —” when she points, they both turn their attention towards her only to find that she is watching them intently from the bar. But, because she is never ashamed or embarrassed, she just smiles at them, waving her fingers in their direction as Emma continues. “—threatened to come over here and talk to you herself if I didn’t do it, and she… Well, she’s much more straightforward than I could ever be.” 

“And what? You were afraid that I would be unable to combat her charms?”

“Ruby and I have been friends here for almost fifty years, and I have yet to see a man who is able to combat her charms.” 

“Fifty years,” he says under his breath, then snaps his eyes up to meet hers as if he didn’t really mean to say it out loud. “Emma, if you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been down here?” 

Pressing her lips together, she takes a quick sip of her beer, avoiding his eyes. “Sixty years, almost exactly,” she says softly, and she fears that he did not even hear her — until his hand covers hers on the table, a movement which causes her to raise her eyes to meet his gaze. “The day you came here was sixty years to the day,” she continues, her thumb moving gently over Killian’s hand as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

(Because, she refuses to admit, it just might be. Because, she refuses to admit, sitting here with him, the soft feel of his fingers against hers, feels like all the pieces of her world slowly moving into place — which has to be, of course, an exaggeration.) 

“Sixty years is a long time.” 

“See, that’s the funny thing,” she admits, trying to avoid the fact that she is about to discuss her life with a man she’s had exactly one conversation with before, a conversation that she had to have with him as part of her job. “Because I was alive on earth for half of that, and the time I spent here feels like moments compared to everything I went through when I was alive. At least here, I found myself a family, which is more than I could ever say for the time I spent there.” 

They sit in silence for a few moments, though neither of them feel awkward through it. Instead, Emma feels comforted by the warmth of Killian’s skin against hers, by the soft smile that he sends in her direction the few times her eyes dare to meet his. 

“Will you dance with me, Emma?” Killian asks after the moments tick into minutes. Everything in her screams to say no — to stay in her own little secluded corner instead of becoming the object of people’s attention. But still, through all the alarms blaring in her mind, none of that stops her from nodding her head to him, smiling softly as he leads them out of their booth and over to the dancefloor. 

When he welcomes her into his arms, it’s almost as if the stress from her day — from the past sixty years’ worth of days — melts off of her. With the weight of his prosthetic on her back, his fingers curled gently around her own over his heart, she is able to focus on nothing but the warmth of his skin under her fingers — a feeling that she can swear is the single thing that was missing from her life. 

Silence fills the space between them, Emma’s eyes somehow never leaving his even though she can swear that she’s never been more embarrassed in her life, but she can tell his face is full of questions. She has never been more sure in her life that she has wanted to kiss someone, and something in his eyes makes her believe the same is true for him. 

She watches as his eyes flit down to her lips, as his tongue slowly moves along his bottom lip, but the moment he begins to lean further into her space, he stops himself and backs away instead. 

“Tell me something about yourself, Swan.” 

“You sure know how to change the mood,” she jokes with a smile, turning her gaze up to meet his, but when she sees the darkness that has overtaken his eyes, the deep shade of midnight blue they have become, she thinks she understands. 

“Either we need to talk about something, or the occupants of this bar are going to get a show that they were not expecting when they showed up.” His words come out low, growled through clenched teeth as his hand on her back pulls her lips closer to his. 

“I’m sure no one would complain about the show, nothing exciting happens around here, anyway.” 

“The issue with that plan is that I was raised to be far too much of a gentleman to simply give in to desires such as these with a woman I am as interested in as you before properly courting you.” 

She raises an eyebrow at him, the smirk still covering her face. “A gentleman, eh?” 

“I can assure you, Swan,” he says with a smirk of his own, then leans forward so his lips are practically brushing the shell of her ear. “I am always a gentleman.” When he leans back, though, the smirk on his face has disappeared, as has the glint she swore she saw in his piercing blue eyes just moments before. “Now, tell me something about yourself that you would tell a man interested in courting you.”

“Can I ask you a question then?” 

“Fact first, then you can ask whatever you want.” 

“What if I want you to ask me a question instead of just spewing facts for you?” 

“Is that your question?” 

She hits him gently on the shoulder with the hand placed there. “Of course not.” 

“If that’s the game you would like to play, then we can do it that way.” 

“Ask away, then.” 

“Where and when were you born?” 

She feels her heart squeeze in her chest. It’s an innocent enough question, of course, and there is no way for him to know just how much it hurts her to think of that time. Of any time. “Some time around the end of October, 1929.” She swallows, taking a small breath. “And I don’t know exactly where or when I was born. I was raised in an orphanage in Boston, Massachusetts, dropped off just a few days old.” 

She flicks her eyes up to his, which is a mistake, because she does not need her gaze to linger there long to notice the sadness that has flooded his eyes. “I’m sorry, that must have been terrible.” 

The few times she has needed to speak of her childhood, she has shrugged it off, offered some sort of snarky comment about how it wasn’t great or could have been better, but when she goes to do the same to Killian, the words simply don’t come. 

So she shrugs. A beat passes between them, and all she can do to fill the silence is ask her own question. 

“What happened to your hand?” 

He does not say anything at first, does not do anything — even his movements cease, stilling them for a few moments before he finally starts speaking.

“My brother and I were in the Navy. Or, well, I suppose he still is.” When she looks up at him, his eyes are set on the ceiling above them, his tongue quickly darting out of his mouth to wet his lips before he continues. “A few years ago, I was involved with an accident that happened on the base I was working on, when one of the engines malfunctioned. And, as an engineer, I was put in charge of the team that was to bring the ship to dock and fix the malfunction, but the issue wasn’t in the engine, but in one of the pieces that connect the engine to the propellers. But, as I was working with removing the propeller, the problem decided to not be a problem anymore, and the engine came back to life before I could remove my hand from where I was trying to fix it.” 

