#the patron saint of do not come here ever again.

[idliketobeatree]

the single most relatable Aziraphale trait is that he's completely convinced of his love for people but it's all rebutted the second a customer walks into his shop

[spaceyaceface]

How do you think Ominis and/or Sebastian would react to the reader being stood up for a date, especially when they absolutely adore us? Would they comfort us by taking us on a date they've ran through their minds a million times so we can forget about being stood up by a loser and finally confess their love for us? Ugh I'm a sucker for fluffy writings like that ❤️‍🩹

This doesn't need to be a full-blown work, I just wanted your thoughts/opinions since you've been dubbed the Patron Saint of Ominis works.

Too bad, you're getting a full blown work with Ominis because I love this. And him. He's all I think about. Thank you for this prompt!!! I love it so much!

Warnings: Feelings of inadequacy, being stood up on a date, making Andrew Larson the bad guy (as always)

Word Count: 1.6k

Ominis laid out on his bed, trying not to let his spiraling thoughts consume him. He should be happy for her. That’s what good friends do, right? Celebrate things with one another, cheer each other on as they try things, grow, find their place in life?

He wanted to do all that. He just couldn’t stop wishing her current place wasn’t with Andrew Larson. 

He was fully aware of how idiotic he was being. He had never asked her on any sort of date, never even hinted at his deep feelings toward her in the two years they had known each other. All of this made the fact that he couldn’t help his thoughts from wandering to her every two seconds all the more pathetic. 

They were close. He’d dare say that he was even closer to her than Sebastian in some aspects, even though they’d had less time to know each other. But there had always been something about her that drew him in, allowed him to open himself up to her. It had scared him at first—but as he slowly gave in, he found himself wondering how he had ever lived a day without her. 

He’d just never expected this level of aching to come with it. 

She’d asked Larson out a few days before—it had come as a complete shock to him. Despite their closeness, she had never mentioned any feelings she’d had toward him. When he carefully asked why she’d done it, she just said she’d heard he might be interested in her, and wanted to see where it would go. The days had passed like agony, and finally, the evening of their outing had arrived. 

He wondered if she had come back yet. Were her and Larson slowly making their way back to the castle, laughing at newfound jokes? Had he held her hand as they walked, daring to capture her soft skin in his grasp, or—Ominis sucked in a sharp breath—had he kissed her goodnight, with a promise of see you again soon?

It was that thought that finally pulled him out of his bed. He couldn’t stay there, thinking those sorts of things. He’d only drive himself mad. He shouldn’t care. He should just hope she was having fun. That he was treating her well. But he couldn’t help it. 

His feet carried him through the halls of the castle. It was past curfew now—surely she was back in her room. Larson wasn’t a rulebreaker, unlike him and Sebastian. He wondered for a brief moment if that's what she liked about him, but shook the thought before it could take any true form. It wasn’t long until he was entering the Undercroft. But then he froze. 

Crying. Someone was crying. 

He knew that tone of voice. It was hers. Why on earth was she here, when she was supposed to have had a perfect evening out? 

He called out her name, walking to her. His wand let him sense her figure, hunched over as she sat atop one of the crates in the room. She responded to his voice, trying to take a deep breath before answering. 

“O-ominis,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be down here. I was just… I needed someplace to be alone.”

“Alone?” Ominis asked. “I thought… did your date not go well?”

She sniffled. “It didn’t go at all, actually.”

Ominis’s mind raced. What had happened? Why was she here crying instead of up in her dorm room telling her roommates how wonderful her time was? But he reached the most likely conclusion—one that was quick to make his blood boil. “He stood you up?” The anger was barely masked in his voice. 

He heard her choke back another sob instead of speaking. That was answer enough for him. 

How dare he? Various choice words rushed through his head, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from cursing the git out loud. Did he not realize he’d just lost? Ominis had just spent hours pacing the floor of his room, sick at the thought of her giving Larson any ounce of her love, and he’d went and burned it all. His hand twitched, and he found himself wondering how easy it might be to break into the Ravenclaw common room. 

But as he heard her shuddering breaths, he was reminded of why he was so upset in the first place. 

There would be time to deal with the prick later. She needed him now. 

He rushed to move beside her, sitting next to her and carefully placing an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into the contact as he rubbed his hand up and down her bicep, trying to help her breathe properly. After a few moments, he spoke quietly. “What happened?”

He felt her shrug under his arm. “I told him we’d meet near the north entrance, and he just… didn’t come. I waited until it was dark out and nothing. He didn’t even send me an owl.” She brought her knees up, curling into a ball as if she was ready to disappear. His arm around her tightened as he silently reassured her. 

She went on; now that she was talking about it, the words all came spilling out. “I didn’t even want to go out with him. I just asked him because Poppy said I haven’t been out with someone in too long, and I didn’t know who to ask, but she insisted he liked me…” She huffed. “I suppose we can say she was wrong about that.” She buried her face in her knees. “I shouldn’t have asked him. I don’t know why I try anymore. No one’s ever liked me like that, why would that be any different now?”

She was spiraling, pushed off the edge by the events of the evening. Ominis knew this habit of hers, and sadness and anger anew washed over him at the thought that Larson had set it off. He said her name, repeating it until he felt her lift her head, facing him. “Don’t say that. It’s not true.”

She let out a sigh. “It feels true.” 

He shifted, finally taking his arm from around her to place his hand firmly on her shoulder, facing her. “You are worth all the love in the world. To assume you aren’t is preposterous. Frankly, it’s a wonder how everyone in the whole of Hogwarts isn’t dueling for the chance to court you. You are brilliant, kind, and know how to make anyone laugh—including me. Sebastian has told me on more than one occasion how beautiful you are.” 

His next words made his heart ache—would she hear the longing in his voice? Would he fully reveal himself? “There will be a day when someone deserving of you realizes all of that. They’ll come and sweep you off your feet, and give you all the love and commitment you are due. They’ll love you completely. Even the parts you’re afraid to show them. They’ll love you like…” 

The words died in his throat. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t disrupt their friendship, the careful thing they had built together out of some selfish need of being wanted by her. But… but she was across from him, feeling as if no one would ever care for her. He could prove her wrong. It didn’t matter if she didn’t feel the same—he’d deal with that later. All she needed now was to know. So he took a deep breath. 

“They’ll love you like I do.” 

The silence was suffocating. He wished he could see her face, read whatever emotion lied there. It was several long seconds later before her faint voice finally uttered something.

“Come again?”

“I…” He hung his head, hand still gripping her shoulder, trying to keep himself grounded. “You said no one has ever like you… like that. You’re wrong. You’ll capture many hearts. I know it, because you’ve already taken mine—even if it’s not one that you want.” 

He began to let his hand fall from away from her, but his eyes widened as she gripped onto his wrist. “What if it is the one I want?” 

Her words were hardly more than a whisper, and he could have sworn he had imagined it out of pure desperation. “Do you really—”

“Yes,” she said, laughing lightly. “Yes, Ominis. I mean that. Merlin, I’m an idiot. I should have just asked you, I’ve been wanting to for ages, I just never thought—”

He couldn’t stand it a moment longer. His hand reached forward, and before either of them had a moment to think, he was darting forward to kiss her. Even with his hand on her cheek, he missed, lips brushing on the side of her mouth as he let out a small noise of frustration. Any negative emotion washed away when a chuckle escaped her lips, the sound vibrating against his skin just before she pressed her lips to his. 

She kept her grip on his wrist as his hand traced its way from her shoulder to her jaw, letting him cup her face with both hands as he pulled her closer. The kiss was everything he expected it to be, and more. For countless nights, he had wondered what her lips might feel like, if they would match the warmth of her voice, if they would give him shelter just as her arms did, if they would make him feel alive just like every touch she gave him. 

Her kiss was not just warm—it was fire, flames running through every vein in his body, his heart pounding at the heat of it. It was not just shelter—it was home. The place he was meant to be all along. It was more than living. It was being reborn. 

When she pulled away, breathing hard, he knew he’d crave her taste for the rest of his days. 

She rested her forehead against his, letting their breath tangle together. “What would you say to coming to Hogsmeade with me?” she said. 

He grinned. “I’d say yes, a thousand times over.” 

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch25

Description: Fluff Fluff Fluff

*Laika's POV*

Johnny announces that he has ordered a takeaway. He and Kyle leave the kitchen shouting something to John about car keys and collecting it - they said they'd be twenty or so minutes. I settle onto the sofa, trying to relax myself from today's events. I close my eyes and take some deep breaths.

My phone, long forgotten in my pocket, dings. It's a message from an unknown number.

Hello Amorcito,

Alejo and I shipped your things a couple of days ago. They should arrive tomorrow.

Please, if you ever need somewhere, know that you are always welcome in Las Almas.

I hope your Alphas come to their senses soon. You belong with them even if you do not see it yet.

-Rudy x

I read the message, smiling with teary eyes. I'd never felt so.. cared for.

"What're you crying about?" Simon asks in that gruff voice of his.

"Oh" I sniff "it's nothing.. just a text from Rodolfo.. they shipped our stuff. He says it'll be here tomorrow.."

He nods with narrowed eyes "and that made you cry because..." he tilts his head, confused.

I can't help but giggle at his lack of social skills.. I just turn my phone around to him so he can read the text himself.

"You're not fuckin' going back to Las Almas, love.." he grumbles.

"No, I - I" I gulp, nervous about what I'm about to say "I think I want to stay here.. until you guys get sick of me, that is.. I know I'm a lot to deal with"

He rolls his eyes, throwing himself heavily on the sofa beside me. He grabs me around the waist, easily dragging me over his lap, so that I'm sat sideways over his huge thighs.

I squeal at the sudden shift and the blast of Alpha scent I get due to being so close to him.

