#pour one out for ao3

[humanityinahandbag]

Steddie: Wayne the Matchmaker (Part 1?)

Wayne wasn't born yesterday.

He knows full well that his nephew, his boy, is far gone for the Harrington kid. Knows it in the way he sighs, the way he drapes himself over the couch. Knows it in the way lyrics pour out of Eddie's room while he tries to write songs (just last Tuesday he heard Eddie muttering goddammit what rhymes with chest hair from behind his bedroom door).

So it isn't much of a surprise to see Eddie swooning quietly by the front door as he shoves his feet into ratty sneakers, a red car waiting in the driveway. Government hush money had been enough for Wayne to take less shifts, to put some away for Eddie's future, and to buy a modest one floor ranch house on a tree lined street closer to his boy's new friends.

Including the one currently walking carefully around the newly planted posies towards the front door.

"You seein' that Harrington boy again?" he asks.

Eddie's face went pink, and he ducked down pretending to look through his backpack for something. "Yeah," he says behind a curtain of hair. "We're going to the movies."

"S'nice. What are you seein'?"

"Uh, the new David Bowie thing. Labyrinth."

Wayne ignores how Eddie phrases it, like he hadn't been bouncing off the walls to see that little David Bowie Thing when the posters first showed up outside Melvalds. "Doesn't much seem his taste. He choose it?"

"Yeah, he-" Eddie stops and looks up. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do that," Eddie says, fixing his Uncle with a frosty stare. "I know what you're doing, and we're just- we're friends. He's- he likes his ex. You should see them, honestly. They're like, perfect together. Dream couple." As if Wayne didn't hear the sorrow behind his tone.

"Mmmhm," says Wayne. "You sure?"

Eddie didn't get a chance to rebuttal when the door was knocked. Wayne opens it before he could.

"Hi, sir." Always polite this one. Steve's wearing a polo shirt and light wash jeans. It all looks newly pressed. And if he breathes in- yup. That's definitely cologne. "Uh, I'm here for Eddie?"

"Yeah, he's here. You wanna come in-"

"He doesn't." Eddie pops out from behind the door, glaring over his shoulder at Wayne. "C'mon, Stevie! We'll miss the previews!"

"Bye, Mr. Munson!" Steve calls over his shoulder. He grabs Eddie by the back of the collar, tugging him backwards, laughing and racing him to the car.

And well. This just wouldn't do.

-

Wayne never pretended to know a whole lot about love. He'd had his flings back in the day, but life had given him more curveballs than he'd been able to catch at once.

Not that he was complaining. Eddie was one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

But dammit if he didn't want the kid falling down the same hole he had.

Eddie deserves love. And Wayne figures that a few gentle nudges wouldn't hurt.

-

It starts with simple suggestion.

The next time Steve is at the front door, Wayne makes sure to distract Eddie with a well timed, "fix your hair," that had him scrambling for the bathroom, leaving Wayne alone with the Harrington boy.

"Steve," he says.

"Mr. Munson! Nice to see you. Um, we're just going to the arcade-"

"He likes sticky hands."

Steve blinks. "Sorry?"

"If you're gonna win him anything, get him one'a those sticky hands. It'll be hell on me, but he loves'm."

Steve nods, like it was precious information, perking up when Eddie breaks out of the bathroom.

When they get back, Eddie is considerably pinker, slapping everything around the house with a stupid pink sticky hand on a string.

"Steve won it for me," he says, as if daring Wayne to take it away.

Wayne only cracks another beer.

-

(He tells himself over and over that this is for the pursuit of love, even when he wants to shove Eddie out a window the fourth time a very sticky hand thwacks him on the back of his bald head.)

-

"He likes sunflowers," Wayne says the next time he sees Steve, which just so happens to be a week before graduation. Steve had arrived with a cake. A cake he baked. From scratch. Eddie had run to get his camera to take a picture and that was when Wayne got his chance.

Steve looks up at Wayne owlishly. "Sorry?"

"Sunflowers," Wayne repeats. "If you get him flowers for graduation, that's what he likes."

Steve nods seriously, brow drawn in thought. "Cool," he says finally. "Sunflowers."

Eddie gets sunflowers for graduation. He presses one of the petals between the pages of The Hobbit.

"Still think he's just a friend?" Wayne asks from the doorway.

Eddie traces the petal and closes the book. "It's enough," he says.

Wayne gives his nephew a long look. "You're allowed to like him."

"I know."

"No. You're allowed to like him," Wayne says again. "Like him like you like him."

Eddie stares at the petal. "I know," he says. And then; "I love him."

"I know," says Wayne and bundles Eddie into a hug.

-

Wayne gets to a point where he could gnaw through the walls of their new home, which he won't do, because Claudia Henderson chose the wallpaper and chewing on furniture is mostly frowned upon. But by god does he want to.

Wherever Eddie is, Steve follows. He appears at their front door to take Eddie on hikes. When he heard Eddie never learned to swim, he takes him to the quarry and Eddie comes back damp and flushed and Wayne guesses it has something to do with the shirtless boy in the driveway.

And yet through it all, Eddie doesn't see.

He doesn't see the long looks or the careful touches. Doesn't grasp the meaning behind Steve appearing one night with a bag of groceries and a smile and an announcement of I'm cooking you dinner! before making the best damn lasagne Wayne's ever had.

Instead, Eddie fawns and sighs and does everything he can to make Steve happy. Dotes and compliments and builds him up until Steve is red and spluttering and beaming.

Eddie is a good boy. Wayne raised a good boy, who loves fiercely and wholly, but somehow didn't think he was worth the same trouble.

And. Well. That just wouldn't do.