He pauses, taking a deep, slow breath that he releases quickly before finally turning his gaze back to hers, though she has been watching his face the whole time. “Thankfully the Navy paid for all of it, for the replacement and the physical therapy and everything, so the technology of it is actually phenomenal, though that doesn’t make me miss the one I lost any less.” 

“Of course,” she whispers, and the corner of his lips ticks up in the beginnings of a smile. A moment of silence passes between them before Emma decides to change the subject: “Your turn.” 

With his dark eyebrows set low on his forehead, she can tell that he is working to think of another question. “What made you stay here for sixty years?” 

“Fear,” she says quickly, then shakes her head. “At first. I never really had a family in Boston, never had anyone that would have been worth waiting for, but I was afraid of what I would find if I did decide to move on. And then Mary Margaret, the woman that was working at the desk when I got here, and her husband David, became my adopted parents, of sorts. The first family I ever had. And since I found them here, I realized that maybe this was exactly where I was supposed to be.” 

This answer is much happier than the last, shown both by the smile that now covers Killian’s face, and the one she finds growing across her own. 

“It might sound a little stupid, of course, but —”

“I don’t think it sounds stupid at all, Emma,” he says, his voice soft. “I think it makes perfect sense.” 

There is something else there, something in his eyes that goes far beyond the words he just said, and though Emma sees it, recognizes it, she chooses to ignore it. They’re in no hurry, they have all the time in the world, she realizes, laughing as she asks him why he always brings a book with him, and the tips of his ears turn red with embarrassment when he tells her that he always wished he had more time to read, and when he got here and realized that time is all he has now, he knew that was going to be how he passed the hours. They pass a few more questions back and forth, sometimes letting minutes of silence pass between them before one of them takes their turn. Before too long, most of the bar has left them behind, and with a few stragglers spread across the long marble bar, they are some of the last patrons for the night.

“Can I ask you about him?” he asks finally, his voice soft, almost as if he was afraid to ruin the feel of the room around them. When she turns his attention up to him, hoping to search his face to make sure he is asking what she thinks he is, his eyes are turned down to the floor between them.

“He wasn’t…” she starts, laughing to herself for a moment before she continues. “There’s not much to say. He wasn’t who he said he was, and he wasn’t… he wasn’t the right one, alright?” 

“You fell for the wrong one,” he says, and it’s not a question. When he finally raises his eyes to meet hers, she pushes down the idea that the blue of them is somehow filled with understanding. 

“Yeah,” she breathes. 

“Me too.” 

She doesn’t expect it, was not going to ask about his soulmate, and she has no idea how to respond. 

“She lied to me about so many things, didn’t tell me that she was already married, and then she — Christ, she… she shot me. She killed me. Everything went dark for just a second, and then I was — I was in the lobby here, with an absolutely perfect angel standing in front of me.”

“Oh, come on,” she jokes, hitting his shoulder lightly before leading her hand back to meet his. But instead of taking her hand again, he lets go of her to reach down and pull the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow. 

All of the air in the room leaves, including what was in her lungs. It’s the last thing she expected to see, had never even heard of soulmates who met each other in the afterlife, something she had led herself to believe was impossible. But there, right before her, is all the evidence she needs to know that not all hope had been lost for her yet. Right there, tattooed on the wrist Killian still has, is her name, her “Swan.”

“How long have you known?” she asks, but because she still has not regained the ability to breathe, she finds herself reaching to splay her hands against his chest, stopping herself from collapsing. It’s been years since she last swam, but she vaguely remembers the feeling of drowning, of water filling up her mouth, her throat. If she’s remembering it correctly, that is exactly what she feels right now.

“I had an idea when you first introduced yourself to me, but when I kept seeing you around, I was really hoping that it would be you.” Everything drops out from around her. She's not drowning anymore. She's floating, only anchored to the ground by the warmth of his hard chest under her hands.

"Why haven't you said something? Why did you even allow me to go through this whole night just talking to you?" 

He sighs, an embarrassed smile growing across his face. "I needed to know. I needed to be sure that you were interested in me beyond my name on your wrist, because that's how Mi — that was all she cared about." His words are careful, proof that he has been thinking about this, worrying about this — but it is the sincerity awash in his pale blue eyes that really gets to her. "I needed you to like me for me, needed you to like Killian Jones before you knew that maybe I was the one with your name on my wrist, the one who went through my entire life on Earth wondering who 'Swan' was, wondering when I would find her. The one I thought about when I realized what I had with Milah was fake."  

"Killian," she breathes, not even meaning to sway closer into his space, but she does anyway — until she realizes something  “That means…” she trails off, pulling the sleeve of her own sweater up to reveal the scribbles that she stopped really caring about when she was 22, that she wondered why the world was cruel enough to give her without ever giving her the chance to care about them, up until those very last minutes. “That means these scribbles are yours.” 

“Aye,” he whispers, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers, his arms wrapping around her waist. “Those are, in fact, my scribbles,” he jokes, smiling at her. 

And then the feel of his arms around her is nothing compared to the perfect feel of their lips meeting, to the comfort that she finds when he slides his tongue against hers. 