"Stop doubting yourself so much. I did the same when I first joined. Wasted months pushing them away, love.. don't make the same mistake.."

"But it's hard.. I don't mean it.." - "I know you don't, just let us prove to you that we want you here, yeah?"

I gulp again and nod, sending a soft smile his way.

"Uhm.. Simon..?" I ask, thinking that now is as good a time as any to ask the question that had been burning in the back of my mind all day.

"What is it, little bird..?" - "How.. How much do you know about Omegas.. and heats..?" - "Enough.. why, what's botherin' you?"

"I - I thought my heat would last longer.. what if I'm damaged..?"

"Wish ya' wouldn't think like that.. Your heat technically started when you went feral because of that fuckin' Graves wanker.. musta' lasted a coupla' days, at least.."

"But.. why could you smell me, when the others couldn't.. and do I still smell..?"

"You still smell, don't have to worry about that, sweet girl" he purrs, making a point to sniff into my neck, making me giggle and push against him.

"And.. the others could still smell you, love.. but it wasn't as strong. I must have some resistance to the blockers or whatever fuckin' drugs the Russians put you on. Could always smell you just fine. It was bitter to begin with, because you were so stressed and scared.. but it's changed... I can tell it's leavin' your system.. not long now and you'll be clean as a whistle.." he jokes, nudging me gently.

"Do- do I smell nice..?" I ask, self consciously ..

He looks at me as if I'd grown two heads. "Are you havin' a fuckin' laugh? Can't you see how we all react to you? And that's us holdin' back.. Johnny was droolin' and humpin' you for fuck sake, love"

I hide in his neck, giggling. "You're not as scary as you try to pretend to be, Lieutenant.." I whisper into his ear.

He growls softly and pinches me in my waist softly, causing me to jolt and yelp in surprise, giggling against him louder now.

"Behave, girl.." he grumbles at me. I relax against him and wait for the food to arrive. I must doze off momentarily, because when I wake to the sound of Johnny and Kyle arriving back, I can feel Simon tracing shapes on my back, softly while scratching my scalp. He had taken his gloves off. I relax into him, so that he doesn't know that I'm awake. I feel him move slightly and whisper shout to Johnny and Kyle to shut the fuck up. I can't help the little giggle that I let out.

"Awkt, the little lass was havin' you on, Si.. she wisnae even sleepin'! Just wanted you to keep scratchin' her.. You like bein' petted like a little kitten then, do ya lass?"

I blush and hide from them, whining into Simon's neck tiredly.

"Johnny, piss off and go find Cap.. he'll be in his office. Kyle, get the food ready would ya?"

"On it, LT" Kyle replies, quickly leaning over the arm of the sofa to place a kiss on my forehead then looking to Simon, holding me so softly, before giving him a quick kiss on the top of his masked head as well.

A couple of minutes later, Johnny and John return.

I shuffle off of Simon's lap, much to his disapproval. I settle in between his and John's thick thighs.

"You okay, gorgeous..?" John asks me. I blush and nod. He curls a large arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer.

"Was on the phone to Alejandro.. he says your stuff should be arriving tomorrow" - "I know.. Rudy told me.." I giggle.

He furrows his brow. "How did Rudy tell you, Love.. I've just found out myself..?" - "He text me" I hold up my phone and show him the message.

He takes the phone and reads the message grumbling the words aloud as he reads.

"Nice that he messaged you and all, Love. But you ain't going back to Las Almas.." he says lowly.

"Already told her that, Cap" Ghost huffs from my other side.

"Good thing we came to our senses then, eh, Simon?"

"What does the text say? I'm confused.." Kyle shouts over from the other side of the kitchen.

"Aye, let's see it Lass.."

I stand up and walk towards the two sergeants, holding my phone out for them to read.

Johnny reads the message quickly, plucking the phone from my hands and placing it on the counter, before grabbing me and lifting me into his arms.

"No fuckin' way.. staying with us now, Lass.. Cap, you need to get a move on and bite a claim into her pretty wee neck.. don't want her wanderin' off to a new pack.." he jokes, licking and nipping at my scent glands, cheekily.

"Johnny!" I whine, giggling. "What, Lass? We'll mark you up real good. All four of us.. I think I'll put my mark rigghhtttt..." - he nips dangerously hard into the valley between my collarbone and shoulder - "HERE!"

I yelp and moan in pleasure. He just laughs at my reaction, smug in the knowledge that he was turning me on.

"Johnny, stop teasing the poor girl" John warns him, standing from the sofa and making his way over towards us.

Johnny slowly lowers me back to the ground, planting another quick kiss to my cheek.

I feel John's big, burly arms wrap around me from behind.

"Seems like I'm the last one to get my hands on you, Love.." he growls into my ear - "Y-you've been busy.." I whisper, overwhelmed by all of the attention.

"Aye, been busy but I've managed to get us a few days off.. we're shippin' out again next week, but until then, we're on leave" he grumbles to the other Alphas who all sound pleased.

He massages my shoulders, still pressed up against my back. I lean into him, loving how warm and safe he felt.

"I thought we could take our girl out, tomorrow. Shopping and a meal.. what do we think?" he asks.

The others all agree, I turn in his arms and whisper "I'd like that, Alpha.."

"Means I'll finally get to spend some time with you. Been jealous watchin' these prats get to play with you while I've been working. Drives me fucking mad"

I lean into him, standing as tall as I can, and press a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. He purrs, before suddenly showing his Alpha side.

"And as for marking you up, Love.." he pulls my hair away from my neck, and studies where Johnny had left small marks, and the slightly darker one where he had bitten, not enough to break skin..

"I reckon mine will sit right here.." he circles the spot on my neck, where he has chosen to mark me, with the soft pads of his thumb, leaning down to kiss softly on it.

"But needs to be done properly.. not just gonna bite into you like a mutt.." he grumbles.

"Alpha.." I whine.

"Shh, all in good time, sweet heart.. all in good time"

"C'mon now, time to eat".

He steps away from me and I glance at the others in the room.

They were all staring at the scene before them, at how their pack Alpha had teased me.

I stumble back to the sofa and curl up to Simon, whining and whimpering. Simon whispers to me "Won't be long, love. Don't worry".

[sirdindjarin]

A Ghoul and a Vault-Dweller Walk Into a Bar

Cooper "The Ghoul" Howard x Lucy MacLean.

TAGS: Fluff, pining, introspection lol.

WARNINGS: Swearing, alcohol consumption.

Based off of this post ! I loved the idea and couldn't get it out of my head.

AO3 link 🤠

A few days after the events of the last episode, the Ghoul and Lucy take solace in a quiet saloon, only to find their dynamic is changing.

“Ain’t this a peach,” the Ghoul muttered, taking in the New Vegas saloon. It was a postwar attempt to recreate what no one still walking had ever experienced, but it was faithful enough to send the Ghoul back to the set of a movie some two centuries earlier. He could smell the burn of the stage lights, hear the staccato of studio executives arguing, and see PAs stumbling over cables in the background. 

His bittersweet reverie ended when - what else - the Vault Dweller opened her mouth. Again. 

Bouncing on her tiptoes, her wide smile was interrupted only by her exclamation, “Wow! This place is right out of a history book. Oh, gosh, look at that!” 

Hanging from the ceiling was a myriad of materials in various stages of rust and decay. Grimy, glaring patrons grumbled as Lucy rushed past their tables to examine some memorabilia plastered to the wall. She gingerly ran her gray forefinger over the rusted farm equipment. “See these? They used to pull these behind a tractor, or a horse, and it made furrows in the ground. That made it a lot easier for them to plant things like corn, tobacco, wheat -” 

The Ghoul ignored her lesson. Let the history buff have her boring version of fun, it’d give him some peace. After the past three days, he needed it. He strode toward the far end of the bar, spurs clinking.

Lucy had been silent after the revelation with her father. Downright catatonic, almost. The following morning, still in sight of the Hollywood sign, and out of the daggum goodness of his heart (truly, he’d been a saint to even think about it) he’d offered her a hit of an upper, but she’d curled her lip in disgust. No skin off his nose, he’d thought humorously, he would just let her stew. 

Before the sun had set that next day, however, the girl abruptly flipped from traumatized silence to her usual non-stop chatter. He hadn't asked what changed. The Ghoul assumed she'd come to terms with her father being an evil sonofabitch. He expected her trauma would rear its ugly head at some point, but that was a future problem. Once she started talking again, he had again been a saint - he’d only thought about shooting her once. And that only because she had asked him a stupid question. 

You mentioned finding your family. You have kids?

Sidling up to the bar top, his ragged coat slapping gently against the stool, the Ghoul’s attention was drawn to a jukebox against the wall to his right. Colorful lights flashed, dimmed by a layer of dust; but the old machine advertised it was ready to sing. He glanced curiously at some of the songs, felt a flicker of some emotion he wouldn’t put name to, and turned away. He drummed his gloved fingers on the wooden counter, impatient to have something to smother the spark of sadness. Here, the weight of the past was literally hanging over his head.

The Ghoul had directed his focus on the other end of the bar, where the barkeep seemed to be pointedly ignoring him, when a dull scraping sound alerted him to someone sitting beside him - between him and the mocking jukebox. 

“Hi! Barkeep?” Lucy beamed and motioned between herself and the Ghoul, “Could we get a drink, please?” 

The gruff man looked more like a patron than a bartender, all heavy gait and uninterested stare, but he raised his eyebrows at Lucy. The Ghoul laughed under his breath. 

“What?” She asked in a whisper. Grimacing, she worried, “Oh… is that not how you’re supposed to do it?”

“There’s a laundry list of things you shouldn’t be doin’, Vaultie, but flaggin’ down the bartender ain’t one of ‘em.” 