-

Wayne wants time to come up with some kind of a plan, but fate was a sporadic fucking asshole and chose for him. Which is how Wayne finds himself answering the phone on a Thursday to hear Steve's voice on the other line.

"Mr. Munson?"

"Steve. Eddie ain't home. He's at band practice."

"Oh," Steve says. "Right, uh. Can you tell him that I called?"

Wayne thinks a moment. "I can," he says, slowly. "But first, I'd like to talk to you."

A long pause. He can practically hear Steve sweating on the other line. "Me?"

"You," says Wayne. "S'only that you've been here an awful lot lately. Eddie's taken a real shine to you. You know that?"

"He's one of my closest friends, Mr. Munson."

"Mmmhm. An' I'm glad for him. But I don't mean like that."

He hears Steve suck in a breath on the other end. "Oh."

"Not that it's any of my business, an' maybe these old eyes are seein' things, but I catch you lookin' from time to time. Then again, I'm just an' old man-"

"You're not that old," Steve says. "And. Your eyes work great. Probably better than mine."

Good first step. Buttering up the parents.

"So. Just so we're on the same page, Mr. Munson. Eddie told me that you know about him. That he likes. Um. Yunno."

"Men."

"Yeah," says Steve, relieved. "Yeah, men, right. And so I was thinking the other day that I'm a man!"

"So you are," says Wayne.

"And it came to my attention a few months ago that people can like both. Which is- which is crazy. But I guess it's not so crazy. I used to work in an ice cream store and people would order the weirdest combos. Like... strawberry and pistachio? And I'd say, you can't like both! But then Robin told me I could."

"Steve."

"Right. So anyway. I've been spending all this time with Eddie. But I wasn't really sure. I mean, he can like men. But that doesn't mean he'd like my type of man. That I am. Man-wise."

Wayne hums. "And if I told you he did like your type of man? Man wise?"

"I'd probably ask if he liked Italian or Chinese, sir."

Outside Wayne can hear Eddie's van rolling back down the street. "He likes lo mein. No onions."

"Okay," breathes Steve.

"And even if he looks like an angry alley cat, the boy likes romance. You hear me, son? Candles, flowers, showin' up at windows."

"I can do that," says Steve. "I'm great at romance."

Eddie's car rolls into the driveway and Wayne looks out the window, waving to Eddie as he cuts the engine and the music and steps out. His boy stops to carefully step over the flowers first, waving back.

His good boy, who pours love out until he's empty and never complains. He deserves to have it poured back.

"You're welcome anytime, Steve," says Wayne earnestly. "Anyone who makes my boy as happy as he is- you're welcome anytime."

Eddie walks in as Wayne hangs up. "Who was that?"

Wayne tugs him into a hug. "No one," he says. And then, "go shower. You smell like Gareth's garage."

"Like a goddamn rockstar, you mean?" Eddie ducks away from a swat and laughs, running down the hall.

Like a kid in love, Wayne thinks, and turns on the game.

-

With ao3 being down (pour one out, I'm donating my life savings once they're back up) I got feral enough to write a one shot on here. I can't update my other Wayne Matchmaker fic. So. Yunno. This will have to do for now.

Does this need a part 2? You tell me.

LONGER, EDITED VERSION NOW ON AO3!

(IF I POST A PART 2 IT WILL BE THERE :D)

[sheliesshattered]

Sylki fic: When She Sings She Sings Come Home

Loki/Sylvie, 3200 words. Post s02e06 fix-it, angst with a happy ending. Also available on AO3 under the same title and username.

--

When She Sings She Sings Come Home

Sylvie wakes with Loki’s voice in her ears.

It’s been months since she last saw him, striding out to the Loom to save the timelines. Winter has come and gone, here in this little corner of a branch that she’s made her home. Every day that’s passed, she’s half expected to turn around and see him standing there, like that night he appeared in the parking lot next to her truck. But for months, there’s been nothing but the absence of him, growing larger and more crystalline every day.

She wakes with his voice in her ears, singing that ridiculous song from the train on Lamentis.

To Sylvie, everybody! he’d said, grinning at her, not drunk only too full. She would give anything to see him smile like that again. She would give anything to see him again.

And it isn’t that she hasn’t looked. Of course she had. She’d barely gotten through a single shift at McDonald’s after leaving Mobius standing outside his variant’s house before she’d used He Who Remain’s TemPad to try to find Loki.

He wasn’t dead. She knows he isn’t dead. But he also isn’t anywhere. There are an infinite number of branches now, layers of reality twisting around each other into something larger, a shape she can almost see, almost recognize. But Loki isn’t on any of them. No matter where she searches, he remains just outside her grasp.

Sylvie goes to work, she drives her truck home, she listens to music at the record store, she checks in on Mobius, she tries to sleep. But everywhere is marked by Loki’s absence, and every moment is overlaid with the sound of him singing.

She can’t find Loki, but that song is a thread she can pull at. Where did he learn it? The words were almost Asgardian, but not quite. Something similar, a branch of the original. A variant. Because of course it was.

It’s not until she thinks to quietly spy on the New Asgard settlement in Norway, forty years on from her quiet life in Oklahoma, that she hears the language again. Norwegian.

Remember this place, she hears Odin say, in a memory that is not hers, rippling through the interwoven timelines because it is what she needs in this moment. Home.

She turns her back on New Asgard, on the man who is almost but not quite her brother, on the Valkyrie who will come to lead their people like the hero out of a saga that Sylvie had once wished she could become. She turns her back, and walks into this strange, beautiful land. Norway. One tiny place on one tiny planet in one insignificant branch of the ever-growing tree of time, where the syllables are shaped into words that resonate with Loki’s voice from so long ago.