Nothing compared to the warmth of his body against hers when the elevator finally deposits them outside their neighboring doors and he pulls her inside his and pushes her against the door, as he presses soft kisses along as much of her skin as he can reach, his lips following his hands as he starts to memorize every inch of her. Nothing compared to the way he worships her body and soul together the way that only a true soulmate can before she collapses beside him and curls up under the covers of his bed. 

However, when she wakes beside him the next morning, and for every subsequent morning after that, his hand heavy on her hip and his breath hot on her back, she can swear that she has never felt more complete in her life — or her death —  then she does here, spending the rest of eternity beside her soulmate. 

[multsicorn]

multsicorn’s infinite fic playlist

some friends in a chat were talking about comfort fic!  so I have Made A List.  Ten of my very favorite fics to reread when I need a boost, in ten different fandoms.  In no order.  And with no particular theme, that I can tell.  They’re probably all more-or-less mostly self-contained enough to work even if you don’t know the canon?  Certainly the Hockey RPF fic is (cause I don’t know anything about the canon there!), and who doesn’t know HP, etc....

.... four are about fucked-up families, (cause I find that cathartic, and people dealing with it comforting), two are polyfic, (because more relationships interacting to me means ~more love~), three are really mostly about the ~feel~ of the universe, (the fun mundanity of a not-quite-mundane canon universe! or of a perfectly balanced space au), and then the last one is... about how to know if you’re in love on one side of it, and about how to get over it on the other (because how does one romance).

the ones about fucked-up families:

When The Lights Go Out, Will You Take Me With You? by narceus (Glee, Kurt/Blaine, m, ~11k).  I love the way that it punches out my heart and then puts it back together?  Lmao, that’s very personal.  But I love the way that - what can I say.  This isn’t a fic about romance, it’s a fic about family - well.  How sometimes your family is your boyfriend, and your mutual friends, how sometimes ‘family’ is something you have to leave, and real family is something you build.  ‘This is exactly what it’s like,’ and it’s wish-fulfillment, and, yes, somehow it’s both of those things.

You can run away with me any time you want.

Come Marching Home by ossapher (American Revolution RPF/Hamilton, Hamilton/Laurens, t, ~9k).  Fraught relationships with family members who think they love you but they really really don’t are my jam, and the way that this fic deals with a younger still-dependent sibling who’s caught in the middle between John and his horrible father is especially my jam.  Also, fics that transform a complicated set of characters/relationships/etc. from canon to a completely other setting thoughtfully, which this fic ‘verse has a lot of fun with.

John Laurens attempts to reconcile with his U.S. Senator dad after years of minimal contact. It's family, though, so nothing goes as planned.

Theft of Assets, Destruction of Property by Helenish (Harry Potter, Draco/Neville, e, ~23k).  I love the way that Draco here builds a life up out of nothing.  It’s very cozy from one angle, full of cooking and baking and making a house a home, but it also goes hard on the way that abused children will internalize their situation as the expected baseline of life, which I appreciate very much.

Surely it is a mistake to allow a single youthful indiscretion to cloud an already promising career.

A Month of Sundays by Kelfin (Hockey RPF, Erik Johnson/Gabriel Landeskog, m, ~69k).  I love the push-pull of a relationship that naturally slides very quickly into something very close and intimate, that keeps being pulled back from that by Erik’s internalized homophobia.  I love the way the story negotiates the very real knock-on effects of that on Gabe, his maybe-maybe-not partner, and the way the Erik negotiates ‘I love my family... but they don’t love me.’

Unlike some guys, who freak out when things get even a little bit gay, Erik is fine with this stuff. Erik's not even fazed when Gabe's attempts at flirting with him start to get semi-public, a fact that, by his own judgment, makes him at least five to seven times more tolerant than your average forward-thinking American.

the polyfics:

Everything That You Can Keep by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (Vorkosigan Saga, Aral/Jole, backgroundy Aral/Cordelia, e, ~30k).  I love this story’s negotiation of not just polyamory (and I love negotiation of polyamory stories - how two people in one relationship share feelings about yet another person, and figure things out? yes, please), but specifically of all the added complications that come out in the highly hierarchical, secretive, and loyalty-based Vor society.  When even asking about asking is a matter of trust, requested and given?  That goes straight to my id.

The impossible takes a little more time, a lot of negotiation.

Love: The Package Deal by jjtaylor (Bandom, Frank/Gerard/Lindsey/Jamia, m, ~30k).  I love the way that the different relationships are layered over and relate to each other - that’s one of the big things I like about polyfic - and the way that the amnesia smashes them together by bringing a past relationship to the present, while making the present one abstract and back to square one.  I love how the amnesia in fact smashes together all the highs and lows of eventful years’ worth of Gerard’s life: artistic success, problems with drugs and addiction... they’re all right there waiting for you.

Gerard gets a special kind of amnesia. Frank gets to reexamine his idea of acceptable relationship structures. Lots of people fail to communicate effectively, but they all sure remember how to kiss.

the cozy weirdness of the universe:

it's a new craze by attheborder (Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, t, ~6k).  The development of the relationship strikes a nice balance between angst and sweetness, but what I really come back to this fic for is the fictional advice podcast!  That Aziraphale and Crowley start together, which it’s about, and the way that they sprinkle their up-close experience of history into their discussion on it - and then the way that the fandom latches onto and tries to make sense of that.  It is just, purely, A DELIGHT.

CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan. AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we? CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all. AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous. CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not.

***

Crowley and Aziraphale are very possibly the people least qualified, on the entire planet, to start up an advice podcast.