Lucy straightened her posture. “You know, we have established a mutual goal and I would appreciate mutual respect. I don’t think being laughed at is-”

“Sweetheart, I ain’t laughin’ at you; quit bein’ so sensitive,” the Ghoul stated flatly. “Don’t we make quite the damned pair? A Ghoul and a Vault Dweller walk into a bar…” he trailed off with another chuckle.

Lucy relaxed her shoulders, still feeling awkward. “Oh, haha.” 

“All we got is distilled water and tequila. Which’un you want?” The bartender interrupted, though he spoke only to Lucy.

“Uh, I would like to try the tequila. I still have some water leftover and it’ll be fun to try something new.” 

The bartender sucked on his teeth, turned, and left - resenting serving a peppy Vault Dweller and outright refusing to serve the arrogant ghoul seated beside her as though it was a person.

“They don’t much like my kind here, darlin’,” the Ghoul grinned lopsidedly. He tapped his holster with his new forefinger. “I’ll have to get my drink a different way.”

Eyes wide, Lucy nearly stood on the rung of the stool as she shouted to the bartender: “Make that two glasses of tequila, please.” 

The barkeep went still for a brief moment before deciding it wasn’t worth it. He’d seen some weird shit, but if this wasn’t the strangest duo he’d ever served, he’d eat a radroach. He sent the shots sliding down the well-worn wood counter with surprising skill, and they stopped directly in front of Lucy. She nudged one of the grimy glasses toward the Ghoul, who grunted. 

In those old movies, the characters often clinked their glasses together. Excited to perform a toast in a real saloon, Lucy raised her glass toward the Ghoul. Her eyes sparkled so earnestly that the Ghoul briefly considered indulging her. Instead, he tipped the shot glass into his parched mouth, eyes closing in satisfaction.

“Ah,” he hummed. This was nothing like the chems he used to stay sane, and tequila wasn’t his favorite, but damn if it didn’t feel like the alcohol stripped off some of the layers of the past week's shit.

Upon opening his eyes, he was surprised by the mix of amusement and regret in his chest at the way the girl’s face had fallen. It was childishly funny the way he could disappoint her so easily - as though they kept the same standards of behavior - but the pleasure of her disappointment only took the Ghoul so far. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” he goaded, his voice deep and persuasive. “It ain’t top-shelf but it ain’t lizard-piss, either.” 

“I don’t know what either of those mean,” Lucy mumbled as she brought the glass to her lips; she winced as fumes burned her nostrils. Abandoning caution, she threw the clear liquid into her mouth and swallowed as the Ghoul had. The liquid stung as it slid down her throat; her mouth puckered. Fighting the urge to cough, she cleared her throat instead. Lucy refused to let the Ghoul have anything more to bully her about.

Lucy blinked away the wetness in her eyes. The Ghoul was watching her. Lucy couldn’t discern the look in his eye, but it wasn’t one she’d seen before. The Ghoul had made certain of that. 

“That was, um, so good,” she grimaced. But the warmth in her chest and stomach was pleasant. “You want another?”

The Ghoul chuckled, “If you’re buyin’.” 

***

“No, I only meant it as a compliment,” Lucy slurred, blushing furiously. She was only four shots in, but the Ghoul was starting to get concerned that she would throw up on him. Lucy wobbled on her stool. “Really, they’re nice eyes. No, ‘m okey dokey. Wow, this stuff is strong.” She held her hand out in front of her and wiggled her fingers, fascinated by the way her vision seemed to be a half-second beyond reality. 

“Must be. You,” he pointed in her face, “can’t handle your liquor.”

"Hey, it’s my first try," she steadied herself. 

“It’s gon’ be your last if you paint my boots. You look a little green, Vaultie.”

Her big brown eyes refocused on the Ghoul. “Okay, well, distract me. I know you won’t tell me anything about yourself.” 

He tensed. 

“And that’s okay. But I don't even know your name." Lucy threw him a frown, "What if I have to call for you - what am I supposed to say?” 

The Ghoul chewed at the inside of his cheek, tearing away some skin as he considered. He’d had twelve shots. She wasn’t asking anything too revealing; and she had saved his life. And maybe all her “Do Unto Others” bullshit wasn’t bullshit, but he still wasn’t about to crack open like a can of biscuits. The Ghoul gazed down into her doe eyes, then he and the tequila made a decision.

“Cooper,” he answered after safely looking away, his voice rough over the word.

Something scratched at the back of Lucy’s brain. Tipsy as she was, she knew this was important - she did not want to ruin whatever progress they seemed to have made. She nodded and replied politely, “That’s a good name. Cooper.” 

Lucy watched the rainbow of lights as they reflected off the shiny bar. She slid off the stool and leaned over the jukebox, flipping idly through the songs. 

Cooper held his thirteenth shot in his gloved hand as he stared ahead at the blank wall of the now-empty saloon. After they had collectively purchased nearly twenty shots, the bartender had lost all sense of distaste for either of them; he now sat in a chair, dozing, waiting for the Ghoul and the Vault Dweller to ask him for more. 

A gasp came from Cooper’s right. His stool groaned as he turned, and he saw Lucy grinning up at him.

“Look at this song: I Walk the Line. It’s from one of my favorite movies -” 

Cooper's stomach lurched. 

“A Man and His Dog.” Lucy selected the song. “And the main character’s real name was Cooper. Used to watch those old Westerns with - with my dad all the time. The best ones are the ones with him. With Cooper Howard, I mean. He was always the good guy. He never hurt anyone. Well, unless he absolutely had to, of course.” She began to wax poetic about ethics, and her audience of one tuned out. The gruff croon of Johnny Cash filled the otherwise silent building.

Cooper Howard debated whether or not he should tell her the truth. He didn’t know how much she knew about his life as an actor - some of her questions about his family could be answered if she knew about his widely-publicized, definitely-public-record divorce - but seeing her face when she learned that her favorite cowboy movie star was the radiation-ravaged monster sitting beside her would be hilarious.

I keep my eyes wide open all the time

I keep the ends out for the tie that binds

Well, would it be hilarious? Cooper wasn’t so certain anymore. Lucy’s disappointment in him was rapidly losing its luster. Her cowboy had fallen a height that would’ve killed anyone else - had killed almost everyone else. The good man she idolized was dead. He wouldn’t resurrect him just to kill him again in front of Lucy. 

For the second time that afternoon, she pulled him abruptly from a reverie. 

“I wonder what it was like. Everyone in these saloons… with a jukebox playing while you dance with a handsome stranger,” Lucy gazed out at the empty room. “It must’ve been incredible.”

Cooper didn’t correct her about jukeboxes and saloons. Instead, he took his thirteenth shot, allowing it to burn away what was left of his judgment. 

“Well, come on down, darlin’.” He held out his hand - the one that was one-fifth her.

Dubious, distrustful despite their fledgling partnership, Lucy’s eyes darted between his outstretched hand and his dark eyes. This man had cut off her finger less than a week before. He’d tried to sell her. 

But this wasn't a desperate game of cat and mouse, and he no longer believed she was a lying murderer. (That conversation had been a hoot. One of the few times he’d asked her a question, Cooper had wondered what possessed her to cut off Wilzig’s fuckin’ head, and, after she told him Wilzig had left her no choice, she tearfully described the sound of his spine severing and nearly vomited. The Ghoul had laughed.) She was here of her own choice. Lucy chose to follow the Ghoul - Cooper - into the Wilds and the Wasteland. She trusted him now, and he her.

“It’s alright, Vaultie. Y’know I won’t bite,” he drawled with a smirk. “Of the two’ve us, which one has bitten the other?” 

“Wh-?” Lucy started to ask, then decided better of it. Cooper had given her his name and his trust. He had been as kind as summer by Wasteland standards, and she would be damned if her manners were the poor ones. She took his hand.

As sure as night is dark and day is light

I keep you on my mind both day and night

The room was spinning, and Lucy wasn’t sure if the blame should be placed on the tequila or the Ghoul who held her so gently. This was a far cry from the lasso he’d thrown around her last week. She opened her mouth, fully intent on telling him See, the Golden Rule is golden for a reason. But when his hand slid slowly from the curve of her waist to the small of her back, she found that the words were missing. 

He guided them in a small, slow circle. Cooper’s chest was pressed up against her own, and it was though his centuries-deep layers of leather and cotton, and her pristine, thick Vault-Tec suit were non-existent. The vulnerability set his teeth on edge, but it relaxed Lucy. She let the music, the alcohol, and the Ghoul take her. Uncharacteristically shy, and somewhat nauseous, she laid her head on his shoulder. 

Cooper hummed along with Johnny Cash, letting himself feel a modicum of peace in this improbable, inexplicable bubble. He could feel Lucy’s heart beating rapidly beneath her garish suit. His own heart felt like the tattoo of a horse’s hooves. Cooper’s jaw tensed as he wondered how she’d feel to know that. He found himself hoping. 

Hope and contentment were as foreign to him as a nose and hair, now. Yet he felt the gnaw of yearning. Lucy was a reflection and a time machine. Maybe that cowboy - the one who deserved both hope and contentment - could live again. 

And happiness I've known proves that it's right

Because you're mine, I walk the line.

[dustdeepsea]

I live! It's been a crazy past few months work-wise. Thank you to everyone who mentioned me or tagged me in a game. I'm going to try to answer as many as I can, starting with this post!

@coreene tagged me in the OC Patron Saint Game which I answered as Octavia. this quiz took absolutely zero prisoners:

patron saint of bones

patron saint of frameworks. of structures. of solidity. patron saint of things that break. patron saint of things that are left behind. the bones survive long after the body, the building: what is there left for them, when the rest has gone? what do bones do, with nothing to hold around them? who holds the bones?

@graysparrowao3 tagged me for a WIP snippet weeks ago. I hadn't written anything since May apart from a few round robin paragraphs.

I reread my old BG3 fic and wondered to myself who actually wrote this.