Sylvie wanders into pubs, into taverns, into bars, into concerts. She hums the few notes that never leave her head, and hopes to find someone who knows the song.

Until, miraculously, one day, she does.

“It’s an old drinking song,” the bearded man at the bar tells her, gesturing with his beer. “It’s about taking the long way home, but knowing you’ll get there in the end.”

“Can you teach it to me?” Sylvie asks, unblinking, gaze trained on the stranger’s face.

“For that, I will need a lot more beer.”

So she buys him beers. She coaxes the song out of him. She buys rounds for the whole bar, until they are all singing it. They teach her the words in Norwegian, teach her to shape the vowels as carefully as any incantation, and then teach her the meaning behind the words.

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone

Over the glacier I make my way

In the apple garden stands the maiden fair

and sings, “When will you come home?”

“You, I think,” her drunk bearded acquaintance says to her, “you are the maiden fair.”

“And what if I am?” Sylvie asks, raising her chin, still dead-sober despite the bourbon clutched in her hand.

“Then you must sing for him to come home!”

“From an apple orchard, if you can manage it,” leers his friend next to him.

“Will it work?” she hears herself say.

“Of course it will work! Music is magic. Galdr, they used to call it, in the old religion. The power of your voice to shape reality.” The man is drunk, but his words tug at something in Sylvie’s memory, long buried. “Sing, and he will come home.”

“As simple as that?”

The bearded man laughs uproariously. “When has love ever been simple?” he demands jovially. “When has magic ever been easy? But that does not mean it is not worth trying. There is beauty in the trying. There is love in the longing.” He’s slurring his words, barely managing to stay atop his barstool.

But he’s not wrong.

I know what kind of god I need to be, Loki had said, tears shining in his eyes. For you. For all of us.

But Sylvie is a god, too, she reminds herself, as she tosses back her bourbon and turns her back on the little Norwegian town, with the northern lights rippling over head. She’s not the goddess of chaos anymore, and she hasn’t felt mischievous since she was a child.

But the goddess of galdr, yes, that perhaps is something she could be.

She returns to her little Oklahoma town, cloud cover obliterating the stars, and drives her truck to the record store. There’s only one song she wants to hear, only one voice to sing it, but music has been her comfort since she came to this place, and she cannot simply become the goddess of music-turned-into-magic because she wishes it to be so. Music has been her shield, her cocoon, her comfort these long lonely months. Now she must learn to form it into other shapes, into weapons and tools. Into a lighthouse, shining out into the vast dark of the multiverse.

She taught herself enchantment, while running for her life from one apocalypse to the next. She can teach herself galdr in this quiet little record shop in this quiet little town.

Sylvie slides the headphones into place, and lets the music move through her.

Oh, sweet nothin'

She ain't got nothin' at all

Oh, sweet nothin'

She ain't got nothin' at all

But what if she had something? What if she had the one person who would make all of this worth it?

I know what kind of god I need to be, she tells herself. For you, Loki.

She murmurs the words along with the music, infusing them with intent, with magic.

And for one fraction of an instant, she can see him.

He’s alone, on the throne he never wanted, surrounded by the threads of the multiverse, pulsing green as they grow and twist. There is nothing, nothing else, only Loki alone in that vast emptiness, in that expanse of everything that ever was or ever could be.

His eyes are dull, unfocused, far away. And then— a flicker of recognition, a spark of life—

Sylvie loses the connection.

She’s alone on the sofa in the back of the record shop, with Lou Reed singing in her ears.

He ain’t got nothing at all

She drives home. She tries to sleep. She keeps hearing Loki’s voice, keeps seeing him alone in that emptiness. She murmurs into the darkness— not quite a song, not quite a spell—

But trees dance and waterfalls stop

When she sings, she sings “come home”

There is a shape to the enormity of what Loki has done. There is an order to the way the branches of the multiverse wrap around each other. It is just outside her grasp, but Sylvie feels that if she could just see the shape of it, she might understand.

She might be able to reach him.

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone she whispers to the emptiness of her tiny apartment, in this tiny town, in this little branch of a timeline, one miniscule part of a greater whole, and falls asleep dreaming of trees dancing, of waterfalls stopping, of Loki taking her outside the flow of time to tell her that there was no other way to keep her safe.

Sylvie wakes with her own voice in her ears.

The song is coursing through her, jeg saler min ganger, and she can feel the magic at her fingertips, on the tip of her tongue, pushing at the insides of her ribs, swelling her lungs and begging to be released.

I know what kind of god I need to be.

She gets into her truck and drives. North and east, away from everything she knows, vaguely towards those northern lights dancing over the fjords, too far away to reach on roads such as these.

But once upon a time, when she was very young, there was another road. A rainbow road, the Bifrost, that could take her anywhere just like magic.

Every bit of magic she has now she has taught herself. And this, too, this song swelling in her chest, is magic of her own making.

There is beauty in the trying. There is love in the longing.

She drives past fields of wheat and fields of corn, through days and nights, with the glare of the sun or the pattering of the rain against the windshield. Sylvie drives and drives and drives, and keeps the song tucked away inside her, growing in fury like a hurricane in a bottle, like the storm that had raged outside the night they met.

She drives until the scent of apples wafts through the open windows of the truck, and then she pulls over, knowing this was her destination all along.

Iðunn, a childhood memory whispers, too long ago now to have any meaning at all. The apples of eternity.

Home she thinks, and then hears, from a memory not her own:

Asgard’s not a place, it’s a people.

This could be Asgard. Asgard is where our people stand.

Her brother’s voice. The voice of the man who had once raised her as his daughter. The family she lost and can never regain, no matter what shape the multiverse twists itself into. Words reaching across time, across branching timelines, to reach her here and now, because it is what she needs to hear.