But what else is there to do when the world isn’t ending anytime soon, you’re technically on indefinite sabbatical from your lifelong careers, and you need a plausible excuse to spend more time with your best friend who you’re definitely not, absolutely not, maybe just a little, actually maybe overwhelmingly in love with?

A Resolution of Territory by arboretum (Hikaru no Go, Hikaru/Akira, e, ~10k).  I just love imagining spending my life playing Go, okay!  This fic is wonderfully immersive in a weird-but-good everyday reality, of spending your whole life immersed in a game that just fascinates you, alongside your friends - and your boyfriend, too, which is to say, the one person who shares your fascination in the most direct and deepest and mutually obsessive way.  Eventually he’s your boyfriend, of course.

The point is, life is hectic, but it's good.

The Vastness of Space by shysweetthing (Yuri on Ice, Victor/Yuuri, e, ~17k).  I love the way that the space setting here gives scope for best-friends-and-partners, for cute and amusing low-stakes shenanigans and then cleverly solved higher-stakes adventure.  I love how sweet Victor and Yuuri are in caring for each other in dire circumstances, and why they both see each other as beyond their reach in the context of this imagined world.

As chief communications officer on board the Interstellar Alliance Fleet’s Star Ship Victory, Yuuri doesn’t have to think about who he actually is on his home planet. He just has to listen to his captain, do his job, and…not fall in love with his best friend, the ship’s science officer, Victor Nikiforov.

Well. Two out of three’s not bad.

Then his mother calls with the worst possible news: She, the Empress of New Nihon, has arranged Yuuri’s marriage. There’s only one thing Yuuri can do: Fake a boyfriend, and fake one fast. Who better/worse to play that role than the friend he wishes was more? What can go wrong? It’s not like Yuuri can fall more in love...

the how does romance (with my beloved controversial otp):

if you change your mind by leetlebird (Check, Please!, Jack/Parse, e, ~35k).  I love the way this story shows Jack trying to work out what love means for him, anyway, and Kent learning to deal with and work around feelings that he thinks for most of the story are unrequited.  And the cozy jury-rigged domesticity of especially the final chapters/scenes.

Beneath the table, Jack’s hand squeezes around Kent’s knee. And -- Kent forgets. For just a few seconds, he forgets that they can’t be together, that Jack doesn’t want him in that way, that he’s trying to move on.

“We’re friends, right?” Jack says.

“Yeah, Zimms,” he says. “We’re friends.”

Or: Kent and Jack are friends, then friends-with-benefits, then maybe something more. Kent isn’t sure.

[mirohed]

park seonghwa | the trouble with twenty

pairing: park seonghwa + fem!reader (theres ONE mention of the reader being female im kinda mad i thought this was gender neutral the whole time)

wc: 3.0k

genre: fluff and angst (but the fluff wins)

warning: mentions of death

concept: when you fall in love with someone that isn’t your soulmate, you give a piece of your soul to them; failure to find your soulmate before running out of soul to give results in one’s death + you stop physically aging when you hit the age of twenty.

a/n: ok holy shit i ,, never finish my wips 99% of the time so im glad this could b the 1% !! s/o to @akokj @cheelix @lvryeol @trulyjaehyuk & finally a big big thank you to one of my irls who’s been w it since its beginnings in early january SDHJS

The universe, you find, seems to work in mysterious ways; you meet your first boyfriend in high school. The both of you are wide-eyed teenagers with no sense of how love works, but it's fine as long as you're together. It's Jongho that sits across from you at the diner and sips from your shared milkshake. It's Jongho that takes you to drive-in theaters and plants a nervous kiss to your lips on the ride home.

It's a sweet love that blooms in the summer, a whirlwind sweeping you higher and higher, and you relish the view. Being with him comes with this sweet, bubbling feeling ("Like soda?" he had joked one afternoon) that begins in the pit of your stomach, spreading outward until you sport matching carefree grins and aching cheeks.

The year is 1939, and you're on the cusp of your nineteenth birthday when all that has gone up begins to come crashing down.

You're about to fall asleep one night when you sit up, a sharp pain shooting through your whole body. You know what this feeling is; you've had to help Jongho through it when he went through the same thing.

Everyone says losing a part of one's soul is both a tragedy and an expected outcome. You've always maintained the opinion that the universe enacts its own cruel, unusual punishment on those who love anyone besides their fated partner. Those you love more than life itself are the ones who end up killing you.

Loving Jongho burns. It sears your whole body with an inhuman heat, and your mouth opens in a silent, pained scream.

And just as quickly as it had come, the pain vanishes, leaving a faint heat under your skin.

You turn nineteen. You still live in the same town you were born in. You reexamine your life.

Growing old isn't for you; too much to do, too much to see. You're meant for things greater than wasting away as his housewife and nursing his children.

A few nights later, you disappear with nothing but a few bags, whatever fuel remains in your car, and the road ahead to keep you company.

You wish you could say you lose track of time from there, but you don't. Time passes, and the world patches itself from years of war and anger. You return to what could be considered the new normal a little hardened from harrowing times, but otherwise no worse for wear.

You spend time with others — enough to break a few hearts. The feeling of new life, pieces of other people’s souls, being breathed into skin that grows older is a high unlike any other. You push down any thoughts of love, running from town to town the second things feel too real for you. Your body stops aging, and it’s a little jarring at first, but you grow used to seeing a twenty-year-old you in the mirror, even as you age far past it.

Your friends and family are still alive and well. You write to them sometimes, letters with no return address. You know your family wants you back, wants you to find the one your soul aches for, wants you tied down. You tried to understand it, you really did, but all it got you were sympathetic looks and a divide that wedges itself deeper and deeper and deeper.