It's been months since the story left off and I decided that perfect is the enemy of done, so here are the two idiots, doing their best to communicate:

Tav awoke to birdsong and bright sunlight. It took a moment for them to remember where they were as they shuffled out of their bedroll.

Rugan handed them a bowl of warm porridge while they finger combed their hair into order. Tav nodded their thanks and started eating out of sheer habit. You didn’t refuse food when it was given to you. 

As they blearily chewed and swallowed, the world came into focus around them. The fire had been neatly put out with dirt and sand, and the mules were grazing contentedly a short distance away. Rugan’s bedroll was already stowed next to his saddlebags. He must have been cooking and packing after they had traded watches at Godswake.

He nursed a mug of hot tea as Tav wolfed down their meal in silence. “You snore, you know,” he said, in lieu of a morning greeting.

Tav stared at him, spoon halfway to their lips. “What?”

“Terrifically loud; like Talos himself come again,” he continued, cheerfully. Of course Rugan was a morning person. He was far too awake for Tav’s liking.

At this juncture, Gale would have been appalled and started lecturing everyone about making personal remarks. He would have called out Tav too, for having breakfast before washing their face and hands, and again for eating it too quickly.

Tav imagined Gale in his tower, in perfect solitary domesticity, slicing bread and apples with care, magic heating the kettle and stirring the pot in the hearth. Today’s broadsheet spread out on the table, a single coffee cup set out next to a silver carafe. Everything in its place.

“...No one has ever mentioned that before,” they mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“Oh, it’s fine. It kept the wolves away.” He grinned and something eased in Tav’s chest. Yesterday’s awkwardness seemed to be behind them.

Edit: This is now a part of Chapter 3 of Gods and Monsters with edits.

[singlesablog]

Bona Drag ‘89

“Getting Away With It” (1989) Electronic Factory (UK) / Warner Records (US) (Written by Sumner/Marr/Tennant) Highest U.S. Billboard Chart Position – No. 38

When Pet Shop Boys first approached (coaxed, begged?) Dusty Springfield near the end of her career to duet with Neil Tennant on the 1987 single “What Have I Done to Deserve This?”, few of us could have known that this would lead to a great many more collaborations from the boys, or how fruitful this instinct would become.  It was also in that same year that they both (mainly Neil) collaborated with a group newly named Electronic, which would be comprised of the lead singer of New Order, Bernard Sumner, and Johnny Marr, the ex-lead guitarist and songwriter for The Smiths. “Getting Away With It” was a huge moment in my circle that year (as well as on the dance floor) for it’s sound combined the coolness of the alternative scene with disco, even though no one ever wants to say that very bad word. 

We all adored it.

The Smiths had disbanded in 1987, leaving Johnny Marr as a journeyman (never being the lead type).  We all loved The Smiths passionately because they were in part “our" band, and spoke to gay culture, and because, yes, Morrissey was a genius. We all hated him for ending it all too soon, because yes, it was all his fault.  His narcissism was not hard to apprehend, in content or image.  Johnny Marr's pairing up with Sumner was something of a miracle because both were surprisingly interested in house music, specifically an emerging genre known as Italo House, which leaned more toward Europe and upbeat electronic piano riffs.  They worked on the single first, along with an early cut called “Lucky Bag” (seek it out it is a jam) in the pure Italo House style, and went on tour to support Depeche Mode that year.  They ultimately spent 18 months finishing the debut album Electronic, which a lot of folks consider to be a minor classic.  Neil appeared on yet another track (“The Patience of a Saint”), and we were all in disco heaven—it was just so cool.

I am now surprised to discover that the secret behind “Getting Away” may the be sly and hateful jabs toward The Moz himself, who famously disdained anyone who ever ate meat, or any style of music he did not personally direct.  He is on record for dismissing electronic music in general as useless, so the jabs at his persona in the lyrics (“I’ve been walking in the rain / just to get wet on purpose”) are penchant, and just what he had coming.  It was only the year before that Morrissey had released a track called “Hairdresser on Fire” (as the B side to the A single “Suedehead”), one of his more famous B sides, which include the lyrics 

“Here is London Home of the brash, outrageous and free You are repressed But you're remarkably dressed Is it real?”

to which (apparently) the boys from Electronic responded in verse

“I've been talking to myself Just to suggest that I'm selfish (Getting ahead) I've been trying to impress That more is less and I'm repressed (I should do what he said)”

Which may be nothing, or may be pointed.  It is on record that Morrissey criticized the song in a 1991 interview, calling it "totally useless" and joking that the song had a "very apt title”.  

It is certain that both Marr and Sumner were looking to explore new freedoms and territories outside of the straight jacket of rock and roll.  It is especially ironic that Morrissey, one of the patron saints of gay identity, would be so narrow and humorless about pop music in general.  Then again, maybe not; I love him, but a kinkier curmudgeon would be hard to locate.  It has been suggested that Neil Tennant continued the lampooning of Morrissey with the B side to the single for “Was it Worth It?” (which flopped), “Miserablism” (which is iconic in their catalog), and paints the picture of a person using inversion as a religion:

“Every performance tends to reach the same conclusion No happy endings but a message to depress Saying life is an impossible scheme That's the point Of this philosophy

Miserablism Is is and isn't isn’t

Miserablism Is is and isn’t isn’t."

Electronic’s last album (of 3 total) was released in 1999.  They have never formally disbanded, but are likely done with the project.  Morrissey is still making records and slagging people off to this day.  There are no plans to reunite any version of The Smiths.

---

The collaborations with icons of gay culture would certainly continue for the Pet Shop Boys.  In 1992 they had their biggest success outside of their band by producing Boy George’s cover of “The Crying Game”, the title track for the movie of the same name.  It was a success worldwide, a Billboard No. 15 in the US (Boy George’s highest ever here as a solo act), as well as a dreamy synth pop gem.  Neil Tennant told NME in 1993, "I think George sings that song really well, he sounds a bit like Roy Orbison” which is rather true, a credit to the production and vocal alike. Charles Aaron from Spin said, “Heard it in a mall, wanted to weep in my Orange Julius.” to which I would say, didn’t we all Charles, didn’t we all.

"The Crying Game" by Boy George, 1992

The song title “Getting Away With It” is suggestive of many things.  As a member of the band The Smiths, Morrissey and the band adopted an anti-look look, very industrial city clothes, even presenting as nondescript.  But Morrissey had a way of inverting this idea, sporting a giant pompadour, thick NHS black glasses, an inoperative plastic hearing aid during performances, and receiving gladiolus flowers on stage from fans.  His was not an undramatic pose, and actually part of the long tradition of the gay man presenting as a fop.  

A fop from "What is this my Son Tom?", 1774

In England alone there was the “macaroni” of the Georgian period, followed by the Beau Brummell of the Regency period, and then the Aesthete, which culminated in the late 19th century with the writers Walter Pater and Oscar Wilde.  For the opening in 1892 of  his play“Lady Windermere’s Fan”, Oscar sported an unnatural green carnation as a publicity stunt (it actually signified nothing).  However nothing can easily become something.  The green carnation went on to become a craze for aesthetes, a tip off for the presence of homosex, and finally aided in Oscar’s undoing when an 1894 novel by the name of The Green Carnation by Robert Hitchens was used as evidence in Wilde’s sodomy trial to send him to Reading Gaol prison for 2 years, even though Oscar personally had nothing whatsoever to do with it’s publication or content.  He went on to comment 

"I invented that magnificent flower, but with the middle-class and mediocre book that usurps its strangely beautiful name I have, I need hardly say, nothing whatsoever to do. The flower is a work of art. The book is not.”

Oscar Wilde died only a few years after his imprisonment in 1900 at the young age of 46.  

His crime: high style.

Oscar Wilde, pictured with a green carnation.

[giantmushyfriend]

It's not a want, your honor, IT'S A NEED

Okay, okay, okay.

Y'all, I'm snowed into my house after Iowa just got slammed by a lot of snow, so I predict some cabin fever mess to spew from this page (I'm sorry).

ANYWAY

So, we all know how Michael Sheen was on the celebrity episode of the Great British Bake Off, and he was an absolutely chaotic and competitive little shit. Michael always jokes about his competitiveness, but he just came out of the gates swinging, acting like the chaotic little Welshman he is. And we loved it. How could we not? Michael is so loveable, even when he's causing chaos and making Wales 4 Ever treats. That being said, I vote Michael comes back for another episode.

But Giantmushyfriend, I hear you ask, won't that be repetitive and boring?

No, because not only is Michael unpredictable and very funny, but also because two other people would be joining him: his TV husband, David Tennant, and Neil Gaiman, the destroyer and repairer of all hearts.

There are so many different ways this potential episode could play out, and it is the best thing the Great British Bake Off could produce. Because just think about it.

Michael would inherently go back to being the chaotic menace we all know he will be. He'd come in with the attitude, "I performed great the last time I was here, and I am going to do great again, and if I don't, then at least I'll be cute."

David would come in, and everyone would expect him to be all nice because he's practically known as the Patron Saint of Pleasantness in the acting world, but he turns out to be a menace. I can picture David either trying to create an alliance with Michael, trying to impress Michael, or trying to demolish Michael. There would be no in-between. In the case of the third scenario, I can practically hear David saying, "Listen, Michael Sheen is a dear friend who I love immensely. Top of the line, man, Michael. However, I am going to annihilate him- exterminate him." Because, as Georgia has warned us, he would be insufferable.

Either way, every compilation of David and Michael acting like a married couple for X minutes would get new content, and Anna and Georgia would get a good laugh.