Sylvie climbs out of her truck and walks into the apple orchard and doesn’t look back.

She walks until she can no longer see the road from between the trunks and branches. She walks until there is nothing but the smell of apples, the soil under foot, and the sky over head. She walks until the song finally bursts out of her, all of her desperation and loneliness flooding out of her lungs to shake the very air around her, in the shape of words that are his but also hers, now.

But trees dance and waterfalls stop

When she sings, she sings “come home”

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone

Over the glacier I make my way

In the apple garden stands the maiden fair

and sings, “When will you come home?”

But trees dance and waterfalls stop

When she sings, she sings “come home”

When she sings, she sings “come home”

When she sings, she sings “come home”

When she sings, she sings “come home!”

And then he is there, standing beside her in the sunshine and the scent of the apple orchard. Loki glances around at the trees dancing in the wind, his eyes bright, before his gaze snaps to hers.

“You’re here,” Sylvie croaks, her voice burned through with the force of the magic that poured out of her, the magic that’s brought Loki to her.

“No, not really,” he says, his eyes never still as they trace over her face. “I’m still there too. I’m sort of everywhere, really. It’s hard to explain.”

“Help me to understand,” she says before the words even have the chance to fade away. “You said you knew what kind of god you needed to be. You saved us, you saved everything, and then you disappeared. Make me understand.”

“I can’t, Sylvie,” Loki says gently, and there is a sorrow in his eyes deeper than oceans, more boundless than the vastness of space. “It’s been centuries for me. Lifetimes. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Enchant me, he had begged her once, standing in the McDonald’s parking lot in his ridiculous TVA uniform. You can see what I saw.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she tells him, raising her hands slowly towards his face, green magic flickering between her fingers. “Just let me see what you saw.”

“Sylvie,” he starts, and there are tears in his eyes again, like there were in that last moment before he turned his back on her to destroy the Loom.

“We’re the same, remember?” she says, and if her voice cracks it is only because of the abuse it’s suffered, only because of the magic that poured out through her vocal chords to shape reality to her desires. “You shouldn’t have to bear this burden alone, Loki,” she tells him, with as much tenderness as she can force into her ruined voice. “Let me understand.”

“It was the only way,” he says, as if in warning, but Sylvie cups his face in her hands before the tears can fall from his eyes.

Centuries. Lifetimes. The same day, over and over again. Reality unspooling, starting with Victor Timely and ending with her, again and again. Their fight in the Citadel at the end of time, relived hundreds of times, always with the same ending. Always the death of He Who Remains, and the unraveling of everything, failure after failure after failure.

And yet in all of them, she does not kiss him. And he cannot bring himself to kill her. Until only one choice remains.

I know what kind of god I need to be. For you.

Sylvie watches in Loki’s memory as the temporal radiation burns away his TVA uniform, as his magic replaces it with something older, something primal, something true. She watches as he grasps the decaying branches of the multiverse and breathes life into them, wills them to live, to be whole and part of a whole.

She watches as the branches twist around each other, each variation of the timeline finding support in its neighbors, building into something greater than the sum of every moment of every timeline that has ever existed.

She sees the shape of what Loki has done, the enormous, infinite tree dancing in the nothingness outside of time. Yggdrasil, the worldstree, green and glowing, alive and growing, all because Loki willed it so. To restore freewill and safeguard it forever. For all of us.

His hands cover hers and Loki gently pries her fingers away from his face. “Enough, Sylvie. Enough. I know what I’ve done.”

There are tears on her face, the apple-scented wind plucking at the wetness as she stands there, staring at Loki. Even without the enchantment, she can see him sitting on his throne, alone but for the infinite tree he tends.

“It was the only way?” she asks in the ruins of her voice. It is only when he folds his hands around hers that she realizes she is shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Not like dancing. Like shattering, collapsing in on herself with the weight of what he’s done.

“No,” Loki admits. “There was one other way. I could have left He Who Remains in charge. I could have let the TVA go back to pruning the timelines. But I would have had to kill you. I would have had to kill you with my own hands, and watch as you died, and then betray everything you ever believed in. I lived every variation of every action I could possibly change, but not that one. Not that.”

“You don’t even know me,” Sylvie blurts out before the words have fully formed in her mind. All of this, to save her? She cannot, she cannot—

Loki’s expressive face twists, stung by her words, hurt in this moment even beyond the deep sorrow that he wears like a cloak. “Of course I know you,” he says, wounded, his gaze searching her face. “Like I’ve never known anyone. Sylvie, I lov—”

She surges up onto her toes and kisses him, there among the apple trees. She kisses him for what he’s done, for what he refused to do. She kisses him for the loneliness they have both known far too much of, she kisses him for coming when she sang for him to come home. She kisses him because there is nothing else she can do, because there was never any other way for her, either.

And Loki kisses her in return, with a desperation borne of years, centuries, lifetimes of facing this alone. He kisses her in the apple garden, as the trees dance and the waterfalls stand still. He is there, kissing her, but also somewhere else, far away and outside time, tending to the tree that he gave his life to save.

“I can’t stay,” he says when they finally part, pressing his forehead to hers, his hands cupping her jaw in an echo of how she had enchanted him moments before. “I want to stay, more than anything, Sylvie, but I can’t, I can’t.”

“I know,” she assures him, even as she clutches at his robes for fear he will disappear at any moment. “I know you can’t stay here with me,” she says, then takes a deep breath to steady her ragged voice, her thundering heart. “But you don’t have to be alone.”

Loki pulls away abruptly, only far enough to see her face, confusion pinching his features.