At some point you realize that the letters you wrote, once full of emotion, have become monotonous, mere updates with no real commentary. You stop writing them.

The transition from summer's vivid green to autumn's dusty orange marks your arrival in a new town. You're idly swirling a drink in your hands when you lock eyes with a leather-clad young man from across the bar.

It's 1953 when you meet Mingi. He's exhilaration, speeding down empty land on a motorcycle he keeps pristine. He's everything your parents might have frowned at, bruised and bloody knuckles that have seen one too many bar fights. You come to find that he keeps a surprisingly soft heart locked behind it, one that opens easily to you.

The two of you are on a road trip when you feel that familiar rush, and you help him pull over. He grips your hands, bites into the blanket in the backseat, until it's over. He lets you take the wheel until you reach a rest stop.

You remember the night you gave the second piece of your soul away. It's a chilly autumn night — your anniversary. You hadn't listened to him when he had told you to dress for cold weather, and you were paying the price. Shivering, you run your hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm up as you get off his motorcycle. It doesn't work, and Mingi notices, doing his best to hide a grin.

"What did I tell you?" he teases. You're about to open your mouth for a retort when he shrugs his jacket off (that same worn leather piece you saw a year ago) and helps you fit your arms in the sleeves. It's an action he's used to, but there's something about the atmosphere tonight that makes your breath hitch. You look up at him, and he grins before leaning in.

The kiss is slow, his mouth moving languidly against yours as the city sleeps below. He pulls away first, biting back a chuckle when your lips try to follow. “I love you,” he whispers as he pulls you into his embrace.

And again, the pain that makes your blood boil. Somewhere in the haze of pain, between bunching your hands in his shirt and loud curses into the night, you tell yourself this is the last time you give your soul to another.

You feel a subtle pain in your chest as you head to the next town, leaving Mingi and the memories in the rearview mirror.

Time passes, and you see enough winters to make you sick of snow. You become the longest-lived person in known history, and it makes you famous.

You're contacted to speak about your accounts from major historical events (none of which are particularly useful), and find yourself in movies and documentaries, on talk shows, and more than once as a speaker for a new museum. There was a point where you could turn a corner and someone would recognize you as the only living "immortal."

It's one of those corners turned, on one of those countless winters, that you run into a young man. You don’t miss the way he swallows lightly before clearing his throat to apologize.

You've long since lost track of time when you meet Hongjoong. (But if you had to give an estimate, you'd put it around the 21st century.) You don't think it matters when he takes you for coffee, pulling you into a cozy corner cafe. He draws you in, little by little, and you pretend to not notice.

Where he is open, you are closed — on your fifth date, he tells you that he doesn't think he'll find his soulmate anytime soon.

("The world is too big," he says, bumping shoulders as you walk side by side. "I'm too old to keep going."

"How old?" you ask. He hums, takes a preparatory sip from his drink.

"Almost forty by now, I think."

You wonder if he's forgotten that you must be more than twice his age. Instead you say, "Really? You don't look a day over twenty." He grins at that, a beautiful thing that leads to a laugh you could never tire of hearing.)

You stay with him for much longer than you need to, long after he's given one of the last pieces of his soul to you. You wait for the "right time" to leave, but the right time never comes. Time passes. Seasons change. The two of you stay together for many winters before you finally come to your senses.

It happens one morning when you wake up shivering because he's hogged the blanket (again). As you try to reclaim it, you feel the familiar heat threaten to boil over.

You barely manage to get to the bathroom before the pain begins to crash over you in full force. After it's over, you remove your hand from your mouth, refusing to look at the tooth marks left behind.

There’s no more waiting for the right time, you think over the klaxon that blares in your head. It’s here and now.

Leaving Hongjoong is a terrifying thought, and somehow even harder to follow through with. His love isn't like Jongho's, sweet and awkward; it isn't like Mingi's, a fast-paced adrenaline rush; it's different. Softer. He reminds you of home — or at least, as home as a person can get for someone like you.

And unlike with Jongho and Mingi, the thought of staying with Hongjoong is very realistic. You've caught yourself picturing it more than once, and had to chastise yourself each time.

You pack your things for the millionth time, but as you glance back at your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, you realize you can't just leave him without an explanation. The years you’ve spent together mean more to you than that.

Hongjoong wakes up hours later to a tear-stained letter. (By the time he finishes it, the ink is smudged and barely legible. His tears have mixed with yours in a sort of last kiss between them, and the thought causes him to sob once more.)

Joong,

If you’re reading this, I guess I must have already left. I wish things could be different I know you, and I already know that you’re gonna take this personally and blame yourself for not being enough. You are enough. You’re more than enough. I think I’m just selfish

Anyway I just want to thank you for...everything. The past few years have been better than I can express, and I think that’s what scares me. You’re the You’ll find your soulmate soon, whether they’re your meant to be or not. I’m sorry it couldn’t be me.

I love you.

Goodbye.

You definitely keep your guard up after that. Through every date you go on and every significant other you burn through, your walls stay up.

You've grown nostalgic over the past decade. Using the wildly advanced technology of who-knows-when, you track down a list of death sites.

You visit your family first. Your heart breaks a bit seeing the empty space in the shared family headstone. This was where you were supposed to be laid to rest. You turn away from the dilapidated cemetery, pulling up the coordinates to your next destination.

You find yourself staring at the fountain in the middle of a shopping mall. According to your holotech, this is where Jongho is buried. Your lips form a disapproving line as you close your eyes and try not to think about how he would have loved this place. You try not to think about him taking you here and nudging you in the direction of the arcade or food court as you rush out the doors.