And then there's Neil, the mastermind. Neil would be a more secretive, chaotic force brewing beneath the surface. He would seem all nice and just happy to be there, enjoying making some goods and having fun. But behind the scenes, he's turning people against each other and watching them take each other down. Because Neil is an evil mastermind, we've seen it with all of his works. He's a writer. He knows how to cause conflict. And he will wipe the floor with David and Michael, alongside everybody else. There would be a slew of "Neil Gaiman Big Brain" compilations and edits all over the Internet, all of which would be retweeted by Michael, who is salty about it. And we would relish in it.

Listen, this would be my Roman Empire. I don't know who I need to write for this to happen. I don't know how hard I need to grovel at God's feet for the Earth to be blessed with this, but I need it so biblically. I'll grovel harder than Aziraphale, but for the love of all things both Holy and Unholy, P L E A S E

@goodomensonprime

P L E A S E

[electricshoebox]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

Aww thank you my friend! That's so kind!! 💜

I do appreciate that this is forcing me to look at my work with gentle eyes. Sincerely! Not always easy to do. I've already talked a lot about A Line in the Sand and The Eye of the Storm as my faves, so I'm challenging myself to pick different ones.

In no particular order:

No Patron Saint of Silent Restraint (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Rated T) He's Tal-Vashoth now. Tal-Va-fucking-shoth. Dorian comes to him in the aftermath.

To Have and to Hold (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Rated M) Set during Trespasser. Dorian stands on the edge of a suddenly all too certain future, facing the question of where to fit the life he's been building himself into it. How exactly does he choose between the redemption of his country and the overwhelming temptation to leave it behind for the love he never dared to hope for? How does he overcome all the parts of his past that linger in his present? Or you know, just your average everyday midlife crisis (Written for Adoribull Minibang 2016).

Counting the Cost (Dragon Age 2, Merrill/Orana, Oneshot, Rated T) After the death of Merrill's clan, Orana must decide how she feels about the truth of Merrill's magic and where it leaves them.

Siren Song - Part I (Fallout 4, Deacon/MacCready, Twoshot, Rated T) MacCready stopped asking, after a while, telling himself it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know who Deacon was. It wasn’t exactly like he had a wholesome story of his own to tell, and it wasn’t like they were taking a run at the altar, here. They had their laughs and they had their drinks and they always went back to MacCready’s stuffy shoebox of an apartment, and that was all it needed to be. Three months after he thought they said goodbye forever, newly-minted private investigator R. J. MacCready returns to the Third Rail Club, and sees night club singer Deacon again. It's strictly business. If he says it enough, he might even believe it. (The DeaCready Noir-Inspired AU no one asked for.)

On the Rocks - Part II (Fallout 4, Deacon/MacCready, Twoshot, Rated E) And while the spotlight makes shadows of the crowd and burns colors on his eyes, he’s only this: Deacon, the singer, the man, the powder-smooth, forgettable face. The safest he ever feels — the most hidden he’s ever been — is center stage and under the brightest light in the club. Or it was. Until his back hit the sheets of a lumpy mattress in the second floor apartment of a man he thought he wouldn’t need. And he forgot how to get back up again. Three months ago, Deacon thought MacCready had walked out of his life for good. But when he comes back one rainy night with a new job and an old smile, Deacon realizes he's not so easy to forget. (Part II of the DeaCready Noir-Inspired AU no one asked for.)

[pliablehead]

helllooooo i want to hear about your dream ee + duncles co-headline gig. venue, songs, general gig-vibes, go wild i want to hear your Wildest Dreams (to get ahead of the inevitable joke it is assumed that someone will come out and kiss holding the gay flag you don't need to factor that in)

(thank you for the parenthetical that’s very helpful) OHHHH i saw this come in and just said aloud “oh that’s a very nice thing to say….” truly thank you <3

my immediate first thought head empty for venue was the mercury lounge in NYC, which is perhaps a little ‘too small’ for EE even in the states but would be the exact right size for duncles, which then sort of lends itself to the notion of like, it’s a duncles show and Surprise EE Is Here Too Hehe which then says to me that the audience will have sort of self-selected as duncles fans and hardcores, which would be an incredible vibe. the bar at mercury lounge is like the venue lobby, it’s GREAT for shooting the shit and actually talking and not having to be In the performance space proper to do it. love it. but more realistically an ee-in-the-states sized venue, which is kind of the size gig I like the best anyway. a jeremy pritchard Patron Saint Of Dogshit Venues ass venue. (ideally 21+ and independent/NOT livenation fuckasses.) they could be at the one ee played at in my hometown last year that’s like On My Street Basically and i sure as fuck would not complain about that

it’s also important that me and ALL the homies are there. at the front. and that we eat empanadas down the block beforehand.

duncles live sets that i’ve seen online are almost always really spot-on and good setlist wise but obviously obviouslYYYYY they have to play bellio or i cry. INCLUDING doing the backup vocals u cannot skimp on me. duncles on first i think. ootitw-heavy. the duncan puppet is there and it’s probably jon doing it. dutch uncles also need to cover hold me dancin’ by margo guryan. ee can participate in this as well if they want actually so maybe they can all do it together at the end.

in my heart then EE goes on second and they have a full hefty set with plenty of rdf and mountainhead tracks (pizza boy is non negotiable) AS WELL AS blast doors, which is one of my favorites that they have done live a ton since i started following them but NEVER at gigs I’ve been at. also supernormal. they need new stage outfits that are 4% more swaggy, which like, if that wanted to be a return to the gth tabard look i would not be mad about it. also jonathan gives me the AFD orange trenchcoat because it’s maybe a little too small for him now and it’s okay jon i will give it the best home it could ever have forever. i’m in the very front and he puts the mic directly on me for some classic singalong bits here and there. huge no reptiles encore Church moment. we all go to the bar and get beers or white claws afterward. robin’s hair is pink again.

i’ll probably have a million other fantasies about this going a million other different ways at any other point in time but these are the constants and the things it makes me happy to think about. im really going Thru it right now (as are we all i fear) so thank u

[houseofbrat]

like i said my english is bad. when i said "rise to power" i know the monarch doenst matter, i would like to view ur opnion abt gen z and monarchy. if will someday end. when i said solution, its because there is lot of crictisim here, and i understand its ok to give opnion even u arent british. i am sorry but i didnt attack u, IMO your answer to what i ask, was little rude. i am just brazilian curious person that studies history and want to debate the future of monarchy. i like to study scenarious, since u have knowledge i would like to hear yours. its ok maybe i have to find other places i can debate, i will not bother u again.

Why do you think Gen Z matters most when it comes to the monarchy? Do you think Gen X Brits fawned over the monarchy back in the 80s and 90s and early 2000s?

If you think the British monarchy is going to end, then you need to take a look back at the last time it ended, after Charles I was executed and Oliver Cromwell became Lord Protector. The British monarchy ended once already, almost 400 years ago.

Brazil has something the UK doesn't: a written constitution. People tend to forget this when the Brits talk about their "constitution" in news & political articles. They don't have one compared to all the other countries in the world. (If memory serves, there are three countries in the world who do not have a written constitution: the UK, Israel, and New Zealand.) They hide behind the "it's an unwritten constitution" trope, but it's not really a constitution. Not when virtually everyone else in the world has one.

To get to the dissolution of the British monarchy, the UK would have to actually sit down and write an actual constitution. That is such a huge political undertaking, which is why it'll NEVER happen. Just take a note from "Brenda, the Patron Saint of General Elections"

And I quote:

"you're joking not another one oh for God's sake I can't honestly I can't stand this there's too much politics going on at the moment why does she need to do it"

If you actually think the Brits could EVER handle having an elected head of state, think again.

They can't handle the level of voting, politics, and democracy that would happen if they had an elected head of state. Just see "Brenda, the Patron Saint of General Elections" for proof. Think of all the politics that happens in Brazil every time there is a presidential election there. You think the Brits could handle that? Think again.

[bookworm-center]

Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender: Chapter III- Our Shared Past

Previous part below:

Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender

Y/n L/n: Our Shared Past

Kaz is being annoying once again, forbidding me from joining him and Jesper to deliver the documents to Rollins. I wandered around the Barrel for a little while, growing bored rather quickly. I went back to the Club faster than I wanted but there was nothing to do while out.

The sound of my glass clinking down on the bar echoes in the near quiet of the Club. The pigeons have dwindled to five patrons. Being alone makes me think of Jesper and Kaz. I hoped they were alright. For some reason, I remembered the night we'd met, the night Kaz recruited me to the Dregs nearly three years ago.

~*~*~*~*~

It had been a particularly rough day. I had been paid to assassinate a mercher, which ended unsuccessfully. My client was furious and had shot at me in the shoulder. I just needed to feel the burn of alcohol down my throat so I made my way to the nearest Club.

Kaz had found me then, chugging shots of whiskey and chatting with the bartender. I recognized him almost immediately. After all, what crook or thief in Ketterdam hadn't heard of Dirtyhands? Everyone knew of Kaz Brekker, the infamous Bastard of the Barrel. Jesper was with him, pearly guns at the holsters, tall lanky frame hoovering behind Kaz.

"Y/n L/n." I looked up when Kaz said my name. It wasn't something I'd given out to people. "Also known as the Bloodbender."

"What business?"

"I want to recruit you to the Dregs." Kaz said.

I couldn't help but laugh. "The Dregs? I don't belong to any gang. Convince me why I should join you."

"Why shouldn't you?" Jesper asked.

"Look, if I joined you, I'd be the talk of the town."

"Disgraced and disowned?" Jesper added. I nodded. He didn't need to know I'd already been disowned by my family and disgraced by the Second Army.

"Is this really how you want to spend your days?" Kaz made a pointed look down to the glass of whiskey I was nursing in my hands. "Whiskey and misery? Always cheated out of your money?"

"Well what can you offer me in return for my service?"

"Kruge. Freedom to go where you please. Revenge. I'd promise you safety but that would be a kind lie." Kaz said, tapping his finger on the crow head of his cane.