“We’re gods, you said,” Sylvie explains, tripping over her words, her voice trembling with the weight of what she has already done, the weight of what she plans to do. “We have a responsibility. That’s what you told me, in that ridiculous room full of pie. We can’t just give everyone freewill and then walk away.” She offers him a small smile, the best she can summon at the current moment. “You have to sustain Yggdrasil. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I did this for you,” he says, holding on to her as desperately as she is clutching at him. “So you could have a life. That’s what you said you wanted, to live.”

“It’s freewill, Loki,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t just give it to everyone and then be surprised when I use it to choose to be with you. I know what kind of god I need to be. You taught me that. I won’t let you bear this burden alone. That’s the kind of god I choose to be.”

“I can’t let you sacrifice yourself for me—”

“The only sacrifice would be giving you up.”

He gazes at her for a long moment, his uncertainty slowly transforming, then sings softly, “I stormsvarte fjell, jeg vandrer alene,” and this time Sylvie understands the words. “Over isbreen tar jeg meg frem. I eplehagen står møyen den vene, og synger: ‘når kommer du hjem?’”

The apple orchard dissolves around them, replaced by the rippling greens and blues and purples of Yggdrasil, shimmering in the darkness outside of time.

“Home,” Sylvie says, and kisses him again.

[coquelicoq]

raksura for the ask meme?

YAY

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most) moon was designed in a lab to appeal to me personally, so. it's about the trust issues!

scrunkly (my "baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) the sky copper clutch!! traumatized children imprinting on a guy with baby fever is usually what i go to fanfic for so to have it right there in canon? incredible. i love all of frost's little tantrums and idk, just the way that she claims moon as her family in a way that has nothing to do with court politics? she's like, we're your clutch, obviously. and this is our court because it's your court, and all the other jabronis who live here are on thin ice. she's ready to throw down with moon's wife/the government at all hours of the day and she's like six years old. i love that moon has that energy in his life even though he personally is pretty confused and exhausted by it lol.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) it's hard out here for an ember stan because he is in so few scenes relative to the space he occupies in my psyche! i need 5000% more interactions between him and moon. him and stone. him and shade. him and river. him and the teachers. him and the clutches. him and jade and balm and chime. oh my god him and malachite? him and celadon? him and delin??

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) niran. i'm always up for a "longsuffering ship captain resigns himself to another restless night of hearing gigantic shapeshifters with incredible stamina fuck nasty on the roof of his cabin" moment. technically i have never been in that exact situation, but i feel like i can relate.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) river who is CLASSIC poor little meow meow territory like yes his whole personality is being a grade A asshole and sure he tries to kill my blorbo a few times, but once you get to know him he's so sad and pathetic that i'm kind of like okay where can i sign up to defend him from the largely factual aspersions of his dozens of quite frankly justified haters? he'd hate that. the good shit 👌

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) stone. every time he crankily says "why did i ever reproduce" upon finding himself entangled in yet another ridiculous clusterfuck thanks to one of his hundreds of idiot great-great-great-great-great grandchildren, an angel gets its wings. he's depressed and antisocial but he can't totally check out because he has to mediate relationship issues between his dumbass relatives. love that for him.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) malachite but specifically because malachite would not be scared of superhell. she'd skulk around being invisible, maybe fuck some shit up if she felt like it, and leave when she got bored. she probably makes it like. opal night's sister city or something. and nobody in the court is at all phased. yeah that's our reigning queen who recently got back from vacation in superhell. she does that. she says it's relaxing.

[landwriter]

dear diary,

bad news: totaled my first car today

good news: can now theoretically write one of those unhinged ao3 author’s notes saying something like “sorry this update is late my car got wrecked and now here’s your two fave dudes also getting wrecked, by their emotions”

[sambambucky]

in the spirit of the season i'm laying WIPs to rest !!!!!!!!!

[moonlightperseus]

hey where the fuck did these two finished fics in my google drive folder that arent posted on ao3 come from

[padawan-learner]

Take a brief fanfic detox to come back and find FUCKING AO3 IS SUFFERING FROM DDoS ATTACKS

FUCK MY LIFE MAN

[jimmymcgools]

Eighty-Six Years — Chapter Thirteen:  Choices

“All right,” Jimmy says. “D’you remember that vending machine in the breakroom?”

Kim knows which vending machine and which breakroom without having to ask: beneath HHM, the high windows letting in a fragile glimpse of the day. It’s almost as far away as an old house in Cicero, or an old storefront. One step forward in time, as if, since that visit with Viola, Jimmy’s mind has traveled only the years from his childhood to the mailroom.

He’s still thinking about the old days.

Chapters: 13/?   Wordcount: 86.4k   Relationships: Jimmy McGill/Kim Wexler

[buckttommy]

fic writers: please don't delete your fics.

genuinely nothing hurts my heart more than scrolling through my marked for later on ao3 and finding a fic i wanted to read has been deleted. truth is? i probably would have loved it. i totally understand feeling embarrassed or ashamed by a previous work, or even just feeling like it's not your style anymore. but someone loved that fic. someone would have loved that fic. orphan if you must, and never think of it again, but please don't delete your fics. we want to read them.