They've gone and built a neighborhood over the cemetery where you would have found Mingi. From the looks of it, it looks like its residents are particularly affluent, and you can hear him snort in your ear. Even after years apart, you swear you can still smell the strong scent of cigarettes that followed him like a lost puppy. He would have hated his fate, and you offer a morbid chuckle in his memory.

You're crouched beside Hongjoong's tombstone, running a thumb over the warm stone. The birds chirp amongst themselves in a nearby tree, and you're thankful for the distraction. He wasn't buried with another person; you hope he managed to find someone regardless. You read the inscription — To you, forever and always — and swallow the lump of guilt that’s lodged itself in your throat.

It's on a calm spring morning that your holo rings. The centennial edition of a documentary you were in is currently being filmed, and the staff is requesting you interview with them again. You were going to accept anyway, but the producer piques your interest when she mentions another similarly...long-lived person. The trepidation in her voice is obvious, but you ignore it. Instead, you ask for the name of this immortal and to be interviewed with them. ("I thought I was the only one around," you had laughed into the phone. "It'd be good to make a new friend." The producer gave a pitying hum before agreeing.)

You try to search for any evidence of this new immortal, but come up with virtually nothing. You're more than a little disappointed that this person isn't milking their age for all it's worth, but you suppose they’re just more private than you are; after all, their existence is a relatively recent discovery.

When you first meet Seonghwa, you find it difficult to breathe. He's handsome, with a tall frame and a cute smile that would have caught your eye regardless.

Seeing him also hits you with a feeling you've dreaded for hundreds of years that makes your chest tighten. (In hindsight, you should have known exactly who he had to be, considering his similarly long life.) When you make eye contact, you can tell he feels the same immediate attraction. He has the audacity to smile.

"Finally," he murmurs. It's reverent, as if he's finally fulfilled his life's purpose. Your clench your jaw, ball your hands into fists so tight your knuckles go white, and narrow your eyes. Your heart's going a mile a minute, and you're choosing to interpret it as anger.

You've spent centuries building your fame on a foundation of nothing but broken hearts and your own ambition, and for what?

You're not sure how old you are when you find yourself on the downswing. You know that your body will start to physically age, and in about sixty years, you will have met the same fate as everyone you've left behind. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you swallow it, at least for the time being.

The interview goes off without a hitch, and you make to leave after thanking the staff when —

"Wait!" Biting back a curse, you continue moving (and make an effort to go faster). Unfortunately, Seonghwa's more than capable of keeping up with you.

"Look," he begins, running a hand through his hair, "I don't claim to know your relationship situation, but I'd at least like it if we were friends." He focuses on the polished toe of his shoe and gives an anxious chuckle that seems to be more for himself than you. "After all, we're soulmates. You might not believe in them, but I've imagined what it would be like to finally meet my soulmate since I was young."

You don't know how (you blame the universe), but you go out for lunch with him after that. Much of the meal is spent in silence (although you've got to take the blame for this one), and it's not until you're almost done that he strikes up a conversation.

"Were you hiding?" He twists the straw of his drink between two fingers before making eye contact.

"I don't hide. You've probably seen me around in some ad or another on the holo. Maybe even before that, when people still used computers and printed newspapers." He narrows his eyes a bit, trying to remember, but comes up with nothing. "I always thought it was you that hid. I've been all over the world, but this was the first time I've ever heard news of another immortal."

"I believe in fate. I've taken things as they came because I knew that in the end, it would be you and me. Turns out I was right."

You don't know how (you're still blaming the universe), but you exchange contact information. You go on more...friendly excursions with Seonghwa.

("Why not cut out the middleman and call them dates?" he asks, settling down on the couch next to you.

"They're not dates. We're not together, are we?" You turn the movie on, marking the end of the conversation.

When you fall asleep latched onto his arm, your head on his shoulder, he plants a soft kiss on your forehead. You wake up that morning wrapped in a blanket that wasn't there last night.)

You don't know how (actually, you do), but "friendly excursions" eventually turn into dates.

(The two of you sit at a park bench, listening to rustling leaves and the distant noise of cars passing.

"Is this a date?" you ask, taking a spoonful of his ice cream, your own sitting empty on your lap.

"They're not dates," Seonghwa parrots. "We're not together, are we?"

"Let's change that. Date me?"

"I thought you'd never ask.")

Dating Seonghwa is much like being wrapped in a warm blanket. He's caring and sweet and so thoughtful that it makes your head spin. You realize that somewhere along the way, you had lost the joy and wonder that came with life. Luckily for you, each date (whether it's a shared pizza in his apartment or a hike somewhere new) restores an optimism that you didn’t know you missed.

Decades pass, and the two of you are on your daily walk. Your bodies start to show their age, but when you look in the mirror, you still see youth alight in your eyes.

("When we first met, I thought that it was all downhill from there, but I was proven wrong."

"It's been a long time since I've heard you say you were wrong."

"And each time, I tell you to not get used to it.")

When the life slips away from you both, you promise to meet each other in the next life and every one that follows.

The universe, as mysteriously as it may work, hears this request and tucks it away, ready to see it through.

[bleuberries-and-video-games]

For future reference to anyone who feels the need to remind me I can be a shitty person, know this:

Currently I am 3 days from college starting. I am taking some bullshit hard classes.