I took a minute to decide, although I'd made up my mind when Kaz had first come up to me. Kaz Brekker had only ever wanted the best of the best, everyone knew that. So of course I'd join him. Especially if I meant I could get revenge on Pekka Rollins and perhaps the Second Army as well.

~*~*~*~*~

Three years later, I've still not quite got my revenge, but there are now many things that keep me with the Dregs and the Crows. The quiet moments I shared with Inej as we dashed across the rooftops. The times I had to pull Jesper away from the tables and we played card games alone in my room. Eating waffles and sharing secrets with Nina, telling tales about our time in Ravka. Exploding anything and everything when I was bored with Wylan. And most of all, Kaz.

Kaz was my closest friend, though neither of us would admit it. We spent so much time simply sitting in Kaz's office, me reading some random book and Kaz studying maps and plans for new jobs. We bickered and teased each other, but deep down I knew that I cared for him and would burn the world down if he was killed. He wasn't the same, of course, Dirtyhands never gets too attached to people, at the cost of hurting his heart- if he had one. Still, he kept me here with his Crows, my allegiance to him more than Per Haskell.

I knew that I belonged here in Ketterdam more than Ravka. Ravka was the country of Saints, Kerch the land of sinners. Ketterdam was home to the worst of the worst, the broken, bruised, and battered calling the city their own. Kaz was like me in the sense that we both belong here. We are both bastards in different senses, me by my lineage, Kaz by his actions. We are king and queen in a way, rulers of the world that is so devastatingly cruel, you have to become a monster to survive.

[spaceyaceface]

I should have specified that it wasn't just your writing that put me off on you, but if I ever said anything to your face in the server, everyone would be clamoring to defend the "Patron Saint."

Which by the way, whoever said that? Was it in the DMs for you to repeat with pride like a badge of honor to feel special? I'm all for people spending time talking, drawing, or writing about the things they love, but every other message that comes from your finger tips makes me feel exhausted. Like I don't even want to be apart of this fandom and accidentally support someone like you.

You've misrepresented disabled peeps, gone off on rants for them when hello - let us speak for ourselves maybe? With attention seeking behavior of bragging about your organization skills, only speaking to those that are popular, and by creating an entire archive as if us writers will disappear. If we do disappear, that's none of your business and not your job to preserve what we put out. Ao3 and Wattpadd exist anyway for us to use if we choose to.

You can pretend all you like that you're living rent-free in my head, that you're speshul to get hate, but truth is - I've seen what kind of person you are and I'm fucking tired of you. I'm tired of people like you, who have the loudest voices and refuse to let others speak for themselves. Who can't allow the conversation to drift off away from them in group settings, and I'm tired of everyone who would have a heart attack if I said one bad thing about you as though you are a literal saint. You aren't a nice person, you're just as bad as me - but at least I have the balls to be fucking honest with people and know when to shut up.

???? I am genuinely confused by a majority of what was said here, and please know that this is the last time I'll respond to you, anon.

Let's get the first thing straight. You don't like what I do? Block me. I don't care. The fact that you said server inclines me to think that we may have crossed paths on discord, and if so, please feel free to block me there, too.

Second, the whole "patron saint" thing is a joke because a while back, there was very little Ominis fanfic being written, so I started writing a bunch. Someone left a comment jokingly calling me 'the patron saint of ominis fics', which I thought was funny, and a couple other people also commented. So, as I joke I added it to my bio. End of story. It's not because I'm better than anyone or perfect or anything like that. It's a joke that I went along with.

While Ominis is disabled, I truly do my best to represent him the best I can. If I've ever said anything hurtful or wrong, then I am sorry about that. I would have greatly appreciated a kind critique letting me know what I've done incorrectly, to better that in the future. Besides Ominis, I have written ONE (1) other fic with a disabled character, which was specifically requested by a disabled person in which I did my best to follow their prompt exactly. I don't know what rants you're talking about. I have actually tried by best to stay away from most things regarding disability, because I myself am not disabled, and therefore have no experience in those conversations. I've made a conscious effort not to get involved in that, besides being a listening ear when others speak on it. However, it's inevitable that I'd touch on it briefly in the fics I write, as Ominis is fucking blind.

Again, any sort of pointers or comments on how to improve these interactions I've written would have been appreciated. How was I ever supposed to learn when no one has told me I'm doing something wrong?

As far as the archive goes, I just randomly suggested putting together lists of all the fics I could find---IT'S NOT THAT DEEP. I have no clue why this would annoy you, but once again, BLOCK IT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE IT. I've seen it done in other fandoms, thought it would be fun, others seemed to like the idea, and tada. Fun fact, if writers delete their writings, it the links won't work. They can still make it disappear if they want. I've said it on the sideblog, if people don't want their work on there, I will take it off, no questions asked. I just figured that since they're publicly posting to the internet, it's pretty much fair game.

I also do my best to interact with each and every person who does the same to me---I'm bad at initiating interactions because I have fucking awful anxiety and OCD, which also accounts for the "organizational skills" I brag about. I try to be as genuine and show my appreciation for all the people who are kind to me, because I am absolutely baffled anyone would take the time of day to say a nice thing to me. If you feel I talk about myself too much, then whatever. I use the internet to vent, whether on here or on discord.

And here I'm about to say the rudest thing I ever have on the internet, and it's this: I am not nearly as bad as you. Never in my life have I left anyone a nasty message full of personal attacks and accusations under the guise of "honesty." Nor will I ever do that, because there is enough hate and heartache in the world already. This behavior that you've displayed is the worst part of internet/fandom culture.

I'd like to bring this back full circle: Block me. If you check my blog again to see if I've responded, then obviously I'm at least somewhat living in your head. For the sake of both your mental health and my own, eliminate the tension by stopping here. You have no idea who I am so don't pretend for a second that you do.

For everyone else who had to read this, thanks for your support. I won't stop talking about myself or writing things I love, even if they're meaningless. I will never be replying to another hate comment on this blog.

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch24

Description: poor Laika’s self doubt raises its ugly head again. John is a sweetheart. Kyle is upset. Lots of angst, fluff etc xoxo

Laika's POV*

I must have fallen asleep. I wake up next to Kyle, the others had left.

Oh god.. what have I done?! I've made a huge mistake forcing myself on them like that.. worthless stupid mutt, no one would ever want a stray like you. Why did you ever get your hopes up in the first place?!

Physically, I feel so much better - almost as if the heat fever hadn't happened at all. I slowly and softly lift his arm from around me and try to crawl from the bed. I need to hide from the rejection. I won't let it find me. I know it's coming. I just know it..Kyle's only here because he was literally stuck to me, because I practically forced myself on him.

I feel sick. Disgusting mutt!

I stand from my bed and don myself in my own clothes, feeling far too revolting to even dare to pull on anything of theirs..

I sneak out from the room, taking a final glance at Kyle, a tear falling from my cheek as I scamper away from the pack's private quarters.

As I reach the familiar hallway of the mess hall, I take a sharp left and go to the infirmary. I make sure to ask for the same kind nurse who had checked me when I first arrived. I trusted her - sort of..

She pokes her head out from behind a door and furrows her brow..

"I'm not aware you had an appointment Miss..." she doesn't remember my name

"...Laika" I supply for her "..and I don't.. I need to talk to you.. and ask for help.. please" I whisper, eyes darting to make sure no one is listening in or watching.

"Oh.. okay, you better come in then, I can call the Capta-" - "NO.. I mean, no, it's okay.. he wouldn't want to waste his time on something so stupid.. honestly"

I lie through my teeth with a fake, tight lipped smile on my face. She buys it though.. thank god.

"What did you come here for then, Laika..?" she asks, casting an eye over me, clearly checking for any external injuries.

"Uhm.. well- you know how you did the blood tests.. and they came back as sort of inconclusive but swaying towards Omega.. well - I want suppressants..just incase"

She narrows her eyes at me, confused by my request.

"Laika, from what I recall, the unknown drugs that you have been exposed to while in Russia haven't left your system yet. It would be dangerous to mix suppressants in while we still aren't entirely sure what you are.."

"I don't mind.. I'm happy to risk it.."

"Where has this all come from, honey? You are stressed and nervous, I can see your eyes darting all over the room, you've not made eye contact with me once, you're being deceitful and you're clearly panicking over something.. I want to help you, I do.. but I need to know a little more about what's happened.. do you understand where I'm coming from, honey?"

She leans forward in her chair and places a gentle hand on my leg. Just above my knee. She smiles, a trust worthy smile.

"I-I need to leave and I don't want anything to happen before I'm ready to deal with it.. I just want the suppressants, then you'll never see me again.. I'll be out of your hair...please..?"

"Okay, honey.. Let me just go outside and think this through.. I need to have a quick re-read of your file just to make sure you're not allergic to anything or if anything would be incompatible to your blood type.. just give me a few minutes, sit tight.."

She stands from her chair and gives me a squeeze on my shoulder and a smile as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

Thank god - she is helping me. As soon as I get these suppressants, I'm calling Kate and requesting an immediate pick up. I don't care where to. Just away from here. I've already done enough damage here. Filthy, disgusting mutt.

*John's POV*

I had left Kyle and Laika together, sleeping it off. They looked so comfortable and settled when I left. I decided to take Simon and Johnny to the gym - we'd been lifting weights - spotting each other. Simon is quite close to improving on my personal best but he hasn't managed it yet, thankfully.

As we walk back towards our quarters, I can smell a subtle hint of her scent in the hallway. I ignore it, and put it down to the fact that we probably have carried her scent around the base, having spent the morning in her bed.

My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. I glance at it and see that it is Dr Lewis. What does she want? I thought my check was next week..?

I slide the green tab to answer "Captain Price speaking.." I greet.