[kenzan-kiwami]

same anon as before here. i find it refreshing that other people out there are willing to say out loud that all the kazumaji gets super tiresome. i enjoy majima a lot but find kazumaji totally overrated and so it is not fun out here lol. especially because the way fandom portrays the ship is almost never true to the characters at all (gaa gaa eyes, as you say). replaying the games is a good idea tho. i did that and my enjoyment for majima (and my other favorite side characters!) came back once i remembered what he was really like outside of fandom.

oh no yeah i totally get you 😭 i feel blessed to have known people from when i first got into the series who are as Over It as i am, but it still gets so lonely out here sometimes. i have some doodles and video projects i'd like to at least try to do at some point but i'm definitely going to replay y0 soonish (after gaiden maybe?) because it's been FOREVER and i'd like to have it fresher in my mind haha

dead souls is also a brilliant game for majima, people cry for a majima game all the time but i'm like dude we already have dead souls? he's in his fucking element throughout his entire gameplay segment, don't just ignore it because it has objectively terrible gameplay for the sole reason of "they tried to make a third-person shooter inside a brawler game"

[maddy-ferguson]

i really don't understand why people who only read YA or people who only watch cartoons made for kids try to tell us that it's actually just as good and deep and thought-provoking as media made for adults like i do know it's because they know it's not and they feel inferior or whatever but it's very funny

[house-of-mirrors]

I’ve finished the long awaited bio post for the third of my player characters, Miles! I’ve mentioned them before, my horrible son, spaghetti noodle of a human being, character with which I make evil choices to see text. You may send a calling card to The Remorseful Apprentice, or you may find the old profile of The Avid Occultist. Here is the Picrew link

Why do I have two versions of the same character? Short answer, I missed them too much after knocking so here we are.

Quick facts:

·      Miles symbolizes the corruption of high society in the Victorian Era. They were born into a wealthy family and grew up with entitlement and imperialistic views in what I’ve heard my grandfather call “the age of arrogance.” The world is theirs, and it’s their right to have whatever they want. Given the choice between pursuit of power and anything else, they will always choose power. External corruption with the red science and seeking reflects internal and generational corruption.

·      “No shame, no spine, no self-awareness”

·      If asked to choose a gender option on a form, they would circle all of them. They’re not too particular with pronouns and sometimes use he/him, but I most often use they/them for Miles. Distinctly a femme presentation. Miles and Orsinio are mtf/ftm hostility.

·      They are somewhere on the autism spectrum; it manifests as touch aversion and a difficulty in making real friends despite being a social butterfly. Touch aversion somewhat plays into them being aromantic, but they genuinely have no interest in it. Miles gets the badge of being my one allosexual OC.

·      Miles greatly struggles with mental health, much of which comes from family trauma, and being in the Neath makes that a ticking time bomb. If they had therapy and antidepressants, the whole tragedy could have been averted. TW ahead for darker discussion of mental illness, SMEN typical self-harm.

Now, I can’t explain why Miles is a villain without explaining how their actions affect the rest of the plot, so this “bio” is more of a whole summary of a narrative arc. Under the cut became more or less a mini fic, so FYI that it is longer than usual for my character posts. Also includes some mentions of my friend's characters. For someone who complains about SMEN so much, I sure did base a significant chunk of my OC stories around it, didn’t I? Tragic. (The themes of temptation lured me in, and when I realized how much I didn’t like it, I was already too committed to the story, alas.)

You may wonder as you read, “Hey, why does Miles’ story include so much about Orsinio?” Well, Miles thinks they’re a main character, but they’re actually a side character. You may also wonder, how does having two versions of the same character with wildly conflicting ambitions work in the timeline? No single thing shall be a single thing. Major spoilers ahead for SMEN (including vague detail about the hate ending) and the discordance, as well as all ambitions.

Early Story

·      The Lovelace family made its fortune in the textiles industry. Incredibly dysfunctional with the detached parenting typical of the time within the leisure class. Neither of their parents is great, but Miles mostly has daddy issues:tm:. There are also large age gaps between the children; Miles is the second youngest and only close to their younger sister, Marguerite

·      Negative attention is still attention which leads to Miles getting involved in multiple scandals. It also isn’t a good look for Miles to not yet be married or engaged, which they’re really uncomfortable with, being aromantic. The final straw is a gambling debt, after which their father, Julian, disowns them until they make something respectable of themself

·      Miles has heard rumors about the Neath and decides to go to try to make their fortune. Before leaving, Marguerite gives them her necklace and asks them to be safe for her

·      Soon after arriving, Miles learns about the Marvellous. They need a path to attain their own fortune and power, and this is a promised road to rising the ranks. They say they’re doing this to prove themself, but really, they’re only throwing themself into their vices. I follow the interpretation that Heart’s Desire is a metaphor for addiction.

·      At a bohemian event, Miles meets a Professor. Orsinio tries to be mentoring to a new arrival, but Miles is prickly and pro-monarchy and they part bitterly, though Miles does become close to their mutual friend, Elliot

Seven is the Number

·      As Miles progresses through the Marvellous, they begin to hear a voice in their head telling them they can have much more power than the Masters can offer. The voice comes with troubling dreams and lapses in memory. When they wake up covered in blood in the bushes outside a salon, Elliot tells them to talk to Orsinio

·      Orsinio isn’t too happy to see them, but is very willing to help. He was at Avid Horizon during Nemesis and knows what it’s like to feel that pull. (He claims he no longer feels it.) Miles is briefly his student in the lab and generally is very poor at it, refusing to listen and not doing much of anything. Eventually, they leave when they realize they can’t gain anything they want here. Orsinio is irked and genuinely wanted to help, but he can’t force anyone to do anything.

·      Miles’ condition continues to worsen, plagued by compulsions to eat strange things and nightmares of knives and drowning. They wonder, can you really get hurt in a dream, and can it scar in real life? They are genuinely scared, but they’ve never learned how to ask for help. They confide their worries in a letter to Elliot on a drunk evening, at their wit’s end with exhaustion.

·      Their own family didn’t want them, but this voice does. They feel like it’s wrong to accept the voice, and they’ve been told not to by their friends, but if they give into it, they can finally sleep.