On top of that, my father decided to not pay half my college because he cannot afford it, even though he can afford a lawyer, a trip to a camping resort, and several other larger expenses. He plans on pretty much fucking over my little brother, my mother, everyone in my close family for no good reason than him being a jackass.

ON TOP OF THAT, I have to pay it. And for my books. AND for my insurance, my car payment, EVERYTHING. I am going to be SO fucking low on cash, I will not be able to do SHIT beyond sit and breathe.

FINALLY ON TOP OF THAT, I am leaving the country over spring break for a study abroad. I am going to Japan. I am nervous about it.

I am mentally exhausted, physically strained, and ready to just fucking snap.

So MAYBE, just MAYBE, instead of dancing around the subject, wasting my time and yours, and ultimately just going "Fuck you!" and leaving, maybe try, just TRY to talk it out. Maybe you'll find out I wasn't comfortable with the extent shit went to. Maybe you'll find out I was delirious and tired. Maybe I am just sick and tired of having to deal with some jackass' fucking bullshit every five seconds. You wanna move on? Fine, move on. Leave me alone. Leave my life alone. The minute you asked for it, I accommodated. In fact, I bent over backwards to accommodate. I moved on, I made jokes, I laugh, grumble, and do shit. But I don't fucking talk to you. I barely talk ABOUT you. I don't even NAME you if I DO. Why?

Cause I am sick and tired of him white knighting you. I am sick and tired if being reminded, BY YOUR PRESEBNCE, that I hurt people, mess up, and burn bridges, intentional or not. I am SICK AND TIRED of having to walk on eggshells because of it. It is infuriating. It is infuriating to recall being manipulated, looked down upon by, and hurt by someone close to you. It is infuriating that you think us talking about that jackass is anything close to talking about you. To put it simply, it is infuriating to even consider the fact that had this shit not happened, we'd still be friends of some kind.

But we aren't. We aren't because of a lot of my own actions, and a lot of idiotic things HE did. I will own up to my mistakes. He has yet to own up to his in regards to me, in regards to others, and in regards to SO MUCH. Until that bastard apologizes for everything he did that even REMOTELY hurt me, my self esteem, my friends, and SO MUCH MORE, until he fucking makes up for just how much he did, I will present him EXACTLY as he was towards all of us.

If you do not like what that reflects in you, if you cannot STAND hearing it, then examine who you keep as company, and why they are there, cause it aint very hard to see what kinda person he is towards people.

It ain't your job to fix him, it ain't your job to be anything short of a FUCKING PERSON.

Leave me alone. I am tired of this, of you, till you said anything I was doing fine all things considered. You broke the FUCKING dam. So unless you wanna start back at square one and reexamine the context of things, talk shit out, fuckin anything really, I am so fucking done. I have enough on my plate as is, I do not need you coming by and reminding me "Hey, you're a shitty person." "Hey, look, you did this." "Hey, fucking look, you're a shitty person." I know that, every god DAMN day, I know that.

[daisywords]

Characters But No Plot?

I’ve been struggling with the exact same issue for a long time, and now I feel like my wip is finally emerging (albeit slowly) from its chrysalis with maybe some semblance of a plot !? so here’s what I’ve learned:

So you have characters? lovely.

You have a setting? amazing.

You don’t have anything remotely resembling a plot? relatable, my dude.

So here’s what we’re going to do:

Step 1: feel out the general aesthetic/baseline that you want the plot to involve—epic battles? ocean’s-eleven-esqe heist? long meandering quest? political intrigue? lots of romance? tons of secrets? self discovery? solving mysteries? petty drama?

how big of a scale will this plot be on? what are the stakes?

is the fate of the world at risk? or just the fate of a relationship? are multiple countries in play, or do the characters never leave their small town?

This will depend on the characters you have, if their backstories are already fleshed out. And obviously the setting and worldbuilding you’ve already done.

Don’t be afraid to have a tight story with relatively small stakes. Not everything has to be about saving the whole world. On the other hand, if you’re really feeling juggling all the politics and diplomacy across an entire continent, you do you.

Step 2: Mash your setting and characters. It’s time to get more specific with all your enlightenment from step one.

Think about your setting, your world—what kinds of problems could exist that match the kind of plot you wanted in step one?

Which problems would specifically apply/relate to your characters?

Specific is the key. Don’t just give me “a war” or “a monster” or “an oppressive government.” Give me “Tina can’t get the supplies she needs for her healing spells because the collapse of a neighboring country’s government really did a number on the safety/success rate of trade routes” or “Prince Gary’s four older brothers have all mysteriously died, and now he’s the heir to the throne, even though he’s been raised in a monastery since he was three and has no idea what’s going on.”

Step 2.5: Why is your main character the Main Character? Or: Make the Stakes Personal

Part of specific is specific to your character. Your protagonist doens’t need to be some over-candied mary sue chosen one. But they need to be relevant. So make the plot/problem relevant to them, in a way that it isn’t relevant to others.

Sure, Tina could just shut her witch-doctor business down, except now her sister has the plague and she really needs that healing spell, so Tina’s just going to have to journey into anarchy-land to get that frickin flower, now isn’t she

Gary could just do what he’s told and shrug his shoulders’ except looks like his brothers were assassinated and he’s the next target. Hard to relax when you’re personally fearing for your life and can’t trust anyone around you.

Except maybe things aren’t working out. Maybe you don’t want to write about Tina or Gary as your precious MC.

Maybe you want to write about a young apprentice named Jane, or a cowardly monk named Sebastian.

So maybe little Jane is the one with the sick sister, the one who begs Tina for the cure, and sets off to find that missing ingredient when Tina explains the problem.