"Captain, it's Dr Lewis.. I need to keep this quick because she isn't in a stable mood. I've got Laika here - she is in a bit of a state, rambling about needing suppressants and said something about never seeing her again.. I think she is planning to run away.. I'm not sure what's happened, but she needs someone to talk to. She is very fragile at the moment, Captain.. I sincerely hope nothing bad has happened to her under your watch.."-

"I'm on my way" I growl out, hanging up the phone. "JOHNNY, SIMON FOLLOW ME"

I storm my way to the medics, barging angrily past rookies. When we arrive, I order Johnny and Simon to wait at the entrance.

The Doctor is standing in the middle of the waiting room, no Laika to be seen.. "Where is she?" I grumble.

I can feel my palms splitting - my nails digging harshly into my skin. "Captain, she is in my office - I suggest you calm down.. she isn't going to take this well - I didn't tell her I was calling you.."

"You've done the right thing - I need to see her, where is she?" I ask again, quickly, trying to hurry things along.

"Follow me.."

I walk directly behind the slightly older Doctor, Fuck I wish she'd hurry the fuck up..

*Laika's POV*

I hear the door handle rattle slightly and then the Doctor steps into the room. What I don't expect is an angry looking John following closely on her heels..

"What on earth do you think you're playing at, Love..? Suppressants and threatening to leave..? Why...?" he barks at me.

I stare at the Doctor, my lip quivering and my eyes wide and red, from unshed tears. This isn't the first time I'd been betrayed..

She gives me an apologetic smile, mouthing 'sorry', before turning and leaving the room. Coward..

"...Laika?" John steps closer when the door closes.

"Speak to me, c'mon, Love" - "Stop calling me that" I whisper.

"I didn't hear that, speak up, Love.. I want to hel-"

"I SAID, STOP CALLING ME THAT.. IT'S NOT TRUE.." I shout.

John visibly recoils at my tone, tilting his head to one side and furrowing his brow. The tears start flowing freely now, I stubbornly turn away, refusing to face the Alpha.

"Look at me.."

"Laika..? C'mon, whatever this is about.. we need to talk about it..."

"Th-there's nothin' to talk about, Captain.. I need to leave"

"Nonsense.." - "S'not, I don't belong here.." my hands shake as I throw my arms in the air, exasperated. Defeated.

I hear him step closer again, then I hear his knee hit the floor in front of me. Alpha's don't kneel.

"Look at me.."

"Please, sweet girl.." - "don't call me that, either.."

"Jus- Just look at me.. please"

He kneels in front of me for at least two minutes, while I stubbornly refuse to face him from my seat. He doesn't move, doesn't sigh, doesn't so much as move a muscle. He waits for me..

I sit, sniffling snot and tears into the sleeve of my own jumper. He just kneels there. Unmoving.

"You can go.. I don't need babysat.. You've got better things to do.." I eventually argue, still not looking at him.

He doesn't reply, still kneeling and silent. What is he trying to achieve..?!

"Captain.. I said, GO!"

Silence, just the sound of his breathing..

I break. I look at him, he is already staring back at me. Why are his eyes slightly red..?

He still doesn't say anything.

"What do you want..?!?" I choke out, tears still pouring from my eyes.

"Get up.. stop kneeling.. speak.. SAY SOMETHING" God, I'm desperate.. I don't know why I'm reacting like this..

He gently reaches out, slow enough that if I truly wanted to, I could have moved, hell - I could have slapped his hand away..

He entangles his fingers in mine and squeezes, softly, just once. He guides my hand towards his lips. He kisses every single knuckle, I look away, not deserving of his tender touch.

As soon as I look away, he releases my hand. I furrow my brow. He still hasn't said anything..

He stands and walks towards the door. My eyes widen, anxiety heightening.

"John..." I say in a small voice, as his hand reaches the door handle.

He pauses, but doesn't turn to face me.

"I'm sorry.." I whisper. He still doesn't turn, but he also doesn't turn the handle.

"I - I don't know how to.. how to do any of this.." I finally admit. His shoulders relax, dropping slightly, yet he still doesn't speak..

"I'm broken, John.. you.. your pack.. it's better without me..."

He lowers his head, I can see that he is shaking it. His hand pulls away from the door handle, dropping back to his side. He takes a half-step back into the room, still facing away from me.

*John's POV*

I couldn't speak. I couldn't find the right words. One wrong move and she'll leave. She thinks so lowly of herself. She doesn't think she is worthy of anything but pain and sadness.

I can't let her go.

I clear my throat and turn to face her, almost unable to continue when I see that broken look on her face, staring right back up at me.

*Laika's POV*

He clears his throat and turns around. This is it, he is saying goodbye.. brace yourself, don't let him see you cry..

"My pack would tear heaven and earth apart to find you if you left us now.."

What?!

"My pack.. they want you.. emotional baggage and all.. we've all got some.."

I gulp

"and my pack - it could be your pack too - if you can stop punishing yourself for things you had no power over."

"We both know it isn't your fault. And I'll kill the bastards. You just say the word. I'm at your command.."

"Love" he tacks on to the end.

I have nothing to say.. I'm stunned.

"What if I mess it up..?" I whisper

"You won't.."

"But what if I do..?"

"We'd figure it out.."

"Why me..?"

"You may not see it, Love.. but you're perfect for us.. if you'd let us prove it to you. I'll tell the boys.. we will take things slow.. court you properly.. let us at least try..?"

"John..?"

"Yes, sweet girl.." he replies instantly, kneeling back to the ground, taking both of my hands in his..

"I'm scared.. I'm scared I'll mess up.."

He cups my chin softly.

"Beautiful girl, there is nothing you could do.. nothing.. that would change my mind on this.."

My eyes trail from his eyes, to his facial hair, to the freckles on his nose and then down to his lips.

"John..?"

"Yes, Love..?"

"I-I'll try.. I want to try.." I sniff.

He breaks into a soft smile, his dimples showing. He wipes the tear lines from my cheeks with his thumb.

I stand on the balls of my feet to kiss him on the cheek. I wobble slightly and end up kissing the very corner of his lips. He purrs, but doesn't push for more.

"C'mon, I want to take you back.. never liked Doctor's offices anyway.." he grumbles lowly.

He reaches and grabs my hand, squeezing it softly once, giving it a quick kiss on my knuckles again.

He turns the door handle and leads me through the waiting area.

He nods a quick 'thanks' to the Doctor.

As soon as he steps foot into the main hallway, I'm greeted by a pacing Johnny and Simon, who looks.. anxious.

He immediately steps forward and holds my face firmly in his large hands, crouching down so that we are eye to eye.

"Are you hurt? What happened? Who do I need to fuckin' kill?"

"Calm down, Simon".. John reaches over my shoulder to squeeze Simon's arm.

"We're all okay now.. That's all that matters.."

Johnny squirms his way behind me and lifts me into his arms, carrying me like a groom would carry a bride.

"Johnny!" I yelp.

"No princess of mine walks when she is hurt! Whit happened, lass. Si will sort the fucker out.."

"N-nothing happened!" I giggle.

I notice, from the corner, how John and Simon both relax at the sound of my laughter.

"Wh-where's Kyle..?" I ask, guiltily.. that same feeling of dread washing over me.. what if he hadn't wanted it.. what if he regrets it..?

As soon as the words have left my mouth, a frantic figure skids around the corner, wearing just loose sweatpants slung lowly over his hips.

"JESUS FUCK, LOVE!!" He pants, actually clutching his chest, where his heart beats rapidly.

He rushes towards me and pulls me from Johnny's hold and into his own, tight and suffocating arms. It was oddly grounding. Until I felt his hands shaking, and his panicked breathing...

"When I woke up.. and you weren't there.. I looked everywhere. FUCK!" he weeps into my neck, rubbing my lower back gently, more for his own benefit than mine, I assume..

"Thought you'd gone.." He glances up then, and notices that we are outside the infirmary. He freezes and drops his arms immediately.

"Shit.. fuck.. tell me I didn't hurt you..? Please tell me I didn't..." He looks completely lost in his own panic.

I step towards him, with tears in my own eyes..

"Kyle.. Kyle.. Alpha..?" He backs away from me.

I scurry forward and cling to him, trying to hug the anxiety from him.

"Alpha.. you didn't hurt me.. I promise.."

"You sure..?"

"I'm sure, Kyle.. not at all.." I reach up and kiss his cheek. He looks me up and down, making sure that I am telling the truth.

"Why'd you run off..? You weren't there when I woke up..." I gulp

"I- I was running away from rejection.. didn't want you to regret it.. so I - I ran.."

"Why would you think..-" he starts with a furrowed brow, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Oh, you silly girl.. come here.. I'd never regret even one second spent with you.." he whispers into my hair as he hugs me tightly.

He pulls away from the hug and looks around at his pack..

"Dinner..?" John suggests.

The Alphas all nod, and I feel a gloved hand take mine and drag me back towards their private quarter. I turn my head back to the others and stumble after the hand that is pulling me. It's Simon.

"Gave us all a hell of a fright there , little bird" he grunts..

"Sorry.."

"I don't want your apologies, love. Just need you to stay, yeah..?"

"Yeah, Simon. I'll try staying this time. no more running away.." I whisper

"No more running away.." he repeats, softly.

I feel the softest squeeze on my hand.

I squeeze back.

A silent promise to each other.

We are both ... damaged.

But Christ, we'd try...

[part-timewonders]

Darklina Week 2023 - Day 7: Rom-Coms

This idea's been stewing in my head for a while, and I finally figured out how to make it work! And at last, we have made it to my last fic for @darklina-week. It's been fun!

Tags: Modern AU, meet-cute, getting left at the altar

You can also find this fic on Twitter and AO3.

Two hours into what was supposed to be his wedding reception, Aleksander is not there.