·      No one hears from Miles for some time after this. They go off the grid with weeping scars, memories of chains, and stains on the soul. One could make the argument that Miles, the real Miles, is dead after the first time they stab themself (second weeping scar). I as the player was not invested in SMEN and therefore Miles wasn’t either; it functions primarily as a MacGuffin.

·      The person who returns to society is very much not like Miles used to be. This person is even more charismatic and does much more physical contact, compelling enough to entrap people for St Arthur’s Candle. They adopt a seemingly carefree attitude, why worry when all shall be well?

·      Miles becomes a silverer, inspired by interpreting their strange dreams and promised power from the fingerkings. They use these dream interpretations to amass a small cult following of fellow seekers.

Miles, you could have just Asked him to Dinner

·      At a working lunch with an affectionate devil, Orsinio is told what Miles did to their soul. He rushes home to pen an urgent warning to his friends, but finds Miles inside, waiting for him in his study chair. Miles speaks highly of his work, apologizing for not appreciating it properly when they were a student. They come interested in his unpublished work. He’s one of the few who has seen the Avid Horizon. Won’t he tell them more? Orsinio firmly denies Miles, but they leave with the self-confidence this isn’t the end of it. Once they’re gone, he walks outside right back to the affectionate devil and makes a deal for his soul. If he doesn’t have it, he can’t give into temptation to seek. Orsinio has finished railway at this point and tried to convince himself he was okay, that he was past this, but he isn’t.

·      Miles progresses through candles B through E without much fanfare. At the Carnival at Midnight, they claim to be seeking for love, a love they never got from their family, or a love for their enemy, the Professor.

Poor Choices are Made in HD

·      The end of the Marvellous rolls around. Miles makes as many scummy decisions as possible, choosing not to help the topsy king, condemning the cardsharp monkey, though they do hesitate, just for a moment, with Beechwood’s chance. They say they’re playing the Marvellous for themself, but they know deep down they’re still having feelings about their father. This is a chance to give all of that up, make a new life for themself, heal from past trauma. But no, they came this far. They’re not giving it all up for a moment of emotional weakness.  

·      Miles becomes Mr Cards. Isn’t this what they wanted? The first time they meet with Mr Hearts for red science, they feel deep down they’ve made a terrible mistake. Being a Master doesn’t seem good at all. They need something else, but what is it? (Genuine connections with people?) They need to go North.

Clown on Clown Violence 

·      Miles comes to Orsinio yet again, asking him to join them in seeking. He’s so smart and he’s been marked by the northern wind, why won’t he? He can finally have revenge against all the Masters, against the system that enabled Cups to kill his brother. Orsinio refutes with compassion, telling Miles their sister wouldn’t want to lose them. Miles, the real Miles, almost breaks through, their sister ever a soft spot for them. They admit they’re afraid of what they’ve become and they don’t want her to see them like this. Orsinio extends another olive branch, telling Miles it isn’t too late to turn around. But Miles, as always, choses pursuit of grandeur

·      By this point, Miles has become truly obsessed with this enemy they can’t break, not only with the madness that comes of seeking but with possessive behavior that comes from becoming a Master. (Or, Miles, you could have apologized for being rude and asked him to dinner) When Orsinio still won’t bite, Miles threatens to target his friends/found family instead, both Elliot and Lucy.

·      What plays out is a long, regrettable, and, if we’re being honest, a bit pathetic struggle between Miles and Orsinio. Orsinio’s logic isn’t good logic, but it is logic. He thinks there’s no fate worse than going North, even death or injury, so tries poisoning Miles a few times to get them to stop one way or another. Miles isn’t offended but milks the incidents to make Orsinio appear like the villain and turn others against him. Mail fraud is a significant contributor to how things fall apart; Miles begins intercepting letters, isolating Orsinio and each of his friends from each other.

·      Meanwhile, Miles is getting closer to Elliot, claiming to be their only real friend left and trying to drag them into seeking. (Elliot finishes Light Fingers and gets a child to protect so that comes to a quick end, fortunately.)

·      Despite all that’s transpired, Orsinio keeps getting drawn back to Miles. He tells himself it’s determination to stop them for the greater good. What he doesn’t realize is that Miles already got inside his head with seeking which is the real reason he won’t let the topic go. There comes the darkest hour in which he nearly scars himself but is stopped by his student mentee. 

I Want that Twink Obliterated

·      Orsinio comes to realize he’s indulging the same reckless behavior he did during Nemesis that nearly sent him down the dark road of seeking at the time. He pens a letter to Lucy confessing all he’s kept to himself thus far. He reflects that recklessness can be a manifestation of addictive tendencies, then he remembers who he’s fighting, the Master of Gambling. He realizes how he’s been played a little bit too late.

·      Orsinio is strong-minded and normally wouldn’t have fallen for such manipulations, but he’s been worn down for a long time by Miles preying on his paranoia and guilt. Nightmares 7. He goes to pursue Miles one last time to put an end to this once and for all, but walks into a set-up. Miles drags their final confrontation to Parabola where they have an advantage as a silverer. Orsinio does not win and spends some time in the Royal Beth afterward.

·      Orsinio’s student manages to get word of the truth to his friends. Lucy puts Miles in their place through varying violent means and then goes to be with Orsinio. Both of them promise to each other to be better communicators. Lucretia also comes to the Neath during this time to help in the crisis, but more on her story later in her own bio.

NORTH

·      Elliot learns the truth of what Miles did and feels betrayed. Miles sends a final letter. They’re not sorry for what they did, nor are they sure why they did it. Elliot was the last thing they had left to lose, and this whole chess game ensured they would lose Elliot. Now, they’re prepared to go North. First, they must go South, but they will go North.