Or maybe Sebastian, Gary’s friend from the monastery is brought along as court scholar, and it’s he who has to prevent Gary’s assassination, because Gary won’t believe that he’s in danger.

Basically: What motivates your MC to get involved in all this nasty business in the first place?

Step 3: Who/What is your antagonist?

You know that problem? The one that’s going to suck for your poor little protagonist? Put a face on it. You might already have a fleshed out antagonist. Great.

(You might not want one specific person, and that’s fine. Man vs. society, man vs. nature, etc. stories can be great and you do you. But I’m going to discuss this like a single person for now.)

Ok so the problem. It’s now caused by a person. Was this intentional, or just a side effect of some bigger plan? What is that plan? What is concrete thing is motivating the antagonist? What inner desire is motivating the antagonist?

Warlord Ren, who overthrew Westland’s government, doesn’t care about Jay’s sister. He probably isn’t even aware that people in Eastland can’t get their medicine. He definitely isn’t doing any of this to hurt Jane. In fact Warlord Ren is the leader of a once-marginalized group in Westland, who were sick of being treated as second-class citizens. Warlord Ren is out for revenge. Violent Revenge.

Lizzy, Gary’s first cousin once-removed, has a two-year-old son who just happens to be next in line for the throne after Gary. If her son were to become the heir, she could be guaranteed lifelong financial security and independence—and the ability to leave her terrible marriage. Too bad so many people have to die.

Step 4: What logical step would your protagonist take to solve their problem?

This is where things start being a plot. Like you get real events.

It goes like this: action > consequence > (re)action > consequence etc etcetec

Once the consequences extend wide enough that they affect the antagonist, that’s when we get the actual protagonist vs. antagonist dynamic we know and love.

So the consequences can start being actions of the antagonist as well.

There’s safety in numbers, so Jane teams up with a caravan also trying to cross Westland. But they turn out to be thieves, who rob her blind the first night on the road.

Sebastian, worried about Gary being poisoned, insists on being present for the entire preparation and serving process of anything Gary eats. However, Gary finds this unnecessary and frustrating, causing friction in their friendship. Better/worse yet, Lizzy hears about this arrangement, and thus knows that Sebastian is on her trail. Maybe she’ll try to discredit him, or get him thrown out of court. Maybe she’ll even frame him for an assassination attempt.

Step 4.5: Put your characters where the action is.

I feel like this is one of the main problems people run into when they kinda have the basis of a plot (the problem) but no real events: The most interesting things are happening elsewhere and are heard about in passing, instead of actually becoming those real plot events.

Bonus: Not sure where the action is? Try this: put your characters where the antagonist is.

This seems obvious, but sometimes it’s hard, because you have to reframe the concept you’ve had in your head for so long. You have to be flexible. You have to be willing to deviate from your original vision. You also have to maneuver things around sometimes in unexpected ways. But guess what? You’re in charge.

Maybe Warlord Ren is up to some wicked schemes. You wanted your story to be all about Jane’s quest through Westland. But if Jane just keeps traveling through different towns and getting stuck in different shenanigans, she’s never going to even hear about those wicked schemes, let alone be put into direct conflict with Warlord Ren. So we sacrifice our journey narrative a little to really spice things up: Jane joins Ren’s army. After all, she was just robbed; if she joins just until the next paycheck, she’ll be able to have the means to continue her journey.

Sebastian, a court scholar, wouldn’t be along on a hunting trip, right? so I guess he’s just have to hear about Gary’s near-death “accident” after the fact, right? Wrong. Turns out Gary feels bad after their fight about “poison paranoia” and invites Sebastian along on the trip. It’s very unconventional, but Gary wasn’t raised as a prince, remember? And the crown prince gets what he wants. Good thing Sebastion is going to be right next to Gary to keep that accident just “nearly fatal” instead of full-on fatal.

Step 5: Reexamine the problem(s)

So things should have escalated by now. Maybe the initial problem is what drew our MC into this whole mess, but things should be a lot messier by now.

So we’re supposed to have a climax, right? But how?

Do not fear, friend. Here’s what we need:

- The most exciting/action based problem

- The problem that tests your character/engages internal conflict the most

- the original problem (from the beginning)

And now put them in the blender. Turn it on. That’s good. A good smoothie. It’s climax flavored. It’s exciting. It’s action-packed. It’s emotionally compelling. It’s structurally sound and resonant.

Jane has turned out to be quite a capable soldier. She’s managed to get quite high in the ranks, and has managed to impress Warlord Ren himself. The trouble is, she’s had to do more and more things she feels wrong about, and is slowly losing the ability to justify her actions based on her desire to save her sister. She’s also witnessed the harsh punishments given to attempted deserters, which makes her plan to join only for a little while seem less feasible. Now, Jane’s been given an assignment to lead a squadron on a killing spree, of people who she suspects are just innocent civilians. If she follows orders, she will be awarded a high-ranking position, granting her the ability to ensure a safe trade route so her sister an finally get her medicine. But this still doesn’t feel right…

Lizzy has successfully framed Sebastion for attempting to assassinate Gary. Sebastian is now facing execution. His friendship with Gary is severely damaged, maybe even beyond repair. Gary believes that he really is guilty. But that’s not all: Sebastian knows that Lizzy has plans to kill Gary herself that very night, while he is locked in the dungeon. Even if he manages to break out, Sebastian has always been a nonviolent pacifist. Will he choose to use violence in order to save his friend, even thought Gary doesn’t trust him?

Step 6: Resolve Everything

And that’s all, folks