Instead, he sullenly accepts his old-fashioned from the bartender, alone. He wants to down the whole thing in one go, but the bartender seems to be keeping an eye on him now that he’s had a few more drinks than the average patron, and he doesn’t want to be kicked out of here so early.

He just feels like if he explained why he was here, he’d garner some sympathy from someone. Love stories and romantic movies were all well and good, but no one ever thinks of the person left behind, he thinks bitterly. Luda leaving him at the altar made for a great story for her, but now he’s got to pick up the pieces.

He doesn’t say a word about his drink being watered down, too busy ignoring all the texts and calls coming in from friends and family and sinking deeper into the mire of self-pity, when there’s a bit of a scene at the entrance. He looks over curiously, as do half the patrons in the bar.

“I don’t want to listen to him explain,” a young woman yells at her friend before she strides inside and flounces onto an unoccupied seat near him, while the friend retreats to a booth nearby. Now that Aleksander can see her more clearly, he realizes she’s wearing a beaded white gown and her makeup is smudged around her eyes with clear signs of being hastily wiped away.

What are the chances?

“Don’t say a word,” she snaps at him before he can even open his mouth. “Either buy me a drink or shut up.”

Aleksander waves the bartender over, even as the jilted bride’s friend watches him suspiciously from over her phone. He doesn’t mind; he’d also be suspicious if he were her. “Was he cheating, or did he leave you at the altar?” he can’t help but ask, even if he feels like he might be taking his life into his hands by doing so.

“Both,” she says after she’s ordered and Aleksander gestures for the bartender to put it on his tab. Hell, all of the poor woman’s drinks should be comped tonight. “I caught him, he was fucking one of the wedding photographers. And then he had the gall to say he didn’t want to get married, he just felt pressured into it! Wanted to call the whole thing off when we were less than an hour from the ceremony!”

Aleksander winces. Part of him wants to find this dickhead groom of hers and take out his own frustration on him. A few punches would relieve the tension in his shoulders. “My fianceé just wrote me a letter. Left it at the venue for me to find this morning when we got there. That seems kinder in comparison, now that I’m thinking about it… at least I didn’t have to see her running away with her ex-boyfriend.”

The woman looks over at him now, her expression more sympathetic now that it had been five minutes ago. She’s not quite smiling yet, but Aleksander can see the soft twinkle of one in her eyes. “What are the chances that two people who had to call off their weddings on the same night would wind up at the same bar?”

“If this were a movie, we’d be the main characters. Or are we the side characters that got tossed aside for true love or whatever?” The bartender brings his companion’s drink and she holds it out, so Aleksander scoots over one seat and clinks his glass against hers. “To our former flames never finding happiness again. I’m Aleksander.”

“Saints, I hope not. I’m Alina,” the woman says. She smiles tentatively at him, and Aleksander feels a small flutter in his chest. How nice to feel something other than crushing disappointment for the first time tonight. “If we’re the side characters, at least we found each other for now. They don’t usually tell stories about the suckers who get left behind.”

That’s true enough, Aleksander agrees. But give them some time—he’s pretty sure he and Alina could make a great story by themselves.

[simshousewindsor]

ST. SAMUEL’S SUN

[St. Samuel Abbey Church | Franklin, San Myshuno]

Father Jakes: Wow, twice in one month! We rarely get visitors as interested in the church’s history as you, ma’am. Thank you for such a large donation also. We don't have many visitors but, as requested, the church is closed for the day so that I can give you a more detailed tour. You said we’re waiting for one more?

[??]: Thank you, Father Jakes. Yes, he should be here any moment. I’d love to hear about the paintings history again.

(church doors open)

Grand Duchess Kamill: Ah, here he is now!

Father Jakes: (gasp) Is that King George?

Grand Duchess Kamill: Perfect timing, Your Majesty.

King George: Wow! This church is a magnificent work of art!

Father Jakes: Your Majesty! It’s an honor. I was not expecting this. I...

Will Gates: Yes?

Father Jakes: I...I... My apologies! 

Father Jakes: The painting of “Lady Bell”. Yes. We were told Lady Bell came to the abbey in the 1780s, seeking refuge. The abbey was run by nuns and mid-wives then. Her time here is unaccounted for but she would have either been a midwife or assistant to one. Lady Bell must have been important to the sisters.

Grand Duchess Kamill: Why do you say that?

Father Jakes: That portrait had hung here since the mid 1800s, long forgotten until you first showed up two weeks ago and recognized Lady Bell in the portrait during the tour.

King George: So, Isabella came here after fleeing Windenburg during the Great War! It’s where she hid and recovered. She felt safe here which is why she hid the portrait here.

Father Jakes: We’ll start downstairs where the painting was hanging.

King George: It’s great seeing you, Will. I’ve been meaning to call you. Thank you for helping decipher the journal for us. I know you didn't have to help me after what happened.

Will Gates: With all due respect, sir, everything isn't always about you. Isabella was my ancestor too, George! I’m just as curious about her life as you and Kamill. 

King George: You’re right. 

Father Jakes: The portrait was moved down here in the early 1910s. This small dining room is for the Abbey Keeper.

King George: No-one ever questioned the portrait? None of the Keepers or Fathers questioned why there was a portrait of Queen Isabella hanging here and not one of Saint Samuel or a former Father?

Grand Duchess Kamill: That’s what I thought!

Father Jakes: We have always been a small abbey, Your Majesty. I doubt those nuns had any idea Lady Bell was a Queen! We assumed she was a former nun or important midwife.

King George: She wouldn't have been a Queen during her time here. We believe she became Queen consort after she left the abbey, but may have returned or remained close to a nun here.

Father Jakes: This was the lower basement until it was renovated into a crypt in the 1870s. 

Grand Duchess Kamill: Are there bones inside these caskets? That’s nasty!

Father Jakes: Saint Samuel, our patron saint, was said to be very calm in nature. He never raised his voice in anger. He died in 1832.

King George: Never raised his voice? No wonder he’s a saint!

Will Gates: When did you say this basement was remodeled?

Father Jakes: In the 1870s, I believe. Why?

Will Gates: Isabella mentioned something in her journal about a room in the basement but there are no rooms in here.

Will Gates: The 1870s was known for unique structural architecture. Hmm, what did her journal say about the sun?

Father Jakes: I don't think we should be back this far. It’s not safe. We are disturbing the tomb of Saint Samuel! Please!

Will Gates: There is something about the sun facing his tomb that is different than the others. (shocked) The dial turns! That’s what she meant in her journal!

(Will struggles to turn the dial)

Grand Duchess Kamill: Look! The wall is moving back. Is that dust coming from underneath?

Father Jakes: “What’s happening? What is that?  What did you do?”

Will Gates: A hidden door!

King George: (gasp) Does anyone have a flashlight?

Previous | Beginning | Next

[holycafe]

Hiya! 💙

For the fanfic author ask meme: ❤️‍🔥🔬🎨

Bye 💙

Hey! Thanks for the ask <3

❤️‍🔥 Favorite ship you have written about?

Coldflash, of course! It is my home ship

🔬The fic you had to make the most research for?

Hmmm, probably Trick or Treat.

I did a lot of research while writing that to try and figure out how young children percieve death and grieve. I wanted to do my best to portray Len's daughter accurately while still carrying the story forward in the way it needed to go. I'm still pretty happy with how it turned out.

🎨 Show us a sneak peek from a WIP!

Well, if you insist... here's a little snippet from a Rogue Barry WIP i've been messing around with:

A man was sitting at the bar; tall, slender, beautiful. Len didn’t give him much more than a passing glance at first. Maybe he would have done one month earlier, but not now. He had to keep his mind focused. He was in Central for one reason, and one reason only: the Kahndaq Dynasty Diamond. The job was only a few days away, and he couldn’t afford any distractions.

So, he ignored the beautiful young stranger in favour of watching the game with a beer in his hand and a plate of fries in front of him.

That was a mistake.

One second, everything was normal. Central was losing against Gotham again – no surprise there; Gothamites were as crooked as they come – and the bar was booing a particularly nasty foul. But then the air began to shift. Len couldn’t say how exactly, but he knew something was on its way.

A moment later, it happened.

Lightning and wind spilled out into the room.

Energy zipped against his skin, zapped against the hairs on his arms, caught the breath in his throat.

Len pulled out his gun, more on instinct than anything else, but the firearm was ripped from his fingers before he had even flicked the safety off. He was a quick draw; no one had ever beaten him to the punch before. Except now something had because his gun was gone. And so was his wallet, watch, ring, and the remainder of his dinner.

And then everything settled.

Len took a headcount of the room; everyone was still there. Everyone except the pretty little brunet at the bar.

An argument was beginning to break out now, confusion and fear bringing tensions up high. Gritting his teeth, Len moved towards the empty seat. One guy got in his way, but Len glared at him until he backed down. Which he did; no one troubled Leonard Snart in his own bar.

And yet he’d just been pickpocketed…

Len searched for anything that the mystery man had left behind. But all he found was a single untouched beer and a torn-up napkin.

Behind him, the arguments worsened, and a fight broke out. But Len wasn’t going to put up with that. He signalled his bartender – who had just been standing stock still and confused – forward. He told her to pass him the handgun hidden beneath the till, and she did.

“Everybody out!” Len shouted, clicking the safety off his gun. He didn’t expect to actually have to use it, though, and he didn’t. The patrons soon quietened, packed up, and skulked away. Once the last one was out, Len told his staff to clean up and close down early for the night. Len then picked up the abandoned beer bottle and shredded napkin that the mystery man had left behind, and went upstairs. Saints and Sinners didn’t have any visible cameras – it was kind of counterintuitive to record his patrons since almost everyone who drank here was a crook in their own right – but it did have a few covert devices. And Kahndaq Dynasty Diamond forgotten, Len had a new target now.