·      What Parabola and the fingerkings could offer wasn’t enough. Winning the Marvellous and getting the chance to become a Master wasn’t enough. Miles almost considered throwing their lot in with liberationists, so that after the revolution they could seize power in a vacuum, but they didn’t pursue that route. They’ll never be satisfied as long as there’s a higher station to rise to.

·      Miles is unable to live with what they’ve become. They cut off their hair for St Gawain’s Candle, and when they look in the mirror, they only imagine a photograph of Julian as a younger man. They reflect on all the horrific deeds they’ve done and all the people they hurt to get where they are now, and they realize they became just like their father. Beyond the gates is a place they’ll finally be free of him. (Who is the real villain of the story? Julian Lovelace is.)

·      Had they chosen any other ambition ending than power, they would not have gone North. The gravity of the decision hits them and they realize becoming Mr Cards would mean entirely losing their identity. They can’t let anyone see them like this. They don’t want this to be their eternity. They really messed up and see no way to fix it now

·      Miles muses that physical monstrous changes by the red science represent internal corruption, generations of abominable deeds done to stay in power manifest in the weeping scars on their skin. They didn’t fail to live up to their family legacy, they embody it better than anyone else. “Miles, you didn’t have to do any of that!” There are so many points at which a different choice could have made the story end another way, yet the story never could have ended any other way.

·      On the feast of Candlemas, 2 February, Miles goes North. At the gates, they hesitate one last time, thinking of their sister. But they can’t let her see what they’ve become. The sentiment is far too little, far too late. I interpret the knock as suicide

·      At the exact same moment that Miles knocks, Orsinio obtains a discordance stone.

·      Miles asked, “What is due?” I will be vague about the ending, but all I’ll say is that it was the only fitting end for the character trajectory they were on, and they got exactly what they wanted. A position above everyone else. Attention from the grandest.

The End... or Is It?

·      On the seventh day of the seventh month, someone returns from the North, picked up by a ship that was in Stormbones and spotted them by lucky chance.

·      Elliot reacts in disbelief and betrayal. Lucy reacts by killing Miles, repeatedly, for what they did to her loved ones.

·      Orsinio remains calm, because he realizes immediately what’s afoot. For Miles to be here, Nothing had to have happened, because if they weren’t here, then something would have happened. This is Miles, and this is Not Miles. He holds his dog Sugarplum while musing on this, wondering if he should not take Miles to the Anchoress for advice. He decides against it, for the time being.

·      This Miles spends some time adjusting back to life in the Neath, starting completely over again. They have lingering physical changes in sharp teeth and pointed ears, but otherwise has no connection or obligation to continue participating in the Masters’ experiments. They remain under the radar for a time to ensure it’s safe, but no one seems to even acknowledge them. They also have no marks from SMEN save one scar, the first scar, as a reminder.

·      Miles finally realizes the best way to spite Julian is to cut him out of their thoughts and live the life they want. Orsinio is proud of them for character growth, but couldn’t they have realized that sooner, without seeking?  Miles adopts the name Darlington instead, their mother’s maiden name.

·      Orsinio is ever patient but gets tired of Miles hanging around his lab all day and tells them to get something to do. They see posters at the Department of Menace Eradication for a big hunting prize. They always enjoyed hunting trips during visits to the family’s summer home on the Surface. Why not? (We all Look Away from R playing the same ambition with multiple characters. No single timeline shall be a single timeline.) Orsinio remains exasperated.

Bag a Legend 2 Electric Boogaloo

·      “Veils got Miles in the divorce with Eaten”

·      While my OC Samuel represented the taciturn and violent side of Veils, Miles is the charmer and manipulator. Despite getting a second chance, they very much are still a villain, though at least they’re less unhinged this time. Miles becomes a Midnighter. They don’t know why they have a sudden interest in the Great Game, but they find they’re a natural at it. Miles, whether they’re conscious of it or not, plays White.

·      I’m in the middle of BAL now, but Miles will choose the Surface Veils ending. I imagine Veils can shift appearance easily, given that it’s a manifestation of intrigue and disguise; when they first encounter Surface Veils, it appears like Julian. Miles is disarmed, but has grown much more confident, and is able to keep control of the situation. As the game goes on, Surface Veils shifts to look more how I imagine it. When they come to an impasse, a hand is outstretched, and negotiations for a deal can begin. Allying with Veils is the perfect way to spite their father the textile magnate

All My Homies Hate the White

·      Orsinio, who already was suspicious of the circumstances of Miles’ return, grows even more concerned watching them develop an interest in chess which was previously nonexistent. He knows of the higher powers of the chessboard from his studies at the Adulterine Castle, and he knows something of the nature of the Old Man and the White from his experience in the game (several ES). Orsinio knows enough to understand they send agents to the Neath, and he begins to wonder if this is why “Miles” is here.

·      Orsinio is doing a lot mentally better, but still struggles with paranoia. What if his whole life, he’s been a pawn? What if his brother was murdered not only as part of Mr Cups’ scheming, but to get Orsinio to go to the Neath, where he’d eventually go West and study what isn’t at the Hurlers, so he’d have the wherewithal to later lead an agent of the White directly to the court of the Black?

·      The story ends here, for now. I’m excited to do railway with Miles and read text for evil choices that I can’t make with other characters for RP reasons. Playing a villain is a lot of fun. We’ll see how things play out, or do not play out.

[sulkybender]

Posting a story without your favorite commenters there is like throwing a birthday party and no one comes

[yrwestillhere]

What a terrible sight for sore eyes

[estroniaid]

imagine thinking fanfic is the height of queer